His Promises Fulfilled [& celebrating twenty-four years]

Twenty-four years have brought me here, to this chilly, damp morning deep into the fall where the leaves swirl around and the scent of a distant fire floods the air around me. These years have disappeared and brought me to this odd collision of feeling quite young and ever-aged all in one breath. I certainly don't know a whole lot about life this early in, but I do know the One who gives it. And that has changed everything.

After spending nearly the first two decades of life trying ever-desperately to end it all, there was darkness that didn't cease like the night that carries on. My tongue plotted destruction and I loved evil more then good. And somewhere in the middle of that all-consuming season of hopelessness, He gave me a promise. And each year I continue to walk closer to Him, I become all the more indebted to and humbled by that promise. This year, I have seen it more boldly fulfilled then ever before--and that is something to rejoice in! 

When I think back over this year, I see a faithful God who has loved me from before the foundation of the world, a God who ever-graciously chose to knit me in my mamma's womb and breathe out every single second of these twenty-four years before one of them came to be. The promise starts right there, you know? 

Six years ago, God gave me this passage and told me that if I would abide as a branch which is completely dependent upon the vine, that He would prune away for a season of three years (as is necessary for most fruit-bearing trees). God assured me this process would be painful and hard at times, even to the point where I would see very little fruit and then none for a time. But after three years, He promised me there would be abundant fruit for His namesake, lasting fruit. He etched this promise upon my heart in this season, so that as those years fleshed out, even amidst the pain, headache, doubt and fear--I knew that I knew that I knew He who promised was indeed faithful! I claimed this truth, this promise, even when I knew I may never get to see it. 

At the time it made no sense, but after living life and seeing a few years of that fruit He promised long-ago actually happening in my life, I know He was teaching me the faith Paul took note of in Abraham's life when he says, "as it is written, “I have made you the father of many nations”—in the presence of the God in whom he believed, who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist…No unbelief made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised."

Even when God had quite literally brought me from death to life, He didn't stop there. He ever graciously promised me something that was yet to be--fruit in my life, He gave me something to cling to as He led me. He put me in situations where I could choose--to believe or not. To trust or not. And so many times, I choose wrong. I lived enslaved to fear and pride and sin, even in knowing this promise. And yet, He allowed all of it, that one day I would be fully convinced God could do what He'd promised. It may have taken me twenty-some-odd years to really know it, but ya'll, HE IS ABLE! There are days even in this season of life I doubt and forget--we all do right? So we anchor down and claim what He has already done. What a gift! 

Paul goes on to talk about how this faith wasn't even about Abraham--it was about YOU AND ME, those to come! This faith will be counted also to US who believe in Him who raised Christ from the dead, who delivered us from our trespasses and was raised for our justification! (Rom. 4:22-25) That is good news! I am so thankful for God's grace in my life these past six years and the faith He continues to grow as it yields to His perfect plan. 

It doesn't stop with us, right? John talks about how we must choose to abide in His love, as He has loved us. That we must love one another as Christ has loved us. I'm learning lately that is only possible if I really do abide in His love. This year has been a full one--full of challenges, doubt, loneliness, confusion, grace, dreams, joy, redemption, and great, great love. 

This year I finally got that degree and these days I nanny for four precious kiddos that challenge me to love more outside myself then I ever could have imagined possible. International students continue to bring so much joy into my life as we walk together, learn the gospel, and celebrate life often. My church body has become more like family through this season and I have fallen in love with the church this year. My heart delights in doing life--the good, bad, ugly, hard, scary, joyous--with them. We are searching for a new head pastor to Shepard our body and they asked me to be apart of that team. My group of friends have very much become the best and life with them spurs me onward. God gives so much more grace.

My adopted family welcomed a miracle baby this year and my love & gratitude towards them could not be any fuller. Three years in, and they continue to give so much for me and guide me along the way. My brother and sis-in-love had brought new life into this world as well--and what a gift he is! My dad is bound up in his chains of alcohol yet again, and yet Christ has never more perfectly fulfilled His role as Abba Father in my life up to this point. God called me the mission field this year and that has meant laying down nursing school and all of the plans I had in mind for the time being. I have had to trust Jesus all the more--to believe that He who promised is faithful, even in this great call He has given that also calls me away from a lot of my own plans that used to make so much sense. 

And yes, there is this man. His pursuit of me has been such a tangible picture of how deeply Christ loves me and cares for me. It is still a bit surreal. Our story has been a crazy whirlwind that I never could have dreamt up! So often we find ourselves sitting and looking at each other without anything to say but--Jesus is ever faithful, (even in all of our shortcomings and failures) and all we can do is continue to trust Him to lead us. Joshua makes me desire Christ more and I see so much redemption in these days we share. As His grace allows, we cannot wait to see where He leads! He is the greatest gift from a gracious Father. 

