I've Looked Away

For most of my life, while nestled on my comfy couch, indulging in some yummy food, when those commercials interrupted my entertaining television programs, I turned the channel. You know the ones. Bedraggled children with the lost look in their eyes. Hungry. Alone. Desperate. Bellies distended from malnutrition. Tattered rags falling from their shoulders. I turned the channel. I looked away.

My days are busy and full. Soccer games and golf tournaments. Baseball games in the summer. Finding the perfect dress to wear to a friend's wedding. Making sure the boys have nice new clothes for school. Shopping for the items on their Christmas list. Going to work to help pay our bills. Supporting my husband in his new business. Trying to find time to reach out to others through SGM.

But, when the least of these stood before me with  haunting brown eyes, I have looked away. Over and over again. No time to be bothered with images that are unsettling. The kind of thoughts that shake a faith with a firm foundation to it's knees. I looked away, because I was busy. I looked away because I didn't want to be uncomfortable. Because it's too hard to look, to really consider that children are living in such a hopeless state. I looked away, because I knew that if I ever really looked, I would be consumed with the idea of their suffering. I looked away because I am a selfish coward....because the task seems insurmountable....because there is nothing I can do to save them.

My heart's passion is to reach out to mother's who grieve the loss of their babies...to look on the kind of sorrow that many find uncomfortable, untouchable, that many look away from. And, yet there is a suffering that, as a mother, I cannot wrap my mind around...a suffering that seems too horrible to imagine. So, I have looked away.

But, something happened last Sunday. A speaker from Gospel for Asia came to share about their outreach for the children of India. He spoke of the desperation and poverty, the children cast aside and abused in unspeakable ways...rejected by a religion that tells them they are worthless, less than human if born to a certain "caste"...digging in garbage to find a scrap to feed their starving tummies...filthy from the slums they live in...drinking from a sewer to quench their thirst. I looked over at James, listening intently to the desperate tales of woe suffered by millions of children and fellow human beings on planet earth just minutes after proclaiming his determination to one day own a Playstation 3. I thought of how we cannot determine the conditions we are born into. It could have been me, or one of my children born into the same hopelessness. We know this life of comfort, freedom, and safety. But what if we didn't? What if we only knew the horror of waking everyday to such an agonizing existence? What if we didn't know that a Savior came to die for us? What if we didn't know we had worth and value? What if every moment of our lives screamed the opposite? What if I was the mother forced to watch my children starve to death? What if my child were the one begging on the street and digging in the garbage? I cannot tell you how difficult and frightening it is to even type such "what ifs".

The usual protective numbness that surrounds my heart when such things are discussed was no where to be found. I couldn't look away. I took the books and the picture of a child to sponsor.

These words from the book No Longer a Slumdog (by K.P. Yohannan) have haunted me for several days, piercing my cold heart:


"Remember that you have only one soul; that you have only


 one death to die; that you have only one life, which is short


 and has to be lived by you alone; and that there is only one


 glory, which is eternal. If you do this, there will be many 


things about which you will care nothing. ~ Teresa of Avila




And yet, none of it seems like enough. While I don't believe we should feel guilty for living in a warm, safe house with plenty of food and freedom, it is difficult to reconcile that there is such suffering while we do so. I opened my full cupboard after Sunday's service and made chili and apple crisp. We stuffed ourselves while watching the Cleveland Browns and enjoyed a peaceful Sunday nap. Across the ocean, a starving child digs in the garbage hoping for a scrap someone tossed away.


I don't know how to reconcile that the same loving God sees us both. I don't know how to reconcile the things we think matter so much in the day-to-day world we are living in with the truth of what matters in eternity. I don't know how to reconcile the helplessness I feel that there are so many, and the sudden desperation to take at least one of these children in my arms and let them know that God sees, that they are loved and wanted, valuable and precious in the eyes of Jesus.


I don't know what to do with it all....but one thing is certain...I can no longer look away.


*For a free copy of the book, No Longer a Slumdog and for more information on how you can help Gospel for Asia bring hope and healing to people in desperate need, please visit: Gospel for Asia


And the King will answer and say to them, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.’
~Matthew 25:40

Where is God in all This Mess?

