On Setting Hope [somewhere]

It’s been quiet over here for awhile, as life has left me in an unbroken chain of go, go, going. I’m not sure how consistent these next weeks will allow me to maintain, but I’m here today putting pen to the paper [or keys to the screen I suppose] and it feels like fresh air.

The last month or two back on American soil has left me a little bit confused and a whole lot of broken. It’s been overwhelming and I am learning a lot about rest and trust. It’s not the time to write it out and I don’t know that it ever will be, but Jesus is here and I know he is fighting. So I am learning to rest and ease the script continually running through my head filled with to-do lists, failures and what nots with Truth.

There hasn’t been a day this week that the Lord hasn’t brought me to this passage. What patience and grace he has for us! Even when I doubt him and pull back, He is quick to remind me it is not of my strength or willing that the dead come back to life. Hmmm. Ouch?

“For we do not want you to be unaware, brothers, of the affliction we experienced in Asia. For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again. You also must help us by prayer, so that many will give thanks on our behalf for the blessing granted us through the prayers of many.” (2 Corinthians 1:8-11, ESV)

I’ve had to ask myself many times, even today, where is your hope set, Courtney?

And this conscious effort of warring against my hope being set anywhere else has actually provided the words I’ve been asking God to give me for several weeks now, as I am in the process of applying to nursing school and the following is part of a personal statement I was asked to submit.

________________________________________________________________

I was just on the back end of those preteen years, when I started struggling with an eating disorder. It didn’t take long before I spent more time in hospitals then outside of them.

I remember laying in that hospital bed again that year; it was Christmas and underneath all the hardness, I was just a little girl. That morning was the first time I saw her, hobbling in through those big ole doors. She was from down south somewhere and she just plopped herself down on the bed beside me, like we were best friends or something. I sat up slightly taken aback and wondering if I’d seen her here before. “What are you doin’ in here sweetie? You should be out there livin’, girl!”

I had had some amazing nurses over those years. But Miss Cynthia, she sure was something. As I cried an hour or so at the sight of breakfast, she just sat there with her arms around me. At one point she turned to me and took my cheeks into her wrinkly grip. Made me look her square those big brown eyes of hers. She told me to stop this. That she knew God didn’t put me here on this earth so that I could starve myself out of it. She told me that wasn’t up to me. And I could keep wasting my days trying—or I could live life fuller then that. She babbled on about my beauty and purpose and sweet spirit.

She fed me my cheerios that morning, like a momma to a baby girl. Little by little. I ate them too. Every bite I swallowed, nourished more then those bones of mine though. She fed my spirit something and it changed me. She fed me hope.

That’s it I think—nursing is so much more then antimony, bed pans, and IV pricks. It doesn’t begin at the start of a new shift or end pulling out of the hospital parking lot. The commitment to the practice of nursing takes all of that head knowledge and practical skills and morphs it into this joy-filled giving of self for the hope of another human being to be rekindled in the midst of great pain and discouragement. It sure isn’t easy, I would imagine. Yet, I just see such an overwhelming reward that comes with the commitment to this filed of study.

We all have more hurts and heartaches then one could imagine, and we’ve all been on the other side. A nurse is the mamma hug and words of truth when you forget what they sound like. I marvel at how far medicine has come and how miraculously doctors can heal the human body. I think some nurses go right for the soul.  

Every morning Miss Cynthia came back. She gave more then her duty detailed and ten years later, I still remember everything about her. I wish she could know I am living life with hope that far exceeds myself. If only I could let her know the impact she had in my life, the way I’m here applying for nursing school because I know there are other patients that need a “Miss Cynthia” to just be that safe place and stable voice for them too.

So I continue to dream of nursing, as it’s an opportunity for me care for others and meet them where they’re at. I believe God has really given me compassion and empathy for others in painful and difficult situations. I am a relational person and sitting behind a desk all day just wasn’t for me. Moving around and interacting with many different types of people and co-workers seems like it would fit me well. I just love helping people. I enjoy learning more about the design of the human body and how it can heal so miraculously.

…..

Someday I would love the opportunity to continue my studies in nurse-midwifery, but in the meantime the prospect of obtaining a BSN through an accelerated program, coupled with lots of much-needed experience is what I am hoping for!

