socially invisible..

     “Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge’s name was good upon ‘Change for anything he choose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a doornail.

     Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a doornail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country’s done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a doornail.” -Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

My phone.. MY PHONE!!!!

It’s dead. As in, dead as a doornail, as in Marley’s case - and haunts me with it’s black screen and random proclamation in Siri’s voice that it is “unable to connect, please try again in a moment”

Not unsettling at all..

It’s death is no surprise to me. It fell in a toilet last December 31st “A used toilet?” asked my niece with incredulity. Yes! A used pee toilet, ( a fine way to end the year) it was wiped down with a clorox disinfectant wipe and then spent 48 hours in a bag of uncooked rice. Most people would have just given up and got a new phone. I mean, pee and all. But we are not a family of disposable iPhone income, I needed to get it to work, our plan isn’t up for renewal until the spring of 2016. It turned back on and the screen dimmed day by day over the following month. Mostly it looked like a slow creep of wet taking over the inside of the screen. You know how when you spill something and you throw a paper towel over it and watch as the paper towel slowly absorbs the wet? Just like that. But my screen was still entirely usable. The phone itself was slowly coming apart. As if, something inside was trying to push it open. Then, on Saturday, the clock went wonky. And my phone seemed to think I was in Calgary. I reset the clock then, at bedtime I noticed it was off again. Then in the morning my phone said it was 1am when it was in fact 6am. I tried to turn on the phone and open apps and none of them would open and then… then… (sniff) it was gone. No sparks, no flames, no being shot down in a blaze of glory. It was as if it was just done.

 “I’m tired, you uploaded the new iOS and I just can’t cope anymore. Thanks for the year and a half, and all the times you dropped me. Maybe you’ll treat my replacement better” 

Thanks, thanks for that last one iPhone (sheesh, guilt)

So, I knew it was coming, what I wasn’t prepared for was the feelings I had when it happened. Isolation, guilt, sadness, anxiety (wait, what?) that’s like, addiction stuff. I’ve read articles about people and their phones and the panic when they don’t have it. Hah! wackos! That wouldn’t happen to me (insert sheepish emoji)

But seriously, I have phone numbers on my phone of important people in my life and I don’t have them memorized, who does? I had to send out an email to my best friend to get her number. My best friend!

I felt like someone had thrown me in solitary confinement. Yes yes, that is a bit overdramatic. But it really just compounded the fact that Terrace is a very isolated town. For the people that have grown up here it is exactly how they like it. For a newbie like me, well, it’s a little like being in the middle of the ocean and you know your family is out there but it is so much effort to get to them you just stay in one spot treading water. My phone and it’s texting capabilities was my lifeline. Honestly, I text my sisters and or my best friend every day. Every day. No, I’m not above a phone call. I’m not like some storied millennial that can’t be bothered to speak on a phone. But often my text conversations take place throughout the day because three little boys make the opposite impossible. 

So now, here I am, with no phone, feeling sheepish, guilty for my abuse of my phone, socially invisible. How did we live our lives before cell phones? How did I let it become such a huge part of my life? I thought I had set healthy boundaries. If I’m going to be honest (and really, what’s the point of an introspective blog if you’re just going to BS your way through it?) I was already feeling like it was too much in my life. I was trying to come up with a plan to put it away, use it less, ignore it. I hadn’t followed through with any of my plans. So now, My hand has been forced. It was getting in between me and my God. I have no excuses now. I suppose it’s no coincidence that I stumbled onto this song a few days ago.