Suffering is everywhere. Grief, loss, brokenness. Everywhere. Everyday.

Everyday, I meet or read about a mother who has lost her child. My inbox is full of mothers waiting for SGM shipments to honor the memory of these precious lives.

A couple days ago, one of my best friends (mommy to baby Sawyer), kissed her sweet boy and sent him off to the operating room where he endured his second open heart surgery. He is a little more than one year old. He is full of life and joy, seemingly unaware of the precarious way he entered this world and ridiculously resilient although he has been poked and prodded by various physicians throughout his brief time on planet earth. (The surgery went well, and sweet Sawyer is recovering...please keep him in your prayers.)

This week, after one of the plethora of high school golf matches that fill my afternoons, I sat for a couple hours talking with another dear friend and co-worker, mother to my son's best friend. Her husband was a co-worker of mine, an amazing father to her three boys (the youngest a senior), a beloved girls' basketball coach, and a devoted member of our community. The fourth anniversary of his sudden death is approaching. We spoke of the missing...of the reconciling how God could let this happen...and why. I couldn't shake the image of my beautiful friend sitting in the church pew with her three boys beside her and his casket in the front of the church. I have often thought of the grief I have walked through, and the times Tim has held me up when I couldn't stand...held me when I woke up sobbing...covered for me when I couldn't leave my bedroom...held my hand and led me when I couldn't see where to walk. My friend has walked where I have not. Grief I have known, but grief without him...I dare not even speak of it. It's the kind none of us want to know, and yet she walks this path...bravely and beautifully. The world keeps turning...the sun rises and sets. She goes to work everyday, and loves her boys, and aches for the love of her life.

A student is watching his father bravely battle cancer.

Another boy I know loves the color pink, because his mother is fighting cancer...for at least the third time. His grandfather is currently in the hospital...not doing well.

There are other children...who come to school with hurts we cannot imagine. Everyday.

And, the world keeps turning. The sun rises and sets.

The question hangs in the air. It's the one I struggle to answer when face to face with such grief. The one that won't tolerate some well-thought out response with flowery prose. The one that looks skeptically at the scriptures that promise comfort and peace. It's the one I don't have an answer to...at least not a worthy answer.

Where is God in all this pain...and why did He let this happen?


Sure, I could wax poetic with a thousand cliches and pat answers. There are beautiful scriptures...examples of faith. Words that are true and right. But, when standing face to face with the raw agony of a heart twisted in pain like that....sometimes I am rendered speechless. Sometimes there are no words...no answers.

I could say that this world is not the one He intended for us. The suffering, grief, and destruction are part of life in this fallen world. They are not Who He is. He is the love that carries us, the peace that sustains us, the grace that offers redemption. He is in the beauty born of the ashes.

My words will not fill the ache of a mother's empty arms or the agony of living life on this earth without the one she loves. Many times, I say nothing or very little and simply offer prayers and/or scripture. But, sometimes I long for something to say...some hope to cling to.

In April 2010, Kristin wrote this post, wondering about God and His intentions...wrestling honestly with her grief and the sometimes hurtful words of others. The response that poured out of me (along with buckets of tears) was the closest I have ever come to saying what I wish could be said to an aching heart. Still...the words are far from adequate. I copied my comment from her blog and pasted below:

Kristin,

I am so sorry people have used words that are hurtful. I'm reading your words with tears pouring down my face...so sorry for the hurt you are feeling. I can feel the strength of it through your words. The anger...the pain...the feelings of abandonment. They are bigger than anything else right now. Right now, there are no perfect answers or words tied up in a neat bow to explain the suffering and death of your sweet baby girl...and the continuation of loss you feel facing infertility. There are no words to make that better or explain why. I know the pain is bigger than anything else...that you feel like He has let you down, turned His back on you. You are in the thick of grief...heavy, relentless, merciless grief.



You may read my blog and see where I am now...it isn't a place I've always been. The process of getting beauty from ashes is no walk in the park. There were years of healing, brokenness, restoration, surrender, and learning to trust Him. He is still piecing some things back together in my life.