I know the next twelve months will be brutal. I know my life won’t really be my own and I may often find myself on information over-load. But what an incredible opportunity it would be to spend this next year acquiring many skills and so much wisdom in how to better love, serve, and offer hope to those in need.

I am so thankful for the tough stuff I was allowed to walk through as it has led me here, to this place of knowing that hope triumphs all else. And we all need it.

________________________________________________________________

We all need hope. The older I get, the more I see the need around me and inside of me. I am so thankful that the gospel isn't just a Sunday morning song. Praise the Lord He is alive and active, continually working in us and through us that we may know Him and speak of the great hope found only in Him as well. 

**And yes, I have applied to three different accelerated BSN programs. One acceptance and two in the process. For now, I just know my commitment remains to Jesus first and where He leads me, I just want to follow [even if I drag my feet all the way back to the classroom]. 

From the Season of Plenty

I was running with the stroller and the little graham-crakcer eating toddler the other day. He was quiet and content, for a change (these teething days are long, ya'll). There was a cool calm in the air and I saw leaves in a pile beside a bench by a pond. The wind swept across a few and they danced. Chill bumps flew up my spine and I just wanted to rest in there. In that perfect moment of tranquility and newness. I am so thankful for those moments, those glimpses of what is to come when all this hard stuff is put to an end forevermore.

The season is changing and while I couldn't much feel it as I sweated it out cleaning up our garden this morning, everything pumpkin is plastered on the wall at my favorite coffee shop and it is coming. I think that very much testifies to my life as well, in these weeks of return from India. I've pulled away--from blog world but also from community. It's been hard and needed but this week came like a wave sweeping over me. Go, go, go and lots of saying yes. I wish I would quit doing that so much. This long weekend I am coming up for some gulps of air, finally. These words decided to start writing out again, too.

Internationals are spread across this town once again and it brings me great joy. We've had a few in our Cline House already and I am blessed to see the vision which has been thought out, talked through, and prayed over these past months finally becoming something tangible. We have a big bonfire for international friends this coming Friday. It will be a packed house and Lord-willing some awesome relationships established and gospel conversations to be had. Please pray.

I finished my thesis last week, turned it in and I am submitting my application for GRADUATION in just a couple weeks. This whole college degree thing is an accomplishment I never really thought I would see come to pass in my life. After this past year of packing in those courses and often studying my life away, I am thankful and blessed to see it completed.

We're always talking about how each person you meet has more hurts and heartaches then you could ever imagine, right? And the older I get, the more I see it resonating within me. This week has been a tough one in particular for me, seeing a dear little brother wrestle through an eating disorder, a precious family from church watch their daughter disappear into a cult in Wells, TX and there is nothing they can do to rescue her from the deception of the enemy (and these men), waiting on some results of a biopsy for someone in my family, and my beloved little dog Max passed away today.

After weeping over the loss of little Max for several hours, I had to come back to life again and work in our yard with my roommates and precious man from my church who just had a desire to tidy up our yard a bit, for the big international event we are hosting next week. Our garden started off as a great, fun, save money little thing but then turned into a big, gigantic, mess of a jungle. Something I didn't realize about yard work--the lessons that arise which are also applicable to our spiritual life.

Just looking at the roots to some of the weeds we plucked out--it was unreal. Some stretched for miles it seemed, so deeply wound and growing firm, even out of straight up chunks of dirt. When I would pull one of the intricate ones out of the ground, I would just sit there and stare at it for a few moments. All I kept thinking was how unwound my roots have become. I just realize how desperately I need to be that rooted in Christ, dependent upon Him for all things.

Then we were in the garden chopping through the thick vegetation just to get our bodies through, we began to discover so many veggies and fruits! We found five watermelons we didn't even know we had hidden under all that mess. Our Okra was the size of Texas and no good to eat, but surely it could have held a few records. After filling a couple baskets with crops, I just kept thinking how plentiful this harvest had become. Without me even knowing it. It was always there--I just wasn't going out to check on it because I didn't want to get eaten by bugs or get dirty trying to climb through it.

Do you think fear, busyness, trials, pride, etc can cripple us from seeing the "harvest" before us too?

Luke 10 talks about the harvest being plentiful and the workers few, so he instructs us to pray earnestly for God send out laborers. I believe scripture is clear we all go and make disciples, yet the laboring all looks different for each of us, seasonally as well. We mustn't neglect praying, as I am often tempted to do in the midst of the doing.

