Deliverance from My Worst Nightmare

The ground shakes, as the train roars above me. I am laying underneath a freight train, scared to death. My heart is pounding, and I know that I am dying. But suddenly, somehow, through the train, I see my dad pull up in his blue van. The van in which the Pepsi cans froze one winter, and then exploded--leaving brown spots all over the interior. I see my dad sprint towards me, and I know that he will save me.

"Kelly, Kelly, it's okay. It's okay." I hear a voice speaking softly, and I feel a hand stroking my hair. My eyes flutter open, and I see grass. Exhausted, I close my eyes again. I wonder why I am sleeping on grass. Didn't I go to sleep in my bed? Wait a minute, did I ever go to bed? Why am I wet and wrapped in a towel? My eyes open again, for an instant, and I see some of my friends running around. The soft voice is still assuring me that I am okay. The voice's hands are still stroking my hair. I am scared, but I feel some comfort. This is the weirdest dream I have ever had.

I open my eyes once more. Reality hits me. I am not dreaming. I am laying in a real yard, actually wet, really wrapped in a towel. I am cold; I see snow on the ground. My head aches, and I cannot understand what is happening. Terror consumes my body. The terror of the unknown, confusion, loneliness. I am wracked with fear, because I do not know what is real, and I cannot comprehend anything. I see some of my friends: Jess, Mo, Mike, and Alan. I see my brother and my father. I realize that Jessie's mom, Sue, is holding my head, speaking those soft, comforting words to me. I look around, terribly confused. I literally have no idea how I ended up in this situation.

"Kelly, it's okay. You had a seizure. You're okay, just relax." I had a seizure? Doesn't that mean there is something wrong with my brain? Do I have a tumor? Cancer? Will I die?

My eighth grade year, in November, I had a grand-mal seizure in my best friend's hot tub. From what they have told me, I made some odd movements, and then slid underwater. Fortunately, my friend, Alan, pulled me out of the water. Apparently, I was unconscious for about five long minutes. I can't remember a thing. All I know is that I had a dream of being run over by a train, and I woke up in Jessie's yard. A couple weeks later, I have another one in Mr. Hess's social studies class. I feel the exact same feelings. Except this time, when I came to consciousness, and I realize I what happened, I scream "No!!!" At least, I did in my head. I cried. I was put on medication this time, and I stayed on the medication until June before my senior year. I had been seizure-free the whole time, so my neurologist decided to take me off of the medication. I was stoked! They never did figure out why I had the seizures, which bothers me still, but the important thing was, I had been seizure free since I had the second one.

I was off the medicine, and still seizure-free, until June 2008. I was getting ready for my second day of work at Pet Supplies Plus. I woke up on the floor of my bathroom. I heard the radio, but again, I thought I was dreaming. Although, I did find it odd that I was sleeping in my bathroom. My eyes opened and closed a few times, then I realized I wasn't dreaming. It happened. I stood up, trembling and unable to think logically. My first thought was that I was late for work, so I hurredly began drying my hair, but then I stopped, because I realized I couldn't go to work if I had a seizure. But did I have a seizure? Maybe I just overslept. But that couldn't have happened, because I was on the bathroom floor. Well, maybe I am making up the "seizure," because I really did oversleep, and I needed an excuse of why I was late. I began drying my hair again. A few seconds later, I stopped. My thoughts were jumbled, and I was extremely disoriented. I had overslept; I didn't really wake up on the bathroom floor--I am just making that up. I turn on the dryer, but then I look down at the floor. Blood. I look in the mirror, and I see scratches on my face--bleeding. I look at my hands--scratched and bleeding. Suddenly, I realize my body is very sore.

I put the pieces together: blood, scratches, aching body, disorientation, bruises...I have felt this all before--when I had seizures. I begin to cry, and I call my mom. I frantically explain that I'm late for work, but I think I had a seizure; I woke up on the ground, and I am not really sure what is happening. She comes home right away, and a good friend rushes us to the hospital.

Suffice it to say, doctors still do not know what causes these seizures, but I am medicated once more--possibly for the rest of my life, according to my neurologist.

