But God...

Eleven days since Tropical Storm Helene made her unwelcome, dramatic entrance into Western North Carolina, causing catastrophic damage with rain, wind, and flooding not seen for over a thousand years, I remain overwhelmed with sadness by the sheer magnitude of it all. Whole towns gone, others barely touched; cadaver dogs amidst the mudslides, the seemingly random tragedies, bodies of pets, farm animals and people in the water, the mud and the wreckage; trees down, crushing homes and vehicles and people; power lines down everywhere, no WiFi, internet or cellular service; boil water advisories, schools closed, some indefinitely; a local Subaru dealership flooded with 5 feet of water; area substations under water, a million without power; horrors seen that can never be unseen;  communities sharing and visiting and giving instead of texting or facebooking; cash only, gas and food shortages, communities and people unreachable except by donkey; ironically, election signs still standing while houses float away

Thursday I dropped some supplies off at our church and met a young woman in the parking lot; she was carrying two large bags full of clothing to donate to disaster victims.  We chatted and I told her drop them off at the church taking clothing donations. We talked about loss, about being fortunate, about our love for WNC, and I thanked her for the clothes, mentioning they were for survivors of a town destroyed by a mudslide. That a friend of mine was working with cadaver dogs. She burst into tears and we held each other. But God…

Driving by a home with a tree crushing its roof I spied a young boy swinging in a wood swing, laughing, barefooted, blonde hair blowing, while two adults stood with their hands and arms limp at their sides, mouths open, staring at their ruined home.  But God…

While at our church aiding others pass out supplies and providing free hot meals to whoever showed up, I saw a man sitting alone at a table, eating his BBQ and fixins. I sat down across from him, asking if he minded if I joined him. He was kind and articulate but you could tell he’d had a hard life and was in a bad place.. But God…

People arriving for free hot meals, I greeted these strangers, these neighbors, hearing their stories. A grandma who drove an hour around roads blocked by power lines and trees, all to pick up supplies and a meal for her granddaughter, who lived downtown in a now flooded basement apartment. An 81-year old woman and her disabled husband just looking for some toilet paper and water.  A family with a little boy who had just been to urgent care for a burn and was screaming and inconsolable, overwhelmed with the strangeness of the past 10 days. Two older ladies holding hands and quietly eating their meals, thanking us profusely for a few basic supplies. All wanting to share their stories, all walking around with the same stunned, shell-shocked looks on their faces. But God…

 A young woman moved to Hickory to be near her fiancé; they bought their first home; planned their October wedding for months; wedding venue was underwater. Another couple, newlyweds who'd only a month earlier moved into the house of the bride's grandparents where she'd spent many happy years, the house she and her new husband fixed up and made their own, all of it gone in a flash. But God…

People lined up outside the grocery store waiting for their turn to go in and pick up a few essentials, cash only because the internet is down. Shelves nearly empty, ATMs not working, gas stations with yellow “out of order” plastic bags on the pump handles, an 8 o'clock curfew because roads are out and it’s dark. But God…

Neighbors using their own equipment and money to work 15-18 hour days with search and rescue operations, body recovery, debris removal, providing hot meals, clothing, basic supplies and compassion. Almost no help from our federal agencies. But God…

Schools closed, food ruined, water contaminated, and children’s worlds turned upside down. But God…

Pregnant women within 4 weeks of their due dates and families with newborns urged to leave WNC and go to South Carolina, hospitals crippled by lack of power, water, generators, and staffing. But God…

“But God…”. Those two words bring hope, and remind me that God is sovereign, that He controls the universe, and that He uses all circumstances to bring glory to His name. It is a powerful phrase assuring us God is sovereign, all powerful, just, and merciful. Look in the BIble and you will find this little two-word phrase any time the situation seems hopeless, from Noah (Gen 8:1), to Joseph (Gen 50:20), to King David (Ps 73:26), to Christ's crucifixion (Acts 13:30).

As we get through this tragedy, (through being the operative word, as opposed to being in, or being stuck) remember that God has done many things much harder. He is never surprised by what happens, or clueless about what to do, or ignorant of how we are hurting or feeling, or unaware of our needs. We will recover, rebuild, renew, and remember. We depend on God

“But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved” (Ephesians 2:4-5)

Scars

Just when I thought the wound was healed, scab was gone, with no visible scar, bam! One small comment, one random reference, and the pain comes flooding back without warning, and I am struggling to hold back the tears and to focus on the present, my breath quickens and gets more shallow, and the all-too familiar panic sets in. The speed and sinister ability to snake its way into my heart and my soul, to hijack my emotions and my thoughts, positively astounds and frightens me. It is as if I have no control over what will trigger fears and emotions, and perhaps I do not have any control over those impulses. Intellectually I KNOW why it happens. I have read and studied the wonderful mysteries of the brain: its parts, its functions, the rapidity of its processes, and the way my experiences shape my memories and affect my responses to things, responses that occur in nanoseconds before I am even aware of what is happening. But that does nothing to prepare me for how suddenly I am a quivering mess. 