When I found out my dog died this morning, as my mom is weeping into the phone with his still body in her lap, I could have stayed in my bed and cried all day. I wanted to, in fact, I still want to return there. And of course, I have every right to. After all, I have hurts and heartaches with the best of 'em.

But for those few hours this morning, I picked up the hoe and went at it because in the moment that was the cross he asked me to bear. Treasuring Mr. Mike's time and service to us in our yard, listening to him rattle on in all of his age about this and that. It was the counting even the loss of my dog joy because as I do the steadfastness thickens and I am more complete. More like Jesus and more content in Him alone. A few tears fell while plucking weeds and at some point I start laughing at my roommates talking all crazy. The sadness has come and gone throughout the day, but I chose to steer clear of my room until late, as that bed was luring me away from the hope and promise I know are already mine in Christ. I don't know where it all meets or separates, the balance of grief and rejoicing in the midst of loss, but I just know the Lord put me in that garden this morning for a purpose exceeding that of improving its appearance.

He met me there when I needed Him. And He even challenged me in the midst of a heavy harvest of international friends coming my way.

Aren't you thankful for that? Even in the midst of seasons of great trial and even loss, He ever so gently lures us more intimately towards Him and away from ourselves, even if that requires a garden full of watermelons buried away to remind us of His glory and grace.

May we continue to be filled at His feet as we labor for His glory, trusting His holy spirit to move that more may know and see. 

In Which I Ask You to Pray

[I know my words in response to returning from India have been few, and that will change soon, I hope.]

But today I want to tell you a story and ask you to pray, too.

I was about a month out from graduating from this residential program where I had fallen in love with Jesus and He had begun the process of redemption in my life after an eight year battle with bulimia, among many other things. One of the steps towards graduation consists of "real-wolrd" plans. Meaning, what is next for you when you leave this bubble? For me, that meant my freshman year of college, meeting with my accountability partner, serving in my church family, and finding a job. I started applying for jobs while in treatment, any online applications I could get my hands on. I was quite familiar with a nanny website called care.com, as I had previously worked for a family I found through that website. I decided to get on there and apply for a few nanny positions near my home.

There was one in particular that stood out and I just remember it sounding too good to be true. Their house was literally walking distance from mine, the hours were perfect and the pay quite generous. That's why it was a shock to me when the mother of these two boys replied to my application the next morning and asked for me to come over for an interview. And an even bigger surprise when I was allowed to leave the program I was in for a night to go have the interview, something that was never really done. But God had a plan it seems; I just didn't realize how overwhelmingly perfect it was until this week.

I remember driving to the interview and talking on the phone with my best friend. As reality began to creep in, I said to her, "Let's just hope they don't ask me why there's been a gap in my employment the past year or two. It's not like I could put 'resident in troubled girls home' on my application and hope they let me watch their kids, huh?" We laughed. The interview went perfectly and God really did give me a great love for their family, even through that short hour long meeting. Somehow I knew this was the job God had chosen for me, even before they offered it.

A few weeks later, of course, the offer did come and I graciously accepted. I started nannying for them late that August, picking up the boys from the bus stop, helping with homework, a few snacks, and some play time. The younger of the two beat me in basketball everyday and his victory shouts over me [yet again] never seemed to get old to him. The boys were both a little older, one pre-teen and the other just shy of it, so we got to talk a lot. About real things, you know? That was cool, since most nanny positions it's not like that.

The boys' parents, well they worked hard and loved their boys more then anything in life. In the winter I got to invite the boys' mom to a women's Christmas tea at my church. That night I finally decided it was time to share with her a little bit of my story, in hopes I wouldn't lose my job after she realized how messy my life was not too long ago, for that matter, that she would still trust me with her kids. I told her about the tough stuff growing up and the way I sought after control of just about anything in my life as a result. I told her how I just want to be good enough, pretty enough, smart enough--and how I just didn't feel loved in those early years. So, I decided to try to earn it. If I could be skinner and prettier, well, then maybe mom and dad would love me. I told about years in treatment programs and hospitals and the night I overdosed in an attempt to be free from the weight of it all. And then I told her how God saved my body from death quite miraculously that night. And how He brought me to Mercy and redeemed my life from the pit of hell. He gave me hope and that set me free after eight years of trying to find it elsewhere.