What's my point? I don't really have one. I just can't sleep right now, and it is because I keep imagining the times I wake up from the seizures. They are horrific memories to me. I cannot explain the fear and terror I feel when coming back to consciousness after having an "episode." I have certainly learned some lessons from having them, but they still make me shudder and shake with fear. The worst thing about them is that I cannot feel them approaching. So, at any moment, I know I am at risk of waking up on the ground...and feeling the exact same things I felt the other times. I am especially scared of the "train dream." I had it for the first two, but not the third. Many times, I live my day in fear of blacking out and waking up, completely confused. These are my nightmares, because every time I have them, I believe I am dreaming, only to awaken and realize the reality of the situation.

Again, I do not really have a point, but while writing this, I have made a correlation between a certain part of the "train dream" and my faith. While being run over by the train, I see my daddy come; he comes to rescue me. And I know without a doubt, that he will be successful in saving me.

I'm sure you can guess where I am headed with this. Not to be cliche, but in life, I experience many "trains." The "trains" in my life, are my struggles, my trials, my bad days, my pains, my fears, my hindrances, my failures, etc. But just like my earthly dad rescued me from the literal train in my dream, my Heavenly Father will rescue me from the metaphorical trains in my life.

He will rescue me from this blindness I feel about my future; He will rescue me from my fear of the unknown; He will rescue me from my pain, from my loneliness, from my sadness, from my aching heart, from all of it. He will rescue me from the swift and windy and angry currents caused by the roaring, rushing, rumbling train overhead. He will calm my screams into weeping into breathing--softly whispering, "It's okay, Kelly. It's okay, daughter." He will stroke my hair until my trembling ceases. And once again, he has rescued me.

How can I ever believe my God will not save me when I am in distress, when I cry out, when I feel lost? Maybe I won't feel him at first, but he often moves quietly in my life. I have always been utterly terrified of that "train dream." But now, now I see meaning. Now I see the way my Lord saves me. Now I see the purpose of my father and my Father. My Heavenly Father came to rescue me for all time. And he sent my earthly father to be a wonderful example of my Heavenly Father's role in my life. He sent me a beautiful example, and when that example, that wonderful man, my amazing father, was taken from me--serving to be my greatest trial of all so far, my Heavenly Father reminded me that he has rescued me, and he will always rescue me.

Terror, horror, fear, these things are all temporary, and they are all defeatable. There is salvation from all of them. Maybe there isn't anything wrong with my brain. Maybe I only had these seizures to illustrate the salvation of my Lord. Maybe it's both. Either way, God worked through my "episodes" and he rescued me from my great fear. He delivered me from the most real nightmare I have ever experienced.

Satisfaction in a Season of Silence

Searching, seeking, praying, wandering, looking, screaming….these words are what I would use to attempt to explain my current walk with God. I am searching for him; I am seeking him; I am praying for guidance; I am wandering; I am looking for him everywhere I can; I am screaming out to him for answers. However, I cannot scream any longer. I cannot search any longer. I cannot look any longer. These things only make me weary, and I experienced the effects of this weariness this past summer. I do not want to go there again. So, I have evaluated my efforts to hear God’s calling on my life, but not only my distant future. I want answers about the near future, like what to do during spring break, what classes to take, what PCM to change to, and what church to settle into as my home church. Anyhow, like I said, I needed to re-evaluate and figure out wherein the error lies.

When I was explaining my desperate situation to a good, (British) ☺ friend, I told her how I was earnestly and consistently praying about these issues. She listened intently like she does, and she replied to me, “Kel, I know you’ve been praying, but have you spent time listening?” Unfortunately, I could not respond with the most desirable answer. I had been praying, but I had certainly not been listening. I had never distinguished the two actions. And so, I decided to make an extra effort to listen to God.

Of course, I ran into a slight problem. I realized I don’t know how to listen to God. I close my eyes, and I attempt to clear my mind of every thing. Every single thing. Somehow, different voices always pop into my complicated and complex mind. I ask God to speak to me, and I hear one voice say something, so I ask, “God is that you or is that me?” And then I hear the opposite of what the other voice just said. Then, I ask the question again, and I hear the original answer. It is ridiculous. I know it is just my own mind conjuring ideas and responses up in my mind. I don’t know how to listen to God, and I don’t know how to hear God.

Granted, I have heard God pretty blatantly in my life...in his Creation, in music, in books, in movies, in conversations, in other people. I have heard him in those ways, but for the questions I am asking now, I have not heard anything concrete in any of those ways. And so, I have been trying to simply listen during the times I set aside to be alone with him. But, apparently, I don’t know how to listen. I am slightly ashamed to even be saying this. I have been a Christian for years, and I don’t know how to listen to and hear God in the silence? What is that? I should be much farther along than this.