Six years later, I have clung more tightly in certain seasons and glimpsed from afar in others, but that promise has come to fruition in ways I never could have dreamt. His promise to me way back then is a sweet picture of this twenty-fourth year for me--even as Abraham never saw the promise fulfilled, His faith was counted to him as righteousness! All the more, how encouraging it is that we in fact get to see Him fulfill some promises to us, especially that of Christ--what grace! 

If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city. (Hebrews 11:15-16)

I'm so thankful He didn't allow me to go back. That even in the endless number of times I have and continue to choose my flesh, my desires, my way over Christ's, that as we abide in Him, His spirit leads me to the better country, the heavenly one. 

Going into this next year of life, God has given me a new promise. He hasn't spoken so boldly since I heard him proclaim this one six years ago. It comes out of Psalm 52. The first seven verses summarize the mess of my life apart from Christ. Then these last two, they are a promise for all of us who beleive and my personal prayer for the years to come. 

8  But I am like a green olive tree

in the house of God.

I trust in the steadfast love of God

forever and ever.

9  I will thank you forever,

because you have done it.

I will wait for your name, for it is good,

in the presence of the godly.

I trust and praise and thank because He has done it. He is doing it. May we wait with full assurance that He who promised is faithful, all the way until we see that better country, that heavenly one! For it is good, in the presence of the godly. 

As the leaves are blown an tossed by the wind outside in that chilly air, I see this fledgling of a green olive tree firmly planted in the green pot on the windowsill. I got it about a month ago when God spoke of this tree. A pillar of sorts, a reminder of His faithfulness up until this point as well as a reminder of the future and hope to which He has given and called us, ever graciously! It stands firm, unmoved by the wind. May this be us as well, I pray, unshakable and immovable, as we abide in the one true Vine. 

In Which We Grieve & See Glory: The Humble Legacy of Miss Patsy

They married when they were babies, fifty-two years back into the days when a marriage licensee often preceded a high school diploma. Miss Patsy delivered her first baby girl before she even reached the adult age of eighteen. A year later, another little girl followed. Raising babies in the remoteness of her husband's ranching years must have been quite a challenging season. One which she approached with abundant patience and joy. All who knew her best, continue to speak of her gentleness and grace.

Such grace she wore, that when her husband received his call to foreign lands, it required she [as his wife] have had two years of college. She had none to speak of, so upon finding this out, he realized the deadline for enrollment in the local college was that exact day. Without having even yet mentioned to her of his call to go or her need for an education, he marched straight to that school to enroll her. When he came home that evening was when he clued her in--that he was called to go overseas as a missionary which also required she start college--today! I can picture this scene in their living room playing out. I see a smirk take over her face as though such a proposition was exactly what she expected him to come home with that day. No surprises, no fear, no hesitation--just great joy in this new way she could continue to serve alongside her beloved and see Christ magnified amidst each new flip of those textbook pages.

Upon Patsy's graduation two years later, this family of four moved to West Africa where they began their missionary journey. The region where they began serving was actually deficient of men with the ability to teach in the church. So Patsy often filled in and shared the Truth of His word with the local body until a suitable man could be trained. She taught sewing for a season but she came alive in the moments she got to story-tell her way through the gospels around the villages. He had created in her such a desire to share and out of her obedience to this call, hundreds are rejoicing with her upon her arrival in heaven this week, knowing their journey to such a paradise was sparked by Christ in Miss Patsy. What a challenging call that should stir in our hearts as we continue to walk as sojourns here, looking to the author and perfecter to use us. 

 The years on that soil also bear the weight of the greatest pain a momma's heart could possibly endure on this earth. The loss of Ray and Patsy's daughter Laura at the premature age of fifteen became the sort of trial James claims will teach steadfastness. This beautiful girl was buried on African soil, and surely a part of Miss Patsy was too. The younger of her daughters continues to raise a family and serve as a missionary on the southern end of this same soil. What a legacy, a testimony of faithfulness.

A journey that would lead to thousands of men and women coming to Christ, hundreds of churches planted which continue to thrive today, and thirty five years spent on two regions of African soil was probably not what Miss Patsy visualized the day God called her to Himself. In fact, such a legacy was probably not something she often thought about. As it was, there was continual needs to be met as wife, mom, friend, speaker of the gospel, daughter and missionary. She just lived life day by day, saturated by He who is more then able, abounding in love. And this just happens to be the lot He called her to in her role of fulfilling this grand story of redemption.

It may seem your role or mine could never "measure up" like Miss Patsy's. These early years of knowing Him have often left me defeated by all the have nots and never coulds and should bes but am nots that hail from comparison. Perhaps this is what I most wish to learn from Miss Patsy--simple faithfulness to what has been given and required, amidst great joy and great sorrow. Her trust never shifted. Just faithfulness to the Christ that lived in her, so that others might know of Him as well.

And isn't that where we all wrestle at some point?