She listened to my words and cried. That night things shifted in our relationship as we continued to grow closer and to this day I am so thankful for the way their family has stood by me these past four years.

That next summer I had the boys full time as God continued to build tighter relationship between me and this family. We spent long days at the pool, the zoo, eating ice cream and riding roller coasters at Six Flags. That sort of became our weekly routine. I was pretty involved with a youth ministry called ZOE Ministries at the time, so we spent quite a few of those hot summer days up at the ZOE house that summer too. The boys met some friends and started asking more questions about this whole Jesus thing, especially the younger of the two.

We talked about how God spoke the animals, plants and us humans into existence and he soaked it up. I gave him a bible for his birthday that year and he read it a few times. We listened to worship songs in my car and they fought me on it, boy did they ever. In fact, my the volume control on my radio is still broken from a disagreement I had with one of the boys over who controls the music in my car. But then one day in the middle of that summer I looked in the rearview to see them both just singing along to one of those silly worship songs. Tears streamed quietly down my cheeks as we drove to Target.

I moved away to college in Arkansas that fall, and saying goodbye to the boys and thier parents brought as many tears for all of us as saying goodbye to my own family. I wrote the boys a lot and visited every time I came home. That Christmas when it was time for them to meet the boy I was dating, the younger of the two literally followed him around the entire evening with the whole "if you hurt her, I'll kill you" glare in his eye. When we left, I remember the guy I was dating saying that the little man scared him. Hah. That is just him, though. And I am so thankful.

The next summer I came home to nanny the boys again and they had really grown up that year. We had such sweet times and so many crazy adventures that summer. We played monopoly every single day--and I often got beat. More lazy pool days and I think we ate frozen yogurt daily that year. Through a big event at the end of the summer put on by ZOE called Hot Summer Nights, the younger of the two raised his hand to accept Christ as Lord. After two years of praying for this family and just doing life with them, getting to witness this moment was pretty incredible. I went back to college about a week later and continued to stay in touch best I could. I don't know much of what the past two years have looked like for these precious boys, apart from a few visits and photos.

Last week I found out that the younger of the two boys, the same one who beat me in basketball, often championed our monopoly marathons, and scared off the only boy I ever dated--I found out he has actually been struggling with an eating disorder. Most people might be shocked to find out that a boy could be so enslaved to a battle with food and image, but since an eating disorder is most often a whole lot of deeper issues expressed through a distorted view of ourselves and thus relationship with food, it's a shock to me more boys don't struggle with it. And they might, but be too ashamed to seek help.

• Up to 24 million people of all ages and genders suffer from an eating disorder in the U.S.
• An estimated 10-15% of people with anorexia or bulimia are male.
• Men are less likely to seek treatment for eating disorders because of the perception that they are “woman’s diseases.”
• Significantly higher rates of eating disorders found in elite athletes (20%), than in a female control group (9%).

Looking back four years ago, I didn't know why God chose to allow me to work for this family just out of treatment. And even through those two years with the boys, there were days I wondered how the Lord brought me here, into this home with these crazy boys, days I wanted to quit! But God always seemed to draw me back to just loving them in spite of myself. He kept there and sustained us all.

I knew when I moved away two years ago I would stay in touch and was so thankful for how God used this family to provide stability and love for me as I wobbled through my first two years learning to walk in freedom from my eating disorder. But I had no idea God would allow me to testify to His faithfulness in my own life as one of these boys battles the same issue four years later. I am humbled today, to just reflect on how perfect and glorious His bigger picture plans really are, you know?

Jesus redeemed my life from the pit of hell. He can do it for this precious little brother too. Let's pray to that end, as James says "If any of you lacks wisdom He should ask God who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given to him. But let him ask in faith with no doubting..."

Four years later, I just know I am so unworthy, and yet He loves me still. I mess up a lot and sometimes I forget His promises, but He continues to work in my heart and teach more of my identity in Him. I am no longer a slave to an eating disorder or anything else for that matter, because His word says while my sin deserved death, He gave His son Jesus to die on a cross that I might be set free. And that, well, that's my story. It's all of our stories when we truly believe in our hearts Jesus is the way, the Truth and the life.

I am praying with great expectation for the way God is using this trial to draw this beloved family to Himself, just as He did for me. Pray for his mom, especially as she is desperate to help her son. Please join me in praying for this precious family and for their son who is currently in another state at an inpatient treatment program which specifically targets boys battling eating disorders. 