Regardless of my shame or where I should be at this point in my faith, I am not hearing God. Possibly, I am not listening intently enough. Or maybe I am not seeking him as earnestly as I should. Or perhaps (and I am almost convinced of this), for some unknown and frustrating reason, God is choosing to be silent in my life. If this is the case, it really frustrates me, because it seems like when I am trying to learn how to listen to him and hear him, he should help me in the process of learning this essential piece of my faith, and speak to me.

So, what do I do? Because, honestly, it is breaking my heart. I want to hear from him. I want to have a more personal relationship with him, where I can hear him speak to me when I call him. I want to reach a higher level in my walk with him. But he chooses to be silent at the very time when I want to learn how to listen to him? Why?

No one can know. He is God. He is, “I AM.” Who can fight that? Who can argue with that? I know I can’t. So, I’m not questioning his plan for me. I’m not questioning his faithfulness and his love. I am only longing to hear from him, and it is frustrating me that I do not know how to listen to him, and that he is not helping me in this endeavor to better my faith. But moaning and groaning about it like I have been for the past six or seven paragraphs is not going to help me in any way.

This is what it comes down to for me right now, there is a song called, “Breathing” sung by who is only one of the GREATEST bands in history—Lifehouse. If you have never heard them, you have not lived. Anyway, one of the lines in the second verse goes like this:

I'm looking past the shadows
Of my mind into the truth and
I'm trying to identify
The voices in my head
God, which one's you?

This identifies how I feel. I am trying to figure out which voice is God, if he is even speaking to me at all. But then, the writer goes on to say this in the chorus:

‘Cause I am hanging on every word you’re saying,
And even if you don’t wanna speak tonight,
That’s alright, alright with me.
‘Cause I want nothing more
Than to sit outside Heaven’s door,
And listen to you breathing,
Is where I want to be.

So, as I listen to these beautiful lyrics, I picture the writer, on his knees, listening intently and desperately longing to hear God’s voice, yet to no avail. I feel the writer’s emptiness and anxiety in only…wanting…to hear God. That is all he wants. But since he cannot hear him, he will be content with “sitting outside Heaven’s door, and listen to you breathing.” He is okay with being near to God, whether or not he can actually feel God there with him in the silence or in the midst of other voices. And he is okay with just simply, listening to God’s breath. If he can’t hear God’s voice, whatever form God’s voice will take on in his mind, he can be satisfied with only hearing God breathe. I am there. Though I desperately want to hear God, and though I desperately want to know how to listen to him and hear him in return, I am okay with sitting near my Lord, and listening to his breath—whatever that may be. Maybe it is the wind, as cliché as that my sound. But really, it isn’t that cliché; I do believe that you can “hear” God or “feel” him in the wind. “Ruach” is the Hebrew word for “spirit,” “wind,” “breath,” and “air.” I believe that I have had encounters with the Holy Spirit through the wind. And maybe that was God’s “breath.” Or maybe hearing God “breathe” is just sitting back and knowing that he is near, and he is working. And somehow, he will make it clear to you what your next step is before you fail miserably. I can’t doubt God. And to expect him to speak to me in the silence just because I want to learn how to listen to him there, is to limit him. God is bigger than that. He is EVERYTHING.

The song then goes on to say:

I don’t want a thing from you,
Bet you’re tired of me waiting
For the scraps to fall off of your table to the ground,
I just want to be here now.

God has no obligation to speak to me. He has no obligation to love me or to do anything for me, so, even though I cannot hear him momentarily, I am still terribly grateful for the fact that he allows me to be near to him. He shares a relationship with me. And that is enough. He will take care of me. So, I’ll just sit under your table, God. I’ll sit here and wait for you. It is frustrating, but I know you will take care of me.

In conclusion, I still want to hear him speak to me. I want him to make these other voices in my head cease. I want his voice to echo through my mind and reverberate off the walls, and be so clear that there would be no ounce of doubt whether it was him or not. But what can I do? Nothing. He will speak to me however he wishes. And that is his perfect plan, and it is for my benefit. Thus, for as long as necessary, I will be content with being near him, only to hear him breathe. I will cease screaming and wandering and searching. I will continue to shake the other voices and attempt to listen and hear God. I trust that he is working and teaching me something. He is Faithful. He will speak. I will wait. And at least I get to wait with him sitting right next to me.