Love you more 

by Nichole Nordeman

“You said go and sin no more though my eyes could not meet yours

I started running the third time the rooster crowed

You threw a party just for me though I squandered everything

I was blinded in the middle of the road

Climbed up in a tree to see you

Swallowed by the sea to flee you

Sold you for a little silver and a kiss

Killed a man to love his woman 

Burned a bridge back to your garden

Hung beside you while you took your final breath

You’ve been loving me since time began

You’re behind my every second chance

I love you

I’m trying to

Love you more

I’m ready

Please help me

Love you more

I keep thinking there’s a limit, I’m sure I must be getting near it

when I’ve used up every pardon and regret

And you’ve promised there is freedom,

gathered up the broken pieces

scattered them as far as east is from the west

And you've been loving me since time began

You’re behind my every second chance

I love you I’m trying to

Love you more

I’m ready

Please help me

Love you more

All the sands that fill the hourglass

every breath between my first and last

I love you

I’m trying to

love you more

please help me

I’m ready

please help me

love you more”

I guess I need the social invisibility so I can see God better..

last pic I took before it died..

little champion

Tomorrow you are seven years old, but tonight, as I write this, I am taken back to seven years ago this night. I was being lavished upon by people that love your daddy and me and they were loving on you too, even though they had not met you yet. It was overwhelming. Love has a way of doing that. But it was so much more than that. You don’t know this yet, we have never told you, that you have a big brother that paved the way for you to be. And when I discovered you existed I was all at once excited and terrified. Excited for your life but terrified at what lay before me. I was worried you would suffer the same path as your brother. Terrified my body would fail again, terrified at the pain that bore my path.

But the love that carried me, that carried you, that carried us from that point to your early arrival has bore witness in your life so far. It is as if you know... that you already knew that your life came at sacrifice. It is a deep knowing that you are not aware of, but you have always seemed an old soul with vibrant joy. Your exuberance for everything has always been infectious. Your laugh, your voice, your hugs, giggles, silliness put a smile to everyone you have touched. Even now, people at church tell me your hug makes their day. What a gift you are! 

You are so full of so many beautiful things. Your sense of humour is right up there with a seven year old boy, but your compassion is unmatchable. Anyone’s sorrow tears your heart, and other’s happiness rubs off on you. Your desire to help is beautiful. This can not be created, you were born with this propulsion. I can barely stop you which is why I often don’t, even though it drives your brothers crazy when they want to do it but you have to help them. God bless the world with you sweet Carlon. Hold on to your passion for helping. The world is full of need and you are a gift. 

You have an insatiable desire to play and be friends. And sadly, most children your age just don’t get it. To hear at the beginning of this school year that you had been sat next to a special needs student who couldn’t talk worried me because you can be easily distracted in your passions. Then to hear how you had been trying to communicate with him, that you spent time with him on the playground, pushing him on the swing…. my heart swelled and burst through my eyes. 

Your love for your family is tireless. Almost daily you ask how everyone is doing. Can we talk to aunties and uncles? Is this cousin still playing drums? How is that cousin doing in hockey? Is that cousin still dancing? How is baby cousin? How are grandmas, grandpas doing? Can we go visit? I miss them all, when can we see them again? I am sorry we had to move far away from all your extended family. We have talked about it so much over these last 18 months and your grasp of God’s call on our lives has humbled me. You have taught me about faith and trust and hope. You have been a gift beyond measure and I feel I could never be sufficient in thanking God for you. 

I fought hard for you, the fears I held at the beginning were not unfounded. Too early on my body was working against us and we spent some time together in the hospital. That was sobering. It was too early for you to come and everyone was doing everything they could to keep you safe and warm inside me. Mommy had to become lazy fast and you helped by staying calm. So when I got home this night 7 years ago from a pre celebration of your arrival and surveyed the abundance of love before me I was overwhelmed. I went to bed and didn’t sleep. But you apparently were as overwhelmed as me and needed to meet the people behind the love. You decided enough was enough and you were ready to get things started. 

And my life has never been the same since… and every day since then too… you change me everyday. God blasts his grace through you. You are Carlon Timothy and you are my little champion and I love you.

the theology of trees..

I’m no tree hugger, but I love trees.