*If you know this precious boy who is struggling and would like to send him some words of encouragement, that would be an incredible blessing to him, and to me. Let me know and I will send you his address. 

On Celebrating 4 Years of Mercy!

Lives transformed, hope restored. 

That is their slogan.

God's unfathomable grace in my life testifies that He can indeed transform and restore, even for the one convinced her mess is beyond the sacrifice made on the cross. 

I find myself today, sitting on this hard mattress, mosquito net encamped around me, gazing out over little brown bodies running with bat and ball, cows grazing quite contentedly amidst the trash, and the rooster squawking away at the most unaccounted intervals. This place is colorful and confused, as millions of gods are plastered across most buildings covered in the bright brilliance of turquoise and purple and orange. The government turns off the power pretty much whenever they feel like it and in those hours and days, life becomes far more simple. I love these people too much to leave. And in spite of it all, God is at work in this place.

How in the world did I end up here? I cannot wrap this finite mind around such infinite grace [apart from which I am still that girl, bound and broken].

Today, I am in the middle of nowhere India and all I have is the gospel that says Christ saves and frees us captives. When I walked out of the doors of Mercy Ministries four years ago today, I never imagined this is where the Lord would bring me. Or that He really did that—bound up the captives and proclaimed liberty to the prisoners. Like forever. 

But I promise you, He does. And we need it on both sides of the world.

What a blessing to reflect upon these past four years [and even the dark ones prior] from half-way across the world in a place that the holy spirit is very much alive and the gospel very much in demand.

I actually completely forgot the four years had come and gone. It wasn’t until my teammate randomly had on my i-pod and listened to my Mercy graduation recording that I thought about it.

As I listen to graduation day, I am so incredibly thankful for the staff and my mercy sisters. I am thankful that Jesus grabbed a hold of my heart in those months and that I have not had to spend a day apart from Him since. I am also glad they didn’t make it easy for me to leave, during that very first week after I decided I didn’t want to be at Mercy [after hundreds of people had prayed me into those doors, of course].

Graduation Day [July 24, 2009

A Day In India [July 24, 2013]

God had me at Mercy for a purpose far exceeding anything I could have ever asked or imagined at the time. Like literally, I was just so hopeless and consumed by my eating disorder and abuse and kingdom of self that I didn’t even know [or care] what day of the week it was, more or less the significance of “those plans I have for you.”

I had a plan—death.

As I stood behind the pulpit (to give testimony) yesterday, no shoes on my feet and a saree wrapped around my body with my back exposed, my eyes filled to brim as I glance out over all of my brown-skinned sisters and brothers, the brokenness and the hope in the their eyes. I told them how I ran after death in pursuit of filling up the hole deep inside and how that race led me straight to the bottle of pills. I told them how God saved my body from destruction that night and how it could only have been Him alone. A few stood and all cried out praise to His holy name. I had to breathe deep just then, as even I could not praise Him enough for such a life lived in and through His grace alone.

Don't worry, sisters, I am so far from perfect I wouldn't know it if it hit me on the head! I still wrestle plenty. The lies consume here and there, and it's real. Like the way I haven't had a fresh vegetable in a month and the men that view me as a commodity to be used every time I step out in public. India presents all kinds of new challenges and I cry a lot. But I know there is a way out. I can always choose life. That kind of hope is something I never had before.

And so, four years later I love Jesus more. I know His word more intimately and I need it more then I ever knew. [After all, no matter how hard I try, I do NOT have it all together!] I am more of a hot mess then I was then, but His grace, well, it covers that too. My sin is continually being revealed and I just keep thinking one of these days He will give me a break! I guess it will all come, when we see His face, yeah?

At Mercy Ministries, I fell in love with Jesus and He continues to guide me in this messy life on earth. I have reason to rejoice, hope and testify--only because of Him. I long for the day when He makes all thins new, and yet in the meantime I am so incredibly thankful for a life that is no longer consumed in myself, a life where I have the option to choose life over death. An option to share it with others consumed by death too.

Without my time at Mercy, I am quite certain I would not be on the other side of the world, burdened for needs and confusion of this broken nation. Without the Jesus I came to know through my time at Mercy, I don’t think I would be alive today.