Us twenty somethings, forty somethings, single, in the thick of raising babies or just recently graduated from college asking ourselves...now what? It's like we thrive off of comparison and fulfillment of the latest Christian thing. I don't see that in scripture. Instead, I see this: But now the righteousness of God has been manifested apart from the law, although the Law and the Prophets bear witness to it— the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe. For there is no distinction:  for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith. This was to show God's righteousness, because in his divine forbearance he had passed over former sins.  It was to show his righteousness at the present time, so that he might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus. [Romans 3:21-26]

I have never left a funeral so encouraged as I did on Saturday. What a testimony to a simple life of faithfulness lived out by a woman who so desperately recognized the need for the gospel in the ends of the earth--and so faithfully offered it up. She offered up herself too. Her life, her family, her comfort and her heart.

We walked out of that church where I have spent hundreds of Sundays worshipping amidst my family and it was like a glimpse into the whole story, the bigger picture. A month ago I stood beside this pillar of faith as we sang praises to God best we could. And now, her body is empty and her whole self fully bowed at His feet forever and ever and ever singing 'Holy, Holy, Holy...' all of her fully restored to Him and whole.

And here am I, still standing bearing a weight of neediness and brokenness amidst a temple that desires everything of this place way too much in light of His glory and yet HE LOVES ME. He loves us, ya'll.

I mess up a lot and yet does my faithlessness nullify the faithfulness of God? By no means! Nor have I spent thirty-five years on the ends of the earth or buried a child. I haven't sacrificed my family or too much of my own comfort. But His love remains all the same and nothing can ever separate me from such a love. In fact, whether in suffering or rejoicing, hope does not put us to shame because His love has been poured out into our hearts through the holy spirit, for all who are in Christ.

We don't have a thing to earn ya'll, no check marks ever sufficient to bear the weight of that cross. But that cross better compel us to speak of the only one who saves and by whose love and grace we have been given life--wherever He has us, because the wage of sin is death but the free gift of God is eternal life [Romans 6:23] and two-thousand years later there are still over two billon people who have not even heard of Jesus Christ. We must not be silent or grow complacent.

God wants the world to know Christ, believe in Christ, but also obey Christ. We must "look carefully then how we walk." [Ephesians 5:15] We must "teach them to observe all that I have commanded you." [Matthew 28:19-20] Not that we may earn some righteousness of our own, but that each person created in His image before the foundation of the world may worship Him with the glory that belongs to Him in the first place. I desire desperately to see unreached peoples know Him. But He is so worthy of all of our praises, glory and honor--I desire to see His name magnified among all--simply because of His greatness.

For several years, Miss Patsy has been steadily overcome by dementia as it's effects on her whole person have left her with many needs. Her beloved husband has cared for her day after day in ways that would make you weep with gratitude and awe that such love can still bind. Even amdist the loss of her ability to speak words, the two have continued to share the gospel side by side with the men and women around their assisted living facility these past few years back on Arkansas dirt. Their story has been the quiet, steadfast, persevering type and they wouldn't have it any other way.

These past two years have brought Mr. Ray and Miss Patsy near to my heart as I have been so blessed to get to spend time around them and do life alongside them in various capacities. It was a humbling introduction when I received a graduation card from them noted to their "granddaughter," a claiming of sorts that filled me with honor and gratitude. To look to them as adopted and spiritual grandparents has been and continues to be the greatest of gifts to me, a special legacy I am so humbled to partake in as long as His grace allows! 

These final weeks had left Miss Patsy fighting violently to leave a body that was only a foretaste, a glimpse of something far greater in the first place. Make no mistake, Miss Patsy understood that. She longed for a better country, a heavenly one. And celebrating her life makes me long for all of that too.

May our lives today reflect that better country, the heavenly one. [Hebrews 11]

Oh Lord, hasten the day we get to worship you in glory, fully and forevermore restored. But in the meantime, may you strengthen us to fight to walk in your presence and serve at your feet, cherishing the gospel with boldness as we simply proclaim to each corner and people you place us among. And at the end of it all, if the celebration of our reunion with you were to mirror even a glimpse of Miss Patsy's one day, well that would be a victory of which you receive all glory and honor and praise.

And may we pray with great humility, "Here I am Lord, send me. That to the ends of the earth, all may know, 'Your God reigns!'" 

For the Fatherless Generation: On Receiving a Gift [From My Dad]

My dad is drinking again. Next month would have landed him two years sober. More noteably for me, that two year mark was the line in the sand which declared his distance from the bottle significant enough for me to once again pursue relationship with him. Go figure, so near to that time he gets snatched away by it all yet again. 

Yet Jesus is ever sweeter. 

My dad may never be able to be a huge part of my life. And the pain surrounding that neglect and abuse may never fully cease as long as my feet walk this soil. But one day, glory will seep into even the deepest crevasses and every tear will cease forevermore. That doesn't lift the weight, but it sure does offer hope in an otherwise sucky situation to which so many of this fatherless generation can empathize.