Love for the Ungrateful

So, one of the requirements as a student at Moody is attending a Practical Christian Ministry (PCM) once a week. You are only allowed one cut, with no make-ups required. If you cut again because of illness, you have to complete two make-ups. If you cut a second time for a reason other than sickness, you have to complete SEVEN make-ups. Moral of the story is: Don’t cut your PCM!

Anyway, choices for a PCM vary. You can tutor kids, work with the homeless, work with a youth group, serve at a church, the list continues. After your freshman year, you are even allowed to request your own PCM. My friend Katie and I are thinking about setting one up with a hospital where we can go spend time with terminally ill children. Anyway, when you are a freshman, the PCM office places you in your first PCM—you don’t get to choose. When I was told my PCM would be serving at a homeless shelter, I was ecstatic. I thought it would be awesome to minister to the homeless. It was exactly what I thought I would love. Boy, was I wrong.

To make a long story short, I basically show up at this homeless shelter, serve food, do dishes, sweep, mop, clean tables, and leave. The people that run the place—cooks, regular volunteers, employees, etc…are not very happy people, it seems. They are not mean, but they just don’t seem like the type of person that would serve at a soup kitchen. They don’t seem to have the volunteer’s heart. Also, the place just reeks. It smells like vomit mixed with rotten eggs or something. Fortunately, it only smells like that in the “dishes” room, and I haven’t been doing the dishes lately. Many of you know how sensitive I am to certain smells, though…how they make me gag uncontrollably and what not. Oh, and just a few weeks ago, as I was putting on my apron, what falls out of the pocket onto my clothes? A COCKROACH. I muted my disgust and initial urge to scream. I was mortified. I carefully checked the other pockets, but no roaches were to be found. Luckily. I check every week now. So, that gives you a slice of what this place is like. After my first two weeks, I had a terrible attitude. I dreaded going (I still don’t really look forward to going). So, I began to pray that God would change my heart for these people. I prayed that he would help me see their needs and just be able to serve them selflessly, no matter the circumstances. The more I prayed for God to change my heart, the more I felt like I needed to serve at the shelter.

Most of the families consist of a mother who is too young to have five kids, a father who doesn’t give a rip about his family, and kids who have no concept of what a family or what real love is. Many of the families are also single mothers, younger than me sometimes, with two to five kids. I’m guessing they probably all have different “baby daddies.” My heart breaks for these people. That is what kept me going back at first (that and the fact that I can’t change my PCM until next semester).

So, as I have dwelt on the bad attitudes of the regular workers, I began to realize that maybe their attitudes stem from the ungrateful people they serve every day. I mean, you would think the homeless people who come through the shelter are the richest, snobbiest people in the world. They act like the world is theirs; they act like they own the shelter; they act like nothing matters but them; they treat us like dirt. I was shocked. They have no right to treat me like that, when I am volunteering my time to come serve them every week! That is how I felt, initially. Seriously, these kids run around like they own the place; they throw all of their food and dishes on the floor. They scream; they demand more dessert; they demand tin foil and cups of ice and plastic bags. (I would like to say, there are some extremely grateful men and women there who thank us every week, and treat us with respect. I respect them greatly in return.) I would never hit a child, but more often than not, I just want to smack these kids and tell them to be more polite and thoughtful; however, they are not to blame for their behavior. But really, the cafeteria, after dinner is served, looks like all of the trays were piled with food, and then a tornado came through—leaving a mess of chili and rice, fruit and veggies, spilt milk, and plastic cups strewn all over the floor, tables, and chairs. The people don’t clean up after their kids or themselves. I loathe their ungratefulness.

I usually come out to wipe down the tables and sweep and mop the floor before many of them leave. As I walk around, taking my time so that I don’t have to do the dishes (hehe), sweeping torn Styrofoam cups, mounds of chili, fruit and cookies into the portable trash bin, thing (That was profound) they continue to scream profanely at each other, dropping more food on the ground—completely disregarding my attempts to clean their messes. Every time we make eye contact, I try my best to smile, but many times I found it terribly difficult.