(Thank you to those faithful women of God who serve with this ministry. Each of you have imparted wisdom into my life that still impacts my walk with the Lord today. And of course, my family and friends still on this journey with me--I am so thankful for you. Mercy sisters, we are blessed and I pray each of you would know His grace is sufficient [so boast all the more gladly in your weaknesses] today!)

Sarah, so thankful for you!!! 

And if you feel like reminiscing with me...

On Celebrating 3 Years of Mercy! [Mercy sisters and sister in need of Mercy, this one is for you!]

On Celebrating 2 Years of Mercy!

              [www.mercyministries.com]

When All I Have is Love [India]

We sat in that little living room for hours, it had to have been. This was the first home we had visited where the conversation was fluent, minor a few snags in pronunciation of course. He is the dad to two boys attending the school where we teach, and his own duties of research and school inspection and teaching English qualify him to communicate well. His dreams of studying in America came to life in our midst, and upon the discovery Syd’s dad is indeed a teacher his grin could not stretch itself far enough. It won’t surprise me when he calls Sydney’s dad, asking for the job.

They fed us salty cake and when we’d had our fill, more cake appeared. We drank sprite and later on some Chai. We laughed a lot. And yet there was a grieving stirred inside too. This day off for us from teaching at the school was a celebration of just one of the millions of God’s worshiped by our Hindi friends; and this family had been completely sold into the deception with no glance back.

As he gawked at us, mouth open wide, when we explained that our parents are not married, our moms are re-married, our siblings are also a more complicated web to explain than English meeting Hindi can make sense of. 

Does your dad love you, sister? He kept asking, as he couldn’t reconcile the love of a man defined by leaving our moms and not supporting us completely until marriage. And in the moment, we assured him of our parents love for us, despite brokenness. But I won't forget his words. We told him that we hope to offer a different legacy to our future kids. We explained that because of Christ in our lives, there is much love we hope to offer. He nodded and smiled, yes sister, I think you will. 

continue reading over here...

Thank you friends, for your prayers. 

In Which I Am in India

A year ago I remember writing about the colors covering up the dirtiness of this bustling city in the heart of this nation that I love. I remember being captivated by them, in fact. I remember the beauty of the women and the promises of God to bring redemption to these people being so near to my heart, an undeniable really.

This time though, I am met with a darkness behind the colors and I feel it lingering tonight, feasting away at the light inside of me.

It’s obvious in the men that gawk and smirk my way, as if a quiet message of my belonging to them or something. Not as evident perhaps, but I see it in the women scampering along the street edges with their eyes down, quiet and out of the way. I recognize it in the little boys on either side of our taxi uttering pleas that transcend language with fingers outstretched.

Sometimes, it’s too much and sometimes I need to remember I cannot save the world—nor is it my job.

We took a walk just several blocks out from our hotel last night. It felt safe and these legs were begging to move, these eyes hungry to see. There are so many people on just this little street in this one small area of this one huge city in this growing nation. We’d made it several blocks before I saw them ahead.

Continued over here on our India Blog...

In Which the [midnight of] The Fatherless Generation Find Hope

 Long before any of us came to identify with this "fatherless generation," the prophet Malachi warned us  of the curse that would follow should fathers choose to reject their children.

Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and awesome day of the Lord comes. And he will turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers, lest I come and strike the land with a decree of utter destruction. [Mal. 4:5-6] 

And then, boom, the Old Testament closes. It does seem we should heed attention to the final words that walk us into centuries of silence. And it is so interesting that these are in fact the words God chooses to close with. I don't think I have ever paid quite enough attention to them in fact, until I began reading John Sowers' The Fatherless Generation. 

Perhaps, in this twentieth century, we are in fact experiencing the harsh reality of that prophecy, says John Sowers. Can it be that we are experiencing the kind of fallout Malachi warned against some twenty-five hundred years ago? The hearts of the fathers are not turned to their children nor are the hearts of the children turned to the fathers. Can it be we now bear the full weight of this fatherless curse?

In Luke we see Jesus identifies Malachi's "Elijah" as John the Baptist. John's mission was to "make straight" and prepare the way for Christ by calling people to turn to God and by turning the hearts of the fathers to their children. So in this sense, Malachi's prophecy was specifically fulfilled in time and history in the person of John. 