Picking up Carlon form school is a relatively short walk, ten to fifteen minutes. Yesterday I had my two little monkeys with me and I was pushing the stroller as they walked/ran (I bring the stroller because they can never seem to make it both ways by foot). We were partly bundled, ear muffs for the boys, gloves for me and I was glad because the wind was picking up and the air was wet - it is October in northwestern BC after all. Down our street to the end and turn left to the short trail and then right through the “shortcut” says Iain, although it’s not, then left to cross the street to the school. When the weather cooperates it really is a lovely walk; quiet neighbourhood, trees abundant. And of course in October, the trees have their moment don’t they?

    “I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers” says Anne Shirley. And she wasn’t talking about pumpkin spice lattes.

October, thankfully, is so much more than that. She was speaking of the season itself, nature, what God had handmade.

October, for most of the Northern Hemisphere, is a magical month. The air turns crisp, this is where the wet air comes in, the cold brings an ice to the air that is palpable. Storms rush through; rain and wind cleaning the air. The trees change colour, the deciduous trees start to turn to glory and for the first time I’ve noticed that even the evergreen trees seem to get darker. But, oh my, the maples and birches and alders and fruit trees, and these are just the ones in my neighbourhood.

I walked past a particular maple on my way to the school. The leaves were yellow and the sun was streaking through and I was trying to drink it in and keep and eye on my boys. I was wishing I’d brought a camera but not everything can or should be captured. But, I took a breath and tried to take a mind picture. The breeze had kicked in and the leaves were flitting on the branches, slowly being worked loose, the tree, forced to shed it’s beauty. I took a breath and just loved it. As much as the maple has many varieties and colours though, my favourite is the birch. All year long.

In the winter, when they stand stark and naked with only their black stripes hoping to be noticed and at the same time trying not to be seen. Then in the spring I look to them again, waiting for their silvery green leaves to appear - the hopeful new beginnings, new mercies, new starts, new grace. In the middle of summer the wind blows and the leaves move and sparkle like glitter in a snow globe. I know when the sun shines warm on me I feel glittery, like nothing can get me down, even the air feels happy. And in the fall, oh boy. The pale golden yellow they turn, and a zephyr picks up and shimmers the leaves and it makes me think of jazz hands. (yes, that’s how I think) I feel it too, the winter is coming around the corner. It’s touching our skin and we are a snap away from feeling it in our bones. So we hold on to our joy in brace for the bleak.

Up here we collect trees to give us warmth in the winter. They are such a versatile part of creation. They house us, warm us, feed us, shade us and provide mediums for our creativity. They are here to serve us and we go through our lives not totally appreciating how alike we are. Or at least, should be like the trees.

God created us with as much variety and as much purpose.

House. Feed. Warm. Shade. Provide. Lay bare. Dazzle. Glory.

In His name, go forth and be like a tree.

if only...

Dear Lord,

Why can't I get this right? Why is it so hard to find myself in you? My whole, my acceptance, my grace. Why do I still, after all these years, feel like the little girl who thought she had friends only to watch those "friends" run away from her, make up their clubs, not include her, never let her in on the joke, because so often she was the joke. Why do I always feel like I'm watching from the outside. Nose pressed up against the window, watching the joy and revelry from beyond, dreaming about how wonderful it must be to be a part of that group. Why is it so hard to put down the measuring stick and pick up your cup?

I have been lovingly informed, on many occasion, that I am a late bloomer.

*sigh*

I say "lovingly" because being a late bloomer usually means slow and I think my mom was trying to soften the blow. And you can take slow on any level, physically, emotionally, spiritually. For me it means mentally.

No it doesn't mean I'm stupid, although, I have berated myself with that word on more than one occasion. It means being slow to figure things out, being late to the party, as it were. That has been me... for as long as I can remember. I have been late to the party. And the delayed impact on my life is really starting to show it's weight. I only now, at the age of 39, believe that I can write. I have learned things about myself over the last ten years that support this and so I am writing. And I am following other writers and this is where all the things converge.

I see these other bloggers and writers and how they have this network and they all started at the same time and all have their own success and they're all best friends and they all knew early on that they could write and they are all so cool (lame, I know) and I am watching from the outside again... nose pressed against the window. Feeling like I'm missing out.

