Little Love Notes

Has anyone read The Five Love Languages book? If you have, you'll know what I mean when I say I am a words person. My love language is words of affirmation, with the secondary one being quality time. I've had practice in the other love languages simply because not all the people in my life have the same language as me. So, I've learned to train myself to recognize and receive love from others in whatever form it comes.

I say all that to tell you this. God doesn't always speak to me in my own love language. Surprise! (note the hint of sarcasm there?) Sometimes, He give me words, but many times I feel like I'm on a treasure hunt to discover all the different ways that He shows me His love. Mostly I I try to focus on the positive things in my life, the notes of grace played here and there. But sometimes those moments feel somewhat impersonal. So it's always nice when God sends me a more personal display of love. I've had two such moments recently.

A couple of weeks ago I flew up to Canada to visit a dear friend I had not seen in several years. It was a visit I had been wanting to make for awhile but had been unable to due to finances. However, I happened to have a free ticket and was able to book a flight. Prior to the trip, my friend informed me that the forecast called for rainy dreary weather during the time of my scheduled visit. I was very disappointed about this because I was hoping to experience the beauty of a Canadian fall, not to mention outdoor activities with my friend. So, I prayed. I asked God to change the weather pattern and to hold back the rain during my visit. Do you know what? He did! The first couple of days were overcast, but the clouds held back from releasing the rain and the last day of my visit the sun actually came out. I had a great time walking around the city with my friend and visiting a local cranberry festival which would have been severely hampered if the weather had not changed.

On a trip to visit another friend, God loved me again. When visiting this friend I usually sleep on a very nice air mattress since her apartment has only one bedroom. I always sleep very comfortably. However this time the air mattress had sprung a leak. I discovered it on the first night, because I had to air the mattress up multiple times throughout the night. I don't even remember how many times I did this. We thought we would air it up the second night and try to find where the leak was, but were unable to find it. So when I laid down that night I prayed over that mattress. I asked God to please keep it inflated or to just supernaturally patch the hole where the leak was. I didn't expect anything. I didn't ask with faith. I fully expected another night of waking up every hour to air the mattress back up. But after my prayer I started experiencing something strange. Everywhere my body touched on that mattress I felt a warmth and it was radiating a pulse. It almost felt like an electric blanket, but underneath me. Pulsing. I didn't wake up one time that night. I slept all night long and when I woke in the morning that mattress was as full of air as it was the night before!

Sometimes God just blows me away! It always amazes me when He shows His love through the little things. I've had a rough couple of weeks and was really struggling emotionally and in my faith. I'm believing God for some big things, really for miracles. Then He goes and answers the prayers for the little things in my life. I am overwhelmed by how much He cares about even the inconsequential details of every day life. I am overwhelmed at how He answers prayers even when my faith is weak and faltering. I am amazed at how thoughtful and good He is when He doesn't have to be. Through it all I hear the refrain " He loves us. Oh, How He loves us! And because He has shown me, I believe it.

When All Else Fails

Sometimes you are just going along, minding your own business, when out of nowhere WHAM!!! You take a major hit.

I'm talking about the kind of hit that blindsides you, the one that breaks you, the last straw, the one that takes you under.

It could be the death blow to your finances, a betrayal by a friend, the end of a hope you've been hanging on to. It could the end of a relationship you depend upon, or a personal failure that kills a dream.

What happens then?

I had one of those blows today. I didn't know what to do. It wasn't the kind of thing I could talk to anyone about. And it isn't something that is easily fixed if at all.

Do you know what I did?

I talked to God. I started singing a praise song, even though I could barely force the words up my throat choked with tears. My voice wavered, and my eyes watered, but I kept at it. I made myself praise God. I made myself pray. I made myself repeat God promises to me and His word. I certainly didn't feel like it. I relinquished control. I released my right to anger and unforgiveness. I gave it up and "cast my cares upon Him."

To be bluntly honest, it's not because I have such great faith. The only reason I responded they way I did, is because I have nowhere else to go, nothing else to do. I cannot save myself. I cannot fix the problem. I have no other hope but God. And even this surrender wasn't easy.

But what is the alternative? Other than to wail and bemoan my circumstance, there really is no alternative.

Sometimes we only go to God when He is our last resort. I'm sure that He would prefer we turn to Him earlier, but no matter when we choose to turn, He is there. He is close to the broken-hearted. He honors a sacrifice of praise (and believe me, today it was certainly a sacrifice). And as one of the disciples said to Jesus, "Where else would we go? You have the words of life." And sometimes that is exactly how I feel. Where else would I go? He is my only hope.

Comforts of my Heart

Sometimes when the emotions of living in this world become more than I can process, when my heart is too full of joy or sorrow I go to my happy place.

When I yearn for comfort I lay down with my Bible held tightly next to my heart and I close my eyes. I imagine that living Word of my Father streaming right into my heart, even though the book is closed and I haven't read a word. I envision the tiny silken threads of His voice weaving and knitting their way into my heart, mending the torn places, enforcing the weak and worn spots. I feel His light searching out the dark lonely places, warming me.

Other times, I imagine the throne room of Heaven. It is always busy and loud with voices worshipping and angels coming and going on assignment. There are people milling around waiting for their turn with my Father. But I don't wait. I walk through the door, straight throught the activity happening all around me, all around Him. I march up the steps to His throne and I crawl into my Father's lap. I wrap my arms around His neck and lay my head on His heart. And do you know what? He never scolds. He always has time to hold me. He places a kiss on my temple, strokes my hair and I am safe.