Anyway, this is getting long, so I will cut to the chase. Last week, I was feeling nauseous and only wanted to get back to campus. I was moving slowly because of my upset stomach, and I was listening to a young husband getting all wound up about his wife who was upset about a sugar bowl or something. I never really got the gist of the story, but I do know that he was completely overreacting. I listened to him rant for about a half hour while I swept. I thought I was going to explode. However, I kept sweeping, taking deep breaths—attempting to prevent any vomit from coming up to say hello. I succeeded! ☺ While I walked down the aisles, moving chairs, and sweeping under tables, meditating on the peoples’ ungratefulness, I had an epiphany! I immediately felt disgust for my bad attitude, and my ill feelings for the homeless peoples’ attitudes.

What I realized is that the way these people treat me and the other volunteers and workers, while we are only there to serve them and provide them with food—essential to live—is basically the equivalent to how God is treated every day by his children. God provides us every single day and night, with what we need and more. He blesses us more than we know, every day. And what do I give him in return? Many times it’s, “Oh, I need to spend some time with God…but I also need to have this paper done by tomorrow morning…gosh I really shouldn’t have spent an hour on facebook and whatnot just now…hmm, well, I mean, my grades depend on this paper….so, I guess, ‘God, I promise I’ll set aside extra time for you tomorrow.’” Really, Kelly? I am really going to complain about these people, when I treat God so much worse? I serve these people because I have to, and because I care about a few of them. God provides me with what I need because of his unfathomable love for me. I have no right to claim his love for me. I have no right for him to call me his own. Yet, he does. I frequently compromise my time with him, but he continues to draw me back to himself and prove his love for me. He continually takes me back into his arms. And I continually fight my way out of his embrace, when in reality, his embrace is all I need.

So, where do I get off complaining about others’ ungratefulness for my service, when I ignore God's provision for me? It is my duty to serve others, just as Christ served us and paid our way to freedom. Whether people appreciate my service or not, I have to complete my work with a servant’s heart and a smile. God never denies us what we need. He is faithful. Sometimes, these people really hurt me, because of the way they look at me, when I am only trying to help them. How much more am I hurting my God? My God who sacrificed his ONLY son for me. My God who for some unknown reason, cares for and loves me like his own child. In fact, I am just that. I am his child. I hurt him and break his heart every day. And that, my friends, breaks my heart.

And so, just as he continues to love me, despite my ungratefulness, I am going to make a conscious effort to serve the homeless people out of selfless love. I want to serve them whether they appreciate it or not. Besides, you never know who is observing you, and I don’t want any of them to see a scowl on my face just because I am cleaning up their mess. I am there to serve them, under any circumstances. That is what I am called to do. That is what I am going to do. I love them despite their attitudes. When my dad would ask me to go do something for him, whether I would complain or not, he would say, "Kel, you have such a servant's heart." If I was complaining, he was being sarcastic--trying to make me laugh. If I completed my task cheerfully, he was being serious. I want to work cheerfully. I want to have a true servant's heart. And my heart is changed now. God answered my prayer, and at the same time he opened my eyes to the way I treat him. God, I am striving to serve you with a smile and good heart. I love my God, my faithful God.

Cease Striving (Psalm 46:10)

A year and a half ago, my young, healthy dad died from a heart attack. This past June, my best friend's (Kelsey) 23 (or 24?) year old brother was killed in Afghanistan. A few weeks ago, my uncle died. Last week, my old elementary school nurse, who has a son who is a junior in high school (and some other children...not sure how old they are) and was loved by the whole town died from cancer. Last Sunday night, my best friend's aunt, Lisa--who was also loved by the whole town, her family, and friends (And when my dad died, she basically held my mom together. She and her family helped us and blessed us in more ways than I can say.) died in her sleep. Can I even begin to say how weary I am of death and devastation?

I have spent all day today at Lisa's viewing. I arrived early, so that I could offer my services to the family the whole time. I wanted to be with my best friend--Monica--to comfort her through this time. I also just wanted to hug Lisa's daughters, knowing exactly how they felt. As soon as I entered the front doors of Wakarusa Missionary Church, my eyes welled up with tears. Pictures and videos were displayed along the line. As we moved along slowly, my heart broke more and more for this beloved family.

Lisa was a great woman of faith. She loved God with her whole being, and that was evident in her everyday life. She thought of others before herself. I remember right when my father passed, she and Jeff (her husband) took care of the big and the little things that my family and I were just too exhausted and sad to even think about doing. As time moved on, and the people in our house dwindled, and the cards, letters, flowers, and phone calls became less and less, Lisa and Jeff remained. Lisa would come to our house frequently to check up on my mom. She helped her, cared for her, loved her, supported her, reminded her of God's love, and encouraged her--all things with which I could not help my mother. I am forever blessed by and forever grateful for Lisa.