Yes, that happened today...it started out as a conversation about being Christian in a fallen world, which evolved into how to evangelize to non-believers, first friends, then family. Sharing concern over the heartbreak of knowing loved ones are not believers, how they may not be able to articulate what they believe, we spoke about how we deal with the insecurity, the not-knowing, and how my only recourse sometimes is to pray, to love, to reflect Christ. Next thing I know, the conversation shifted to talking about our family, bringing up memories of family members who are no longer in our lives. Within a fraction of a second, I am sucked back into the vortex of pain and betrayal and hate and vitriol that have characterized my life over the past four years. And as we drive to lunch, my husband purposely exaggerating the curves to thrill our three granddaughters, it takes every ounce of self-control, and frantic, silent prayers for over 30 minutes, to quell the panic and anxiety that have exploded without any notice, pain so searing and hot even the giggling, gleeful screams emanating from the back seat do not snap me out of it.

Absolutely mind-boggling how fast it all happens, how helpless I am, how quickly I succumb to the fear and the panic, evidence that, though I KNOW to lean on Jesus, to give it all to him, to trust Him, I still forget. And I wonder if the scars will ever completely heal and disappear, and not be a source of unexpected, savage pain, and that I will someday finally be able to breathe and not dread that some minuscule thing--a word, a picture, a smell, a sound--will hit that scar and release the pain all over again

I am so broken and lost. Despite all my brave words, my prayers, and my brave face I wear, the only thing holding me together is God's grace. His wonderful, precious, free grace.

Black and White

Black and white. "Here it is...in black and white." A phrase that can mean several things... an obvious answer,  or something reliable and credible, or seeing things only in absolute terms. Sadly, what is happening in our country right now (again) is none of those things. On the surface, it appears to be about black versus white, black lives vs white lives, black injustice vs white privilege, black subjugation vs white dominance. In reality, though, events this week are not that easily explained. Or understood. Or solved. For the past 8 days, I have been on the brink of tears, feeling them well up inside me and my heart aching until my eyes are near brimming before I take a deep breath and pray and push them back down. Because if I was to give in to the feeling, let the tears fall, there would be no end to them, and the hopelessness of the situation would drown me. So I pray some more, read articles, watch news videos, and skim posts on social media to get a sense of the battle we face. An age old battle, since the beginning of creation, with eternal consequences. 

Black and white. Sin. Evil. Light. Darkness. In its most basic, age old form: hatred of a group of humans because they are different. Genocides. Gendercides. Ethnic cleansing. Apartheid. Racism. Any time one human presumes superiority over another human, we have evil.  In its most basic form. So much hate, Lord, so much injustice, so much pain. Cities under siege, people hating each other, taking sides, destroying lives and property and futures. Social media sites exploding with videos, live feeds, posts, debates, photos, news updates, and so much self-serving, hate-filled rhetoric and ugliness. The implicit made explicit. I read posts, try to answer, to reason, to express my heart, but I, too, am lost as to how to make sense of it all, and it shows. In my struggle to find the right words, to try to speak calm and love and peace, inevitably I only succeed in irritating someone or being misunderstood and am subjected to retorts and accusations that, I am ashamed to say, I sometimes answer in a less than loving manner. My daughters are distraught and want answers to why this is happening, and for once, I fail as a mom--I have no answers, no reasons, no prescription for fixing this, no trite explanations for why people are doing what they are doing. There is no simple answer. Yes, sin is the root cause of all evil and sadness and suffering in this world. But identifying that sin is the answer and the cause of it all does not make any of it magically go away. 

Black and white. And in some feeble attempt to make sense of it all, to do something, some elements of music industry organized a collective action, Blackout Tuesday, to protest racism and police brutality. The action, organized in response to recent killings of unarmed black men, is taking place today, June 2, 2020--my 65th birthday. Not only are businesses taking part encouraged to abstain from releasing music and other business operations--now social media users are posting blank, black squares in lieu of cover and profile photos. But, like other groupthink efforts, folks seem to just be following blindly in an effort to be viewed as sympathetic and supportive of racial injustice; even I considered, for a nanosecond, joining this non-movement. Because it is only cosmetic, and does not solve anything. It neither promotes love nor heals the hate, the rift we have--it reduces the underlying disease to a slogan, a saying, a hashtag, without offering a cure or even a bandaid. 