At the same time, there is the over-arching backdrop of "that great and dreadful day of the Lord" offering up some end-time significance. So even though the prophecy was fulfilled, suggests Sowers, it is still of current and ongoing relevance. There is a current, divine expectation for its fulfillment, which is the reconciliation between fathers and their children. According to the prophecy, this generational reconciliation prepares the way--as John the Baptist did--for the coming day of the Lord. 

That's crazy to think about huh? That as this blackest midnight gives way to the light of day and reconciliation among fathers and children regulates back to the norm [whatever that might mean], we know the way is being more deeply paved into eternity and Christ's return coming. After all, His reconciliation to us is only manifest through love for His own Son, who has made a way for us to relate rightly to Him as Father. I am in awe of this image of fathers reconciling to sons and daughters being indicative of His coming, if that is indeed the case, because it could be starting here and now with us, the midnight fatherless bound to see the light of Christ sooner or later.

What a testimony to His glory, that He'd chose to us, the worst of the worst, the nearly 50% growing up without dad--to actually usher in His coming through the reconciliation of us to our fathers. What a picture. What grace & mercy to be found at His throne. 

Commentary on Malachi's prophecy by Gordon Dalbey says:
Healing between fathers and children is not simply a psychological exercise to bring greater peace of mind; in fact, it's the essential pre-requisite to fulfilling God's purposes on earth. When fathers are reconciled with sons and daughters, God's saving power is released among us; conversely, when fathers and children remain at odds with one another, powers of destruction are beckoned.

We are witnessing the midnight of this generation, claims Sowers. And I'd have to agree. It's both a personal tragedy for so many of us and also a widespread epidemic which in some form often effects every single one of us--a fatherless generation determined to devour itself. Prophecy being fulfilled. 

As we see, this epidemic plays out in the rage and violence of our fatherless sons and the decay and promiscuity of our fatherless daughters. The heart of this generation is being ripped out and left bleeding on the ground. Seeds of shame and despair have been sown into the gaping wound. And we are reaping a bitter harvest. 

As I hear the stats rolling through my head of the suicides and prison populations and drug use and teen pregnancy and abuse cases that are all at least two to three times (often much MORE) higher for the boy or girl growing up without a dad, it just seems such a simple solution and yet the complexity of it all is overwhelming.

I hear my own story in these numbers and I remember being one. A nameless, worthless, predestined statistic on the clipboard in their hands. My behavior fell in line flawlessly with their calculations and projections for my life. I remember one doctor telling my mom to just admit me now, as it would save her much hassle later, as my life was irreversible and the damage done. Now, simply a case to be maintained by the state, a clipboard that scribed my identity (and lack there of).

I don't have it all figured out. I see the need to raise up men that know how to be men and I am thankful to see glimpses of it around me. Then there is the rescue of the ones, like myself, upon whom the fathers have already turned away. That's one reason I am so thankful for organizations such as The Mentoring Project and the body of Christ itself, just operating in it's fulness to pull in and care for those otherwise cast out, an experience that has largely been the catalyst to Christ's redemption in my own life. I also see the need for the curse to be broken in the next generation, the ones to be raised up by the midnight of the fatherless. A bit of a scary thought, huh?

I don't fully know where the wrestling ends and the action spurs to transformation but I do know that Christ is coming and so is reconciliation, eternally for each of us who have accepted Christ as Lord.

There is of course, no promise each of us will see it in our lifetimes, but what about our babies...and theirs? That's us ya'll. That's the darkness we're in now leading into the light of day for His glory. And I don't know about you, but that is the hope in which I must be anchored. 

In the same way we also, when we were children, were enslaved to the elementary principles of the world. But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son,born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!”⁷ So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God.

And a few stats:
63% of youth suicides are from fatherless homes (US Dept. Of Health/Census) – 5 times the average.
90% of all homeless and runaway children are from fatherless homes – 32 times the average.
85% of all children who show behavior disorders come from fatherless homes – 20 times the average.  (Center for Disease Control)
80% of rapists with anger problems come from fatherless homes –14 times the average.  (Justice & Behavior, Vol 14, p. 403-26)
71% of all high school dropouts come from fatherless homes – 9 times the average.  (National Principals Association Report)
85% of all youths in prison come from fatherless homes – 20 times the average.  (Fulton Co. Georgia, Texas Dept. of Correction)
71% of pregnant teenagers lack a father. [U.S. Department of Health and Human Services press release, Friday, March 26, 1999]