When I walked into the sanctuary today and saw Lisa in the casket, Jeff standing by her body, Chelsea and Cassie standing next to Jeff, I lost control. Tears streamed down my face, though I tried to blink them back into their ducts. I looked at Lisa's lifeless body, and my own body screamed inside, with rage, with sadness, with hurt, and with fear. What are you doing, God? Give me an answer.

Finally, it was my turn to face Jeff. I walked up to him, looking in his eyes, hating that this was happening to him. He is such a great, caring man. We wrapped our arms around each other, and I began to sob. I could not hold it back anymore. This should not be happening. His young, beautiful, Christian wife should not be in the casket next to us. Jeff spoke encouraging words to me, speaking about how our families were brought together for a reason, and now I can help his daughters. He said how much he loved my family, and I tried to respond. I kept choking on my words as I continued to weep. I felt like he should have been the one crying, and I the one encouraging him. I felt useless, helpless. Eventually, I choked out the words, "I...love...you...too. I'm...so sorry." My heart ached.

I moved down the line to Chelsea, Jeff and Lisa's eldest daughter. This girl, found her mother dead. She thought she was sleeping, so she tried to wake her, but to no avail. Let me tell you, I cannot imagine what that must have felt like. I cannot imagine the fear that gripped her heart and her soul. I held onto Chelsea as we both cried. I could only tell her I loved her, and she could call me anytime she needed to. What a lame condolence. You would think I should know the perfect thing to say, but I did not. I think it's because there is not really a "perfect" thing to say.

Anyway, I held onto Chelsea for awhile, then I hugged Cassie--the youngest daughter, a freshman in high school--and then I made my rounds to the rest of the extended family. That family is so important to me. Oh, how I love them. I watched countless people grieve tonight for a single woman. A single woman that made a vast difference in their lives, in this world. A single woman that made a vast difference in my life. We grieved. And watching others grieve only hurt me even more. My heart broke; my soul ached; my body weakened.

So, as I have been meditating on all of the death surrounding me, my friends, and my family, I search for answers. However, my brother told me the other night that I should not focus on finding meaning for tragedy, but I should just trust God. This was, surprisingly, the best thing anyone has told me in a long time. It seems so obvious and so simple, but it finally hit me in the face. Ever since my dad was ripped away from me, searching for answers has been my primary concern. I have experiences with God, and I try to use them to find meaning in death. However, I now realize that maybe those were his ways of reminding me that I need to trust his faithfulness.

Searching for answers is tiring, and I do not have the strength to do it any longer. It wears me out, and Satan attacks me at those moments. Those moments when I am empty, and I only want to give in to my fear and sadness. Though trusting God is not always easy, it is much less tiring, and much more comforting. And so, though I want answers, I am going to try my best to cease my efforts of finding answers. My effort now all goes towards giving God my trust. Psalm 46:10 is my new life verse.

So, God, I trust you. It hurts, and I ache, but I trust you. I trust you will bring goodness, you will bring healing, you will bring joy, you will always be faithful, and you will always love. I am weary of searching, and I give that to you. I trust you with my future. With my whole life. I. Trust. You.

"Cease striving, and know that I am God."
Psalm 46:10

Answer to My Quandary

I wanted to write a quick post informing you that my last post was silly. I was just being difficult...not wanting to believe that God as a Father would watch us hurt when he could prevent it.

I realized what I knew along. (I think I even mentioned it in the last post.) Who defines what a father is? God does. He was the original Father, and it is sin that has distorted humans views of what a "father" is to them.

I finally realized this when I thought about the church body being Christ's "bride." I thought, "Well, if I am questioning the way God loves us as a father, then I have to question the way he loves us as our "groom." Because a vast number of marriages are destroyed by the husband's uncaring attitude towards his wife. Women are beat, abused, neglected, used...etc."

But I know with my whole being that Christ would never treat us like that. Christ can claim us as his "bride," by being the "groom" that husbands are supposed to be. Somewhere along the way, due to sin, marriages fell far from what they were intended to be. However, that is not the type of "marriage" we are entering into with Christ. We are entering into the original type of "marriage" Christ wanted for all of us.