The words I want to tell you are going to seem so cotton candy right now. But, they are true...and maybe you can take some comfort in knowing that they are coming from someone who has walked through some stuff. 

God doesn't intend suffering, pain, death, sickness, cancer, grief...any of it. He never intended it. He isn't the author of it. And, as a loving Father who values you enough to send His own Son to suffer horribly and die in your place....He takes no pleasure in your pain. He loves you and His heart breaks for you...with you... I get that you can't feel Him right now...that the pain is too much. I get it, and so does He. When I even try to think of the depth of your pain, it seems like such bologna as I'm writing it...knowing that you are in a place to receive this right now, and desperately hoping that my words do nothing to pour salt in your gaping wounds...

(To be continued in next comment)

April 19, 2010 8:36 PM 

Kelly @ Sufficient Grace Ministries said...

Ridiculously long comment continued....

You may be thinking...O.K...He didn't intend it, but He allowed it. He didn't stop it. He didn't protect her. He didn't protect me. You're right...He didn't stop it from happening...and I don't have an answer for that. Not one that will make it better. His ways are not our ways...and only He sees the beginning from the end. It is true that there are beautiful things that come from the ashes of our brokenness. And God can use all things in our lives to shape and mold us. 

But, when you are in the pit sinking...where you are, those words sometimes don't help...and may even bring hurt. Who wants to hear about being shaped and molded when your arms are aching for your baby, your body is broken, and your heart is in pieces, and your mind is plagued with memories of the suffering of your precious child? You can't see the hope of that promise from the pit. Can't feel the comfort of it. That doesn't mean it isn't there...doesn't mean that He isn't there...and I know me saying it doesn't make you feel better. 
From my pit...I didn't want to hear about God's will...didn't want to hear about the fruit that would come...didn't want to count it all joy...didn't want the witty words and well-meaning verses...didn't want the pretty flowers...certainly didn't want to listen to any miracle stories...almost every promise from scripture or well-meaning words from Christians brought pain. I just wanted my babies. And I just wanted my mother. And...they weren't here...

For a time, I didn't want to hear about the promises and hope.

But...in time when, I did. I wanted to hold on to the promise of the joy set before me...wanted to know that although weeping may last for a night...joy would come in the morning. I didn't know when morning would come to my house and stay...but one day, on my knees, crying bitter tears...I felt myself surrender all that I had wanted and just let Him carry me. There's no formula or timetable to come to that place...and it sounds so easy and tied up in a pretty bow as I'm writing it right now. It wasn't. And, it wasn't a place I could come to on my own...

Here's the thing, I believe as the bible says, the rain falls on the just and the unjust. Whether we are Christians or not, we will find suffering and trouble in this world. It's a guarantee. We will walk through these valleys with or without Him. The bottom line is...I'd rather walk through it with Him than without Him.

There is unspeakable beauty that has grown in our lives from the ashes of our sorrow. I don't believe that God sent the sorrow and loss...and I never would have chosen it. But, He has used it to make us who we are...to draw us to Him...to teach us to love one another. I'm saying that, not to rub salt in your wounds, but to tell you that there is hope for healing. Even in this darkness...light can shine again.

And, Kristin...even when you can't feel Him, He is holding you. He will carry you...He is carrying you. When you are too weak to reach for Him, He still holds you. When you are too angry to hear Him...to go to Him...He waits for you. And...no matter how hurt, angry, deserted, lost, hopeless, broken...no matter how long it takes...He will wait for you. He will be there with open arms. He loves you with a relentless love. A love that can take your anger, your sorrow, your questioning, your doubt, your pain...
His only intention is tTo love, heal, save, and carry you....

You, my dear, are not a failure....and no one has the right to judge your "performance" in the pits of grief. No one.

I hope you don't mind my long comment...and all of my words. Words that I know do nothing to "fix" the brokenness. Please know that they have all been written in love...my heart is breaking with you...
I pray nothing I've said added to your pain...