We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. [Hebrews 6:19]

He anchors me with that hope. And this week, His grace extended beyond an eternal promise. He gave me a few earthly anchors too.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, my dad brought four of us into this world. 

And those three who came before me, well they gave me Jesus.

Fast forward a number of years and here we are--in these beautiful black hills of South Dakota tucked away in a couple of cabins in the side of a lush hill where the air is crisp and the mountains declare His glory in a way words never could. For the most part, we desire Jesus and love each other in light of that. In spite of the unspoken and piercing hurts we each relive as we recall childhood memories and adult disapointments, just look at us here right now.

Pure glory of Christ alone.

I want to freeze time and stuff these moments into a jar, only to be popped open in the dark and desolate seasons of life where those daunting daddy-daughter moments are raw.

What gift do you see today, sister? You may search, but He is the giver of all things glorious.

                                                                       -------------

As I sit and watch my oldest brother flopping around with my nephew on the tube in the wake of the boat, the crowd belly laughing at their shenanigans, I just want to soak in it. I used to be so angry with my dad for robbing me of such moments. But today, I just saw a God who redeems with every goofy trick they tried. The anger has faded and my eyes see differently now.

Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice insofar as you share Christ's sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when His glory is revealed. [1 Peter 4:12-13]

My brother isn't perfect, but he is a dad to my niece and nephew. He is there and active and loves them unashamedly. I know they would never doubt it either. Our dad has fallen short but the Lord never has. Watching my big brother points me straight towards the face of our redeemer, the one who is enough in our lacking. I've seen both of my brothers and sister flesh out lives that testify to that.

                                       ------------

One brother couldn't be here this week as he is home with my nephews and sis-in-law, one being an itty bitty baby nephew not quite ready for a family trek across the county. But I got to soak up a few snuggles and moments before coming here, which also left me in awe of a faithful Jesus. The older of my nephews was attached to his daddy like glue the whole time. He adores him. We bribed him to take a picture with his Aunt Courtney and he was smiling super big--only because after the picture was over, he knew he got to go to the park with dad. Do ya'll see this redemption? My heart overflows with gratitude. These brothers, just trudging through the thick of it and raising their boys to love Jesus and others. It matters more then anything else, I think.

                                        --------------

Last night beneath the beating rays of sun, quietly out on the porch my brother-in-law began to divulge the details surrounding my dad's decent into the bottle over the past several months. He shared a lot that made my emotions swing. But one specific story has stuck with me, and probably always will.  My brothers had sensed dad was drinking for some time. After several unsuccessful conversations, my bro-in-law decided to show up at dad's place unannounced. He had my nephew with him.

They went in to say hi and my bro-in-law found the fresh bottle of VO tucked away nicely in the trash within minutes. He confronted dad about the direction he was headed. He talked about the straight & narrow road verses the wide one--two roads to choose from but each with devastatingly contrasting destinations. He just told dad the choice was his--but it was indeed a choice, and one he had to man up and make for himself.

Through this conversation, my nephew is there and listening to his dad and grandfather go back and forth. My brother-in-law says he never wants to hide the truth behind panes of pretty color when the rust and moth are destroying from within, so to speak. He wants his son to know the weight of the choices we make and the blessings and curses which pour from each. And he didn't say it, but he wants my nephew to choose life, to know Christ and make him known--to live a different life then the generations prior, including that of his grandfather.

He doesn't have to say it though--he just lives and teaches his son to live like that too.

I love this. Not that every one of those conversations should include little ears, but what a blessing my nephew gets to know the truth (even the hard truth) and by God's grace live freer then his grandpa.

Alcohol has never once looked good on my dad. And while I need not be enslaved by fear of any extreme, I never wanted to see my life mimic after his. I pray by God's grace, these conversations give my nephew the same vision. I pray they spur him towards Jesus and righteousness, not by his strength but the spirit.
                                                                      ---------------

Out of my dad's wake has come four kiddos and seven grandchildren. No matter what decisions he makes, these are lives that will multiply and go forth, and by God's grace, they will be all for His glory.

If we fail to testify to that sort of redemption, we so easily victimize ourselves and forget who this is really about.

JESUS is worthy. I'm going to fight my flesh differently and fall more quickly to certain desires and that will probably always have a lot to do with my dad. But Jesus is worthy. He came before me and suffered greatly in the flesh, so I can arm myself with a similar way of thinking in the midst of trials, so as to live in this flesh a slave no longer to my own passions but for the will of God.

We need only to entrust our souls to a faithful creator. [1 Peter 3]

I'm nothing awesome and I know my siblings would say likewise. But Jesus is. And in our weaknesses He is ever faithful. My dad gave me these brothers and sister and in-laws who have filled in in ways which our dad never could. What a gift.