My point is, God created everything first. He had an original intent for everything he created, and because of our sin, we destroyed his good intents. So, he loves us as a father should, because he was the first father. He is the definition of a father. We can't create one according to our own standards, because God is. Everything. Including our father and including our "groom."

That's it. :) I have another blog coming in a few minutes. Slightly longer probably.

A Father's Love?

I have a quandary to share. My question isn't why does God not stop our pain; my question is: how can God call himself our "father" when he does not stop our pain?

Something that confuses me is the fact that one of the most common ways God is described is as being our Father. From what I understand and imagine, a parent’s love for their child is something one cannot understand until they are a parent themselves.

I babysat for two twin girls for five years, and I watched them grow from cute, curious four year olds into cute, adventurous, happy, nine year olds. I cannot believe how long I have been a part of their lives. I have a picture of them on my desk, and every time I look at it, a part of my heart aches to be with them, but most of my heart is joyful and ever grateful for their beautiful lives. I never thought I would miss them this much, but our families are close now, and those girls mean so much to me. If anything ever happened to them, I don’t know how I could deal with it. They have so much life and beauty and excitement and hopes and dreams, it just wouldn’t seem fair for anything to happen. And I pray with everything in me that nothing ever does….I don’t even want to imagine it. No doubt, I would sacrifice my life for them if necessary. I love them. My point is, I care for them and love them more than I can say, and they aren’t even my own girls. How much more would I care for them if I were their mother? I can’t imagine. I will never know until I have my own children.

I know with my whole heart that parents NEVER want to see their children in pain. I know they would give anything up for their kids in a heartbeat. My mom has, and my dad did. My dad slept in his car in New York for my family—to provide us the things we needed, and I never heard him complain; I didn’t even know about it for a long time. What kind of love is that? I could give so many more examples that prove how much my parents love me, but this is already excessively long. Anyway, I think you get my point—parents don’t want to see their children in any kind of pain, and if they could take it all away, even if that meant pain or death for him or her, they would instantaneously.

So, if God is our Father, and he is in control, how can he stand to see us endure so much pain, grief, and sorrow? How can he watch us walk down the wrong paths, knowing we are only hurting ourselves? How can he know that someone’s brother is turning onto a certain road at just the right (or wrong) time, and an 18 wheeler slams into his car—killing him or paralyzing him or making him mentally retarded—and not stop it? A woman just hung up her cell phone after an argument with her husband, boards a plane home, and the plane goes down in flames. The last words with the love of her life were filled with anger. How can God know that will happen and not prevent it? How can he watch his people, his children, endure such tragedy and pain?

I have learned throughout different circumstances in my life, that there is an unreal amount of spiritual growth when we encounter something that forces us to make a decision—completely trust God, or try to do it on your own. I have undergone different trials, and I have made different choices, but each time I grew closer to my Lord. Without the trials in my life, I would have no reason to need God. I would have no reason to depend on him for all of my strength—for all of my everything. So, I understand why we have to endure pain and loss and everything else tragic in this world. I just don’t understand how God calls himself a father if he doesn’t prevent us from hurt, because if anyone can stop the pain, he can. I’m not saying I don’t like the image of God being my father. I do, but I think I only do, because my earthly father always stressed the fact that he was my earthly father, and God was and is my Father forever.

It’s always been easy for me to have a positive picture of God being my father, as opposed to someone who may have grown up with an alcoholic as a father or someone whose father abandoned them or beat them, etc. Anyway, it’s easy for me, because my earthly father did such a wonderful job of displaying the type of love a father should have for his child. But, I still come to the fact that my earthly father would have and did, do everything possible he could for his family to keep us happy and content and distant from pain. He did as much as he could, and he was only human. I’m not saying we never went through trials as a family. My dad tried his best, but he was still human, and humans aren’t perfect. But God is. God is perfect, and he can choose to prevent us from hurt if he so chooses. So, once I come to that aspect of God being a father, I really struggle with it. PLUS, what about those kids whose fathers didn't show them anything close to the love a father should express for their child? How are they supposed to ever be able to have a positive image of God as a father? He could have prevented those fathers from ruining their kids' image of a father. I can’t understand it. I know we need pain for growth. I know that. I am a much different person than I was a few years ago. And I am grateful for that. That doesn’t mean I am glad for some situations, and I know I’m still not perfect no matter how much I have grown; however, I have transformed in different aspects, and I appreciate that.