Black and white. So what do we do? What do I do? What is my purpose in this? To reflect Christ, yes. To love his image bearers--all of them. To show the way, to see peace, to show the light of the gospel. But when? How? How can we rebuild? How do we heal?  How do we make sense of it all? And when, God? When will we all be reconciled not just to You, but to our fellow man? How long must we tear each other apart? Where is your purpose in all of this suffering and hatred? Separated from each other, and separated from You. 

Black and white. We don't heal by hurting others. We don't rebuild by tearing down. We don't reconcile by hating others. We don't heal by disrespecting others. We don't heal by focusing only on differences, but by realizing that, despite differences, we are all image bearers of our Creator. For this, for this, Jesus died...to reconcile a helpless, hopeless people to God and to each other. For God is neither black nor white, or red or brown or yellow; God is not a color. God is LOVE. Infinitesimal love for every single one of His creations. And while we are not God, we are made in HIS image, and should reflect HIS love, HIS beauty, HIS grace. God is love, and He is light. Light defeats darkness--even in a world full of darkness, all one needs to do is shine one small light to dispel some of the darkness.

Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children. And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. (Ephesians 5:1-2)

There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave[g] nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3:28)

Mourning the Lost

About a month ago, my phone rang. Not an unusual occurrence in and of itself, but the caller was unusual—it was my sister.  The same sister who lied to the courts, who filed false police reports.  The same sister who was the driving force behind a painful (and expensive) frivolous and entirely fabricated civil lawsuit.  Needless to say, I let it go to voicemail.  Couldn’t even bring myself to listen to it.  Alex listened to it—supposedly my mother was in renal failure.  Ok.  What’s new?  I figured it was just a ploy for attention.  

Then, two weeks ago, I get a text.  Informing me mom died.  Yes. A text.  No voicemail.  No card.  No info on services.  Just a text. A sterile, four word line, “mom passed last night”.  When I spoke to my dad that weekend, I mentioned the little kernel of news, trying to feel him out, to ascertain if he’d heard anything.  Nope.  He was shocked.  I thought, well, maybe another cruel hoax.  Then a week later, another text, this time to both me and Alex.  Same message.   I mean, seriously? She has not called, texted, emailed, written, or sent smoke signals in two years.  No news of of any kind, no word of hospitalizations, address, surgeries, state of mind.  Then, boom—a texted death announcement.  I didn’t know what to think.  Or believe.  I heard nothing else from anyone.  Called the nursing home.  Nothing. Checked FaceBook.  Googled for funeral home announcements and obituaries in the general vicinity of her last known address.  Again, I drew a blank.   

WTF?!?

Now what?   How did I feel?  How should I feel? Was I sad the woman who gave birth to me was dead?  Did I hurt for the ones who said they cared for her?   Was I irritated that less than 30 days prior we’d settled our lawsuit?  Was I angry about the thousands of dollars it had cost ?  

I thought I’d forgiven them all.  I thought I was beyond being hurt anymore.  I thought, foolishly, I was over it, safe, immune, in my little cocoon, my mountain home.  Then this.  Another slap in the face, another reminder of the depth of the dysfunction of our family.    Just when I thought it was safe to go back in the water.  (Don’t worry.  No shark metaphors). 

The enormity of it all, the sheer finality of the death of my mother, the societal expectations of how I should feel at the revelation of this news—it hit me like a ton of bricks.  And keeps hitting me like some crazed game of out-of-control Tetris.   How do I mourn the loss of a relationship I never had?   If you’ve followed this journey with me at all, you already know my life was anything but normal.  This isn’t about that though; it’s not a cry for sympathy.   I’m just trying to figure out how I’m supposed to feel.  To react.  To move on.  I want to scream at my sisters, to ask them Why?   To make them say they were wrong and to beg my forgiveness.  

After nearly three years of no real communication.  A text.  

I realize I haven’t forgiven them.  I haven’t moved on.  Yeah I’ve learned a lot about me and I’m growing, I’ve healed some of the hurts, and many of the scars are fading.  But some still have scabs, and bleed when the scab is bumped.  

Human forgiveness, unlike divine redemption, is not a one time, over and done event. It’s a process.  A process of healing.  And bleeding.  And scarring.  

And healing.   

Lots and lots of healing