And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace who has called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. To HIM be the dominion forever and ever. Amen. [1 Peter 5:10-11]

It's coming friends. He is coming. So let us all anchor down into the hope by which He's called us His. It's far too easy to forget, so let's speak often of a God who redeems that others might know the sweetness of Him too. By God's grace, even my dad.

So lift your eyes from the hurt and heartache sister. Fixate them on the One who redeems. Look for it--there may be no wake of generations to come apart from you--but that's okay, start there. He REDEEMS, yes even you!

Hear the Savior say, thy faith indeed is small, child of mercy watch and pray, find in my thine all in all!

Blessed by these brothers who stand in the gap and pave the way. 

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 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]

In Which We Celebrate Father's Day

I spent most of this day before the day in the midst of my friends who come to this little town from oceans far away. They study and we do life together--we talk a lot and eat even more. Several times throughout the day's festivities the topic of Father's Day has popped up. I've kept my responses simple and when asked what I will do to celebrate my dad, I found myself seeking joy from a Father that doesn't change because let's just face it--mine is always up and down.

As I graciously broke the silence that often follows my response of the fact that I actually don't have relationship with my dad at this point, I pushed these girls from Egypt, Vietnam, and Indonesia to tell me more about their traditions. Well, we actually only celebrate Mother's day in my country, the first replied. Yeah, me too. We also do not celebrate the day of the father, the second and third chimed in.

The obvious follow up--well why do they only celebrate the mother in all three of these countries?

Their answers were a bit incomplete and it's left me thinking. I guess knowing this day was coming, hasn't left me exactly looking forward to it this week. But every single time the topic comes up, God is binding up these wounds and all I can see is grace written across my wall.

A year ago, I remember weeping through this day and retreating to the privacy of four walls that separated me from any possible joy that could touch me for these twenty-four hours. Celebrating would be wrong--I should feel really bad today, really sad, I remember thinking. At the time, I was in the home of a man who I was learning to trust as father figure and the wounds were oozing steady at that point. I remember feeling like I could never see past the pain, like it would never let up. And you know what, feeling the pain made me feel like he was experiencing it too. Like my somber attitude would make him hurt, make him pay. And that was only gift I wanted to offer up to him that day. Let's just make that clear.

I remember hearing the flip of the calendar would heal and counting it rubbish. But a year later, I know so intimately the perfect Father and His love is redeeming this charred, broken one.

A powerful conversation happened this week, with the dad of the kiddos I nanny for. He spoke of his life, the journey to here and now, and I listened to him share of a road I have watched my own dad wonder on down so many years of his life. The difference between the two men so small on the surface, after all what is two years without a drink when it comes to choosing your family? I only wish my dad could have also "gotten it" when I was an infant as he has done for his boys. I told him what a blessing it is that he could be fully present and engaged with his boys, the way his decision to choose them over the bottle will set them apart from most of their peers. All day through I found myself reminding the boys every chance I got how awesome their daddy is and they soaked it up with such joy.

And now as I wrestle with this concept of only celebrating the mother's in the world abroad, my flesh longs to move to a nation where this is the norm. To not have to have a day dedicated to remembering all that my dad is not and all that I wish he were. It's like Father's Day offers the pull to remember the pain he has caused as I witness the scars rise up on my arms in the process. But today, I realize just how off I am in that mindset, unbiblical even.

In fact, I think we don't honor the father's in our culture enough--the ones that are seeing the call. They are broken and they mess up, they are humbled by their role and in continual pursuit of fulfilling it. They are the warriors that find strength in the working of Christ in their weaknesses. These are the men that gown me in redemption and crown me in grace. They are the ones through whom I know Christ is all sufficient in my life, not by their words as much as the sharpening they offer and the trust they guard well.

On this Father's day I worship with arms raised high amidst the body, because keeping them down seems to rob Him of the glory He is due and work on the cross that is setting me free to more joyfully surrender my heart to Him as abba Father. Lord, I surrender all. God has opened up my house and table to two dads [and families] that have truly fulfilled the call before their wives and kiddos, pulling me up under their arm as well. What a blessing it was to honor them today, as small and insufficient as it might have been. I see redemption this year, in the body of Christ before Jesus is even back. It is both humbling and joy-filled. A gift that not many girls in my shoes have been offered. And today, it is changing the way I interact with this day of celebration. I would do this every week, if I could, because these men in our lives, they need to be reminded. They need to be encouraged and challenged by the call.

We need not over-simplify the day with golf balls and hats [or in my case Duck Dynasty paraphernalia and ping-pong awesomeness], as these temporal items could never inscribe the greatness of a dad fulfilling His God-given role to lead his home, honor his wife, discipline his children, maintain his position as provider and protector. The way both of these men have allowed me to partake in various degrees and portions of that is an experience that words fall short of expressing. My heart is softer this year, my wounds are sealing and these men, well, God's used them in countless details of the process.