Abuse

This post has been coming for a long while. It's a subject I've been pondering, but have been a little bit fearful of writing about. Abuse is a scary subject to tackle and I'm not sure that I have all my thoughts in order yet. But I'm going to share what I believe about abuse.

A couple of months ago I watched the movie The Stoning of Soraya M. It's the story of a married woman and mother in Iran whose abusive husband decides he doesn't want to be married to her anymore. He prefers someone younger. So, he falsely accuses her of adultery and leads the men in their village to stone her to death, all for his selfish purposes. It's a brutal story, with brutal images and one that is based on a true story. The scenes where she is stoned are pretty graphic and broke my heart. It disturbed me so much that I felt haunted by it for many weeks. It infuriates me that this type of treatment of women happens in our world. I imagined myself in this woman's place. A lonely, desperate place where she is allowed no voice, no options, where she has no one to turn to for help. A place where everyday is a new horror and living nightmare. Upon watching the stoning scenes where her husband, father and even her own sons pick up rocks to throw at her, I could only conclude that God's heart must be even more anguished than mine to see His creation treat each other in such a manner. It didn't matter to me that she lived in Iran or that she was a practicing Muslim. And I doubt it mattered to God either. The God I know loves unconditionally and I have no doubt that He was right there with her, holding her, weeping with her and loving her. I can't imagine anything less.

Watching this movie enraged me. I cannot fathom that this type of abuse is tolerated anywhere. And while for a split second I was justifying anger towards a Muslim belief system that allows it's men to treat their women worse than animals I realized that this behavior is not unique to that faith. Abuse happens everywhere, all over the world, in all types of religions. Even in Christian households right here in America.

And then a couple of weeks ago I received news that a wife and mother that I once knew was killed by her own husband, with his own hands, in her own home. Upon receiving this news, I felt literally as if I had been punched in the heart. I could barely function for a couple of days due to the shock and despair I  felt over it all. How does this happen? Who is safe? Is there any punishment that can fit this crime? What kind of person treats someone they profess to love in this manner? What kind of people are we that we allow abusive behavior to go unchecked?

Here is what I have decided. No one, and I mean not one person on this planet deserves to be abused. Not a child, not a woman, not a man. Not even an animal. Abuse in any form directed towards any living creature is simply unacceptable.

The sad thing is, there are so many different forms of abuse and too many of them are hard to detect. There is the obvious form of abuse, which is physical. But then we also have neglect, verbal abuse, emotional and mental abuse, and even spiritual abuse. Physical abuse is the most easily recognized, but sometimes I've wondered if it is also the lesser of all the various abuse evils.

I've been in situations with people where I would have welcomed physical abuse of some kind over the mental and emotional turmoil that was actually happening. I recognize that that is a sick statement, but there it is. I would have preferred a blow to the body over the blows to my heart. Here is the thing. Physical abuse is terrible. But it is the most easily recognized. It is the most easily healed and mended. It is the most easily believed. How do you claim abuse when the bruised and broken places are in your pysche and your heart. How can you prove abuse when it is you, your beliefs, your personality, your voice, which has been crushed and broken under someone's words or treatment of you. A bruised face or broken arm  seems to be an accepted, legitimate proof of abuse, but a broken mind or spirit? Not so much. It is easy to assess blame and responsibility when there is a dead body, but how do you prove culpable someone who has dealt the death blow to the soul of another. The abused may be with us in body, but inside they are the walking dead.

But here is another thing I realized. Who among us has not at one point or time abused another, even unknowingly. We may not be guilty of physical abuse against another, but who can claim that we have never neglected another person? Who can claim that we have never slashed another person to ribbons with our words or dealt a blow to another's self worth by a careless action that made another feel invaluable?

I am ashamed to admit that I have been guilty of abuse perpetrated on others. There have been a couple of times I used physical violence, a slap or a punch upon another person. I have made decisions that showed through my actions that I didn't value someone and inflicted emotional trauma on them. I guiltily admit that the most common form of abuse I have inflicted on others has been verbal. I may not be physically strong and I may not have beat someone's body with my fists, but I seem to be quite talented at using my words as a battering ram against others.

And I grieve over it. I ache that I may have caused anyone else the kind of mental and emotional pain and abuse that I myself have endured and know to be so devastating.

Here is the irony. We can be both the abused and the abuser. We can mourn the reports of men, women and children abused and killed at the hands of their loved ones, and in the same breath turn around and verbally assault the ones we love. We can wonder how an abuser can justify his/her actions and then show through neglect that those we love aren't valuable enough to warrant our time, attention and care.

It is the abused who abuse others. We all have wounds upon our souls that have been inflicted by others. We have all at some time in our lives been the victim of abuse whether it was a one time occurrence or repeated acts of violence against us. I have realized that for me personally it is when I am hurting the most that I lash out at others. Like a dog who licks his wounds and then bares his teeth at anyone who gets close enough to try to help. It is a protective defense mechanism.  But that is no excuse.

No matter how much we hurt, no matter how much our heart is shredded and bleeding, we have no right to inflict our pain upon another.  How God must weep to see how we hurt each other. How Jesus must mourn the way we, who He loves, selfishly hurt those who He loves. Because He loves us all, abused/abuser. We are all God's children and worthy of respect if for that fact alone.