I’m straying from my point. My point is, I understand that without pain, we wouldn’t grow spiritually. And I understand that we are God’s children, and he is our Father. But it just goes in a circle, because, like I said (a few times now) I understand why there is pain in the world (and I know the only reason isn’t for growth, but that’s what I’m focusing on for now) but, I just can’t grasp the fact of a father not doing everything in his power to prevent our hurt. I don’t understand. I’m always open to theories or truths, because I just really struggle with this.

I think that if I can't come to an understanding of the concept of a father not preventing his children from pain, I would rather not consider God as my father. Maybe it is because I am using my worldly view of a father. Who really defines what a "father" is? God does. But, why would he use the image of being our father if the earthly fathers he blesses us with aren't what he wants us to see him as? And again, where does that leave those kids who don't have good, positive images of a father? I don't doubt God's unfailing, unconditional, eternal love for us for one second, it's just hard for me to understand his love as being a father's love. Maybe I'm not making sense. I know what I am trying to say, but I can't figure out how to put it into words.

Anyhow, like I said, if that is how it is going to be, if I don't come to an understanding of a father allowing his children to hurt when he contains all the power in the world to avert it, I think I will discard the image of God being my father. Is that wrong? Does he want us to view him as our father? He will still be the same awesome, loving, powerful, indescribable God that I believe and know he is now, but I just won't consider him my father. Is there any scripture that condemns that mindset?

This is something that has been on my mind frequently, and I just cannot figure it out, as hard as I try. I have no conclusion. I usually have conclusions, but this one has me lost.

So, sorry a lot of this probably isn’t grammatically correct. I still have to finish my Old Testament paper, and I am in no mood to review this post and replace overused words with intelligent words or phrases. I am also in no mood to insert a few commas or delete a few misplaced letters.

Happy Day

Tonight was an experience. I shiver just thinking about it.

Tonight was Thursday night Praise. I was extremely excited for it, because I love worshiping in song. It is a great release for me. It is a way in which I can stand before Jesus and let everything go. The second song we sang tonight was, "Peace Like a River."

I'm not sure if you know what inspired Horatio Spafford to write this song, but I'll go ahead and paraphrase. When his only son was four, he was killed by the scarlet fever. A year later, everything they had was ruined in a fire. Horatio then decided that his family needed a vacation. While his wife and his four daughters were traveling to England, their ship was struck by another ship and it sank. All four of his daughters drowned. All four. All of his children died. He quickly traveled to be with his survived wife. When he was traveling to meet her, he passed over the place where the death of his daughters occurred. That is when he wrote "Peace Like a River."

If someone can endure the death of all of his children and write a song about how despite the troubles and sorrows of this life, it is well with his soul....I can manage to continue to love Jesus and serve him despite the death of my father, broken relationships, sorrows, pain, struggles, etc. I'm not at all saying that it's easy. I am still so hurt, and the pain is still deep and my heart is still broken. But I can heal, and I can continue to serve my Lord. And despite my pain and sorrows now, it is still well with my soul. My soul can ache but still be loving and healing and trusting Jesus--who will one day come back for me, and everything will be worth it. All will be well with my soul.

There are two verses before the two I am going to post on here, and they are powerful verses as well, but the two I am going to post brought tears to my eyes and overwhelmed me.

"My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part, but the WHOLE,
is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord, O my soul!

And Lord, haste the day, when my faith shall be sight,
the clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
the trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
even so, it is well with my soul."

As I sang out these words out with a couple hundred other students in the Alumni Auditorium, with no music--just our voices, coming together as one only to praise our sweet Jesus, I was overwhelmed. How much better can it get?

ALL of our sin is nailed to the Cross, so that we DO NOT have to bear it any longer!!! What else can you do but praise the Lord for that?! But so often we fail. And even then, even the sin of turning to materialistic objects and ideas rather than God, is nailed to the cross. Praise him. Just praise him. Thank him right now, with everything you are. Give him thanks.

And to think that one, Glorious day is rapidly approaching, when the clouds. Will. Roll. Back! Can you imagine? The clouds will roll back, and the Lord will descend. We will see him coming with ALL of his GLORY. At that point, all of our struggles and brokenness and pain will be so worth it. It will be so well with our souls. Praise Jesus.

That will be a Happy, Happy day.

Get excited.