As it stands, I probably won't call dad today. It's passing by the year mark of no words spoken and I just see Jesus more. There is guilt and sadness that lingers into these later hours, and yet I don't really want to give this day to him, because when I look at the legacy implanted as of late, it's not his to celebrate. And for now, that is where God has me and by His gracious leading, I have to be okay with that. There is still a significance to the day, one that I feel I have fulfilled in honoring the men that have guarded me and graciously walked with me, both physically here in Fayetteville and lovingly, prayerfully back in St. Louis.

Friends, I know many of you can relate on various levels to the short-comings and absences of your own dads in your life. I know the pain and guilt can seen overbearing in seasons, especially on this one day each year as your every glance is met with laughter and rejoicing of those around you. And maybe, it just makes you more angry and grievous. We are a generation that wants to be found. There is a grieving anytime there is a loss. And for so many of us, Father's Day becomes symbolic of the loss. So our natural response, of course, is withdrawing into grief and shame even.

Fatherlessness creates an appetite in the soul that demands fulfillment. -Josh Sowers [The Fatherless Generation]

But today, I say the Fatherless Generation reclaims this day, so to speak. Because through the loss we are found. And in the finding there is an appetite fulfilled in Christ's perfection as Father. And my level of belonging to the man that gave birth to me is just not long-lasting enough to anchor my soul anyhow. And ya'll, I need to be anchored!

There is one hope in all of this, one promise that so far exceeds our belonging to the fatherless generation--and that is the royal priesthood, the adoption as sons and daughters, the title of co-hair, the all together beautiful, the bride, the one in whom He is well pleased. The cross should point us heavenbound, as the Perfect Father must remain set apart in our earthly yearnings and belonging unmet.  He is enough.

So let's celebrate that, on this Father's Day. 

In Which I am Not a Victim of My Dad's Sin

Over the weekend I saw the latest Christian movie "Home Run" which details the story of an infamous baseball player with an alcohol addiction--and the mess that trails him as he clashes with grace.

At one point in the movie he has screwed up for the upteenth time, but this time it effects his very own son. He is sitting in a barn after drinking too much and he calls his Celebrate Recovery leader. He looks up at him with a face painted in shame and breath tinged with liquor, "I have an alcohol problem and I just don't know how to stop."

"I know" his friend replies, nodding his head, "I know."

Dad, I needed space this year and it was right and it has freed me up. You needed to sober up too, because let's face it, I can't make you stop--and I accept it now. I needed the space to learn it, and to wrestle some too. But I'm sorry for the way I have set up these unspoken requirements for you, completely conditional and biased in my offerings.

As though you should be punished. Held to a higher standard because you've messed up too much. Because your mess-ups have seeped over into my life too. 

If he finishes a year in that program, then you can call him. I remember thinking. He has to make it at least a year. Don't waste your time on him--or your thoughts. He won't make it a year. Once an alcoholic, always one. How many times have we been here, anyhow? He is never going to change.

Dad, I don't know why I have so selfishly decided you weren't worthy of my time until you earned it. 

Perhaps it happens as I remember what you stole from me, how you crushed my innocence and my dream, and I just hate you. I want to make you suffer. But the truth is, it's me drinking the suffrage overflowing with a heaping spoon of unforgiveness on top, whether you're lifting the glass or not.

As the pedestal bearing the gravity of my daddy issues continues to sink, I am finding myself so acutely aware of my own sinful heart, the sin that so far exceeds the label of abused. 

Your know, I have been hiding under the victim shell and pelting rocks your way every painful thought that crosses my mind. And a few years later, well those rocks have piled up into a flat out wall. Even when it is my sin. Like the night I gave myself permission to throw up a lot of food that I ate because you chose to leave rehab prematurely and it was my heart you left out in the dust of once again. Thinking of yourself before your family, again. Nothing has changed, I remember thinking. Or the way a few nightmares landed me in a heap on the floor when they ended with you and your sin against me. The way I spent the next week depressed and alone. Rightfully so, I rationalized. I am the victim here. 

That was my choice and it's time I own up. I have been labeled my whole life and now I do it to myself? Maybe it feels safe. Maybe it makes everyone else feel for me, justifies the darkness somehow. Maybe it puts makeup on the sin as it suddenly dwells in disguise. 

So I recall the countless times I have said those exact same words--I just don't know how to stop. 

I didn't know how to stop throwing up or cutting my skin. How to stop wanting to be loved. I had no idea what to do with the thoughts that reminded me of the used rag I measured up to be after I lost something most pure. I didn't know how to press through the darkness. Heck, I couldn't even stand up more or less run with perseverance.

Two bombs went off and it could have been anywhere, anyone. Sin is becoming a church word that no one really has time to think about, even down here in the bible belt, because it makes us feel uncomfortable. Best not step on any toes yells the postmods. I go to bed some days expecting to see Jesus before the alarm. And I weep because I'm not ready, yet my worship extends such bold words that echo come Lord Jesus, come. I know I mean it, it's just my heart is so ugly and dark.