Love and Continued prayers,
Kelly

I know this post is getting long, but I wanted to share these thoughts for the mothers newly walking this path...or those with other struggles feeling hurt and wondering where God is in all of this. I've asked that a few times, and He is always faithful to answer. God loves honest, real questions. And, He loves to meet us where we are. There is no pit so deep He cannot find us. For further thoughts and scripture on where God is when we are in the pit of despair, visit this post: Letting Go and Holding On

When the World Stopped Turning...

Ten years ago, I had just finished nursing James. After laying him down for his morning nap, I turned on the news as I prepared to go to work at my part time job at our elementary school. My mom would be arriving soon to stay with him for my 2 1/2 hour work day.

The first plane hit. I froze, suddenly acutely tuned in as Matt and Katie tried to sort it all out from the TV. I watched as a second plane hit. The world stopped turning.

"It appears this was not an accident."

My knees buckled, and I sat in awe...as the news anchors tried to sort out what was happening.

Within minutes, news came that the Pentagon had been hit. The phone rang. My stepdad, asked "What's happening?"

"We are under attack. Terrorists are here...in America. They hit the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. I don't know where Shannon is."

My thoughts raced to Shannon, my brother-in-law serving in the Marines as the crew chief for Marine One (the president's helicopter). Where was he today? Flying with the president? A dignitary? If he was landing on the helipad, he would be at the Pentagon...

The news shows President Bush reading to some children at a school in Florida. I vaguely hear that he will board Air Force One, not Marine One.

Reluctantly, although like every other mother in America, I just want to grab James from his crib and get Timothy from school and hold them close, I leave for work after mom's arrival. 

The silence in the school halls was deafening. Our faces remain stoic so as not to alert the children. The only source of news is a radio in the office that tells us there is still a plane out there unaccounted for. We go through the motions, numb...gripped with fear...knowing that our world is forever changed. Not knowing what that may mean, or what more may be coming.

Not since Pearl Harbor has there been such a day. We see war torn countries on the news, enduring explosions and civilian casualties everyday. But, not here. Not in America.

Ten years later, I sat in a Social Studies class where we spent two days remembering the events of September 11. Our Weekly Reader was devoted to the events of that day, and the heroes that emerged all over this country. Something beautiful arose from the ashes of destruction, as people joined together to give what they could for the rescue effort...to wave their flags...to weep together...to pray for this great land. The lessons inspired the young children, many of whom were just born or not even born when the events occurred, to talk with their parents about that day. And, everyone remembered where they were when the world stopped turning. A friend of mine put it in perspective when she mentioned how amazing it is that our children (10 and under) have never known an America without the threat of terrorists and war. 

Our world changed that day, and our country. Forever changed.

But, the steadfastness of our God remains secure.

A friend of mine posted this scripture on facebook, and I found it fitting as we remember:

"Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though war break out

 against me,

 even then will I be confident." - Psalm 27:3

God is always in control. Let us never forget those who lost their lives on 

9/11/01. 

Continued prayers for this great land...

Ride4Grace 2011

 The 3rd annual Ride4Grace, hosted by our friend Dave Amspoker, was held on Sunday August 21, 2011 beginning and ending at Abiding Hope Lutheran Church in Bowling Green, Ohio. There was a small group of bikers who came to show their support for SGM, including sweet Holly and family. We are always grateful for those who take the time out of their busy schedules to help raise awareness and support for this mission so close to our hearts.

The run began with a prayer led by Dave.



After an ominous-cloud-covered beginning...

The sun shone through...

Love these cuties...

James loved this amazing work of art in the church lobby. It looks like just a drawing, but it has the entire New Testament written into it...as part of each line of the picture. Amazing!!

Tim and James getting things ready in the kitchen and waiting patiently for the bikers...still no motorcycle for Tim...sigh.

Those who joined us enjoyed some delicious grilled hot dogs and ice cream sundaes.

It was hard to get a pic of these cuties that wasn't blurry!! They were on the move...

Thanks so much to Dave, Brooke, our friends from the CMA, and all of those that joined in to bless this year's Ride4Grace bike run. We appreciate your continued support of Sufficient Grace Ministries. To read more about the day, check out Holly's post.