Dad, you screwed up. But just because you hurt me does not validate my sin, it doesn't justify it. Nor does it justify the deep down conditional love I've mustered up towards you in my heart.

I am tired of living enslaved to this once-abused-girl mindset. 

No poor creature stands in need of divine grace more then I do, and yet none abuses it more then I have done, and still do. And it is all beyond me. 

So dad, I guess we have more in common then I'd like to admit. At the end of the day, sin is sin. There is no ranking. This truth defines us both, you know? It is setting us free when we choose.

Lately, my lips are ready to confess, but my heart is slow to feel, and my ways recluctant to amend. I bring my soul to thee; break it, bend it, wound it, mould it. Unmask to me sin's deformity, that I may hate it, abhor it, flee from it.

I hate the way I hate you. The way I hold the grudge. The way I still want you to love me the most.

I have been reluctant to amend, slow to acknowledge the breaking and bending. The mask always feels better, doesn't it? It's coming off now and hating it isn't enough. Dad, I just don't know how to stop blaming you for my dark days, how to stop seeing you only in light of your sin. 

I longed for a love you just don't have to give. God used an incredible fatherly figure to step in and guard me and guide me into more intimate understanding of His own love for me. As I see even that fatherly figure let me down, I realize all the more God is the only perfect one, the only one who offers me something unconditional and everlasting and redeems through it. The one who give us a new name.

Ya'll, I am not a victim or a bulimic. Dad, you're not an abuser or an addict. We are children of God. And He commands us to forgive, just as He has done for us. There is nothing radical about it.

Lord, help me to unmask my sin and flee to obedience that your glory might be magnified in my brokenness. 

Dad, I don't need anything from you. But, I still want it.

And I believe God is opening the door after just over a year of Him locking it shut. For now, I will write you a letter.

I look forward to seeing His glory on display in whatever way He would [or wouldn't] allow us to pursue relationship in the months & years to come. 

On Why I Want{ed} to See My Dad & Belonging

I spent the morning on the treadmill chasing my own feet for several miles and talking to myself {not out-loud of course because that would just be weird}.

This weekend I guarded and I tried so hard to keep it quiet. Life's pace has been as fast as you can these days and reprieve called. I've needed this time just to remember how to breathe slow and stay in bed after the sun comes up. It is good for all of us I think, to just bask in the natural rays as they glare through the crack in the curtains. It warms something in me that the heater just can't reach beneath this winter chill.

A Saturday night spent alone had been a dream in the chaos but sitting there in the quiet and hearing the girls beneath me laughing made it all seem lonely. My grandma had made me this little album and snuck it into my bag when I was home visiting. I've glanced through it with friends a couple times since coming back, but as I cleaned my room to the sound of my own voice I stumbled upon it again.

Grandma always tells me of the day I was born, how the nurses said I was the most beautiful baby they'd ever seen. I'm sure they say that a lot {like everyday}—but no use bursting her bubble. Ya'll, I really was a cute kid {see below}. And as the album nears the end a few more faces come into play—mom and dad. It's funny to see them together, her resting in his arms with flowers and mushy eyes that fool even me.

I gaze at him holding me close and playing with me by the pool and I really have to work to convince myself that is me in those images because none of those memories exist no matter how hard I think back. And I wish they did. I long for just some sense of claiming him as mine and that being something to rejoice in. I remember wishing I could wear him on my arm to the daddy-daughter dances, showing all my friends how great. And now, now I wish I had tears to cry when he walks me down the aisle into the the arms of my husband, I wish I had a loss to grieve in leaving my father's house and yet reality makes it not so. A grandfather to love and spoil my babies lost yet here.

He is still in rehab an hour north and his year there is more then half way up now. I don't know what is keeping him there this time as opposed to the hundreds before, but I don't ask much anymore I just give thanks.

I decided a month ago I was ready to see him and then I changed my mind. Daily for a week.

The truth is, I feel ready to see him. Some days, I actually want to see him. Like something in the actual meeting of my eyes with his will cause the divine. Okay, I don't even know what that means. But I know the root is I want his love even still. I want to claim him as my dad and beneath his protection I want to belong.

Sometimes I can feel my creation imperfect by sin groaning to be whole again. 

My brother took dad his car a couple weeks ago. It sounds like he is the big shot on campus now, the popular jock, homecoming king and all. His big Saturday night out, driving his friends to Blockbuster and ice cream has left him bragging on the phone to my brother and that is hilarious! He's re-building a life long devastated and it is slow but he is enduring. He has been there longer then most, beat the odds against him. He's watched his friends wimp out of their commitment, watched them go back to the chains. I hope he is learning perspective. I sure am. He is still sober and the newbies look up to him. He belongs. 

Maybe that's why he stays...

I flip through the album and I see my parents and I remember the first "whos" to whom I belonged and I want to rest there safe between them again. To feel whole again, even if I'm not. I want them to belong to each other too, I want to stop the searching and the empty answers that have left them hurting over the years. Life with a dozen made me belong as the twelfth and in life without them so close I've wavered some too, just trying to remember my place set apart.

I've made some friends at church and they are in the same life-stage as me—the waiting for the next grown-up step and secretly longing for a glimpse of the whole plan. When we study the Word together I see the church differently and I need it so much more. I love the body right through her sin and I don't think I ever have until now.

She {the church} teaches me about belonging and I feel whole inside of her and I think it's just a foretaste of what's coming, a sweet gift to hold near in the waiting. 

As I finish my three miles and settle into a steady strut, I decide I just really want to fit into the puzzle somewhere and I have no idea where I go. Waiting is painful sometimes and eventually tiresome, kind of like running. Oh, and seeing my dad can wait.

I gaze off ahead looking across the same scene as every other morning. I don't know if I was blind before or they did a quick paint job in the middle of the night, but I never noticed these big yellow letters plastered on the wall ahead and they jump off and read...

I think in time He will bring me into some tangible, physical belonging too. Maybe it's within His Bride here or on the other side of the world. Maybe it's in my dream of wifehood and discple-maker of my babies. Maybe it's in restoration with my dad one day and maybe he will always be a memory I just can't find. Pray with me, won't you?

We all wrestle here, right? All of us desperate to fit somewhere, to be known and loved?

In the groaning and the wanting to belong in his arms, I have to remember I really groan for more then he can satisfy—and surely those arms can't hold all twenty-two years of me for long. 

Even if my dad failed to protect and the generations before have searched for it and come up empty and chained, even if I never 'belong' to another earthly man for the rest of my life, and I have no clue where my puzzle piece meshes in, I do indeed belong to one—and that belonging triumphs all.

"But you belong to God, my dear children. You have already won a victory over those people, because the Spirit who lives in you is greater than the spirit who lives in the world." -1 John4:4

Seeing Fatherlessness From the Other Side

We lingered in the kitchen a bit longer then the rest. Just the three of us, me and these dads.

We had just stood up from praying, interceding on behalf of my friend who lost a baby and his brother in need of a job. We are the body, even here in this office. Even here in the middle of the business world, with all of it's bidding and deception and hunger and gain. I see the Bride getting ready—oh glorious day. And it's not all ugly, not like I thought.

He was filling up his coffee mug and he turned to us just a little more angled and his face took on a gaze, ever distant.

Pray for my kids please. I haven't seen them in two years. And I really miss them, but they don't want anything to do with me. 

The depth of his eyes shed tears untouched and pain that has yet to simmer away.

My heart does a little jump and I wonder about him now, the man behind the glasses. I didn't know the burden he bore. I didn't know about these kids of whom he spoke. I didn't know. I missed the pain and the anger and the regret. I lost sight of the bride inside the business.

I am still and listening and the other dad, he pipes in. Yeah, mine moved out a few months ago and I am just so frustrated with her. I want her to come back and yet I'm mad too. 

She moved out? I didn't even know until now, months into the turmoil. I am quiet. 

At least 75% of the girls in my life stand beside me in this fatherless generation—and there is hope in the Abba Father, the one who adopts even the fatherless, even the fathers.

But it is not often I give much thought to the dads that make us girls without earthly fathers. Until now. And maybe we change the focus from cleaning up the devastation of the fatherless one to preventing it in the first place?

Maybe, the fight for the fatherless generation starts with the father?

What do we do to engage the men of this generation in the battle? How do we enable them to recognize the battle that rages and the weight of their role in it?

We can’t change the past—but the future, well the future is me and you, it’s us. It’s our brothers and our nephews. It’s our husbands and fellow youth guys. It’s our grandsons and our sons. It's our co-workers. We are the bride and He is coming for us, soon I hope. This is where it changes. It matters.

Today my big sis found out she is having twin BOYS! She told me about the blessing it is, that she gets to raise up godly men, the weight and responsibility, but the gift. She get's it—she is fighting in her own way. Moms of boys, raise up godly men.

What does that look like for the rest of us? Us 20-something, single, fatherless women? The grandmas and moms? The wives and the sisters, just as broken and unsure as the rest of us?

I know that God is sovereign and perfect as my Father. But dang it, life sure would have been far less painful, far more right if I had a dad who loved the Lord and raised me up like a dad is called to in scripture. Granted, the past is the past and I am daily thankful for it, pain, sin, struggles and all because it led me straight into the arms of a perfect Daddy to whom I cry out Abba Father. I am thankful that He restores the years the locusts have stolen too—that He is doing that through my adopted dad even right now.

But would I wish my journey, my daddy issues, my hurt, my decisions, my rebellion, my struggle to submit and trust, my daddy hole upon the next generation of young women? Heck no.

James reminds us to be doers of the Word and not hearers only, deceiving ourselves.

So, ladies…what is our role?