If only I had figured my life out sooner.

If only I had learned in high school that I loved to write.

If only I had developed the confidence then

If only I had known about blogs, and all that stuff back in my twenties

If only, if only, if only...

If only I could just rest in what I have.

I was talking with Brad about this blog. I was feeling particularly inadequate that day and questioned whether I should bother.
"Am I even any good? What's the point?"
"You are very good at it. But yes. What is the point?"

He was asking me to figure out why I am writing.. or more importantly, why do I want people to know my blog?

I didn't want to answer. I still don't. But what's the point of even writing this post if I don't answer that question?

I feel alone here.

wow. That dropped like a tonne of bricks.

Would I feel this need to be on the inside if I was physically with my people?
Which I am not, being that we moved far enough away that you don't just drive here in a day. It was almost a whole year and a half before any of my family came to visit.

I am still trying to answer the question of whether or not I actually want people to know my blog, or if I just want to have my writing affirmed by these people I respect and then be on the inside.
These people don't even know who I am. I am just another name on their email subscription list. So it's not like they are leaving me out. And yet, I still feel like, because I was once again late to the party, the doors are closed and locked and I'm left to just watch on the sidelines.

See how all the things converge?

So God, why can't I get this right? Why is it so hard to find myself in you? Why can't I just put down the measuring stick, step away from the window and just drink from your cup?

let us church

Dear Church,

     We need to talk. I love you but I’m finding it really hard to like you these days. You have been such an integral part of my life - my whole life - but lately… our relationship seems, dry. I used to weep from redemption or weep for joy when I would spend time with you. I am no morning person, but Sunday mornings I would bound out of bed to be in the midst of you and I would get happy on the drive to spend just a mere hour with you on a chilly Wednesday night and afterwards my drive home was bliss. Every part of service with you was fulfilling. And it didn’t matter where it happened either. Church anywhere, I loved. I suppose that is what you would call the honeymoon period. I lived in the honeymoon period for a long time…30 years long time. And now… I am married to the pastor, my children love you, I love my husband’s preaching, it should be roses and starlight but something is missing. Most days I feel like I could get along just fine without you, and yet, I can’t quit you.

     Don’t worry, my husband has not married a heretic. As I said, I love his preaching, and there are a lot of things about you I still love deeply. But I’m experiencing static. And it is forcing me to look some things right in the eye.

     There has been a good chunk of time recently where I wish I was invisible, and then there have been some times when I want to stand up in front of you so I can tell you exactly how I feel. But lately, most days, I'd rather just stay home. Maybe some of it has to do with feeling like an outlier - something I never felt until I married a pastor (I’m not blaming him). One day I was just a member, happy to come and serve. Then the next day I wasn’t. I was an outsider. Somehow I became “one of them” and the connections I once shared were gone. I suppose it didn’t help that at that time the area of the body that I was a part of was eating itself alive. Some of the church I loved were hating others of the church I loved and tearing them apart. 

Church, I had grown up knowing you to be loving and caring, prayerful and encouraging, supportive and accountable. Was it never really that way? Have I always been wearing rose coloured glasses? I should have pegged in sooner I guess. Spending an hour arguing the finer minutia of theology seemed like a waste of time when we could be spending an hour praying, or serving, or anything else. Looking back, that’s when it started to go downhill for you and me. All I ever saw was the same old thing.  

     Sadly church, this isn’t unique to the body I was a part of. Anyone could go to any part of you in North America and encounter the same thing. Time wasted on minutia. Why do we do this? Why does church spend so much energy on making sure things stay the same? Making sure that they are right while “they” are wrong.  I am so tired of the in-fighting. Why is it so hard for us to be in-loving, in-serving, in-sacrifing, in-doing?

     Church, we need help, you and me. I want to fix this. I want to bound out of bed on a Sunday again, I want to have joy at the thought of spending time with you again. I want to leave your presence feeling bliss again. Where do we go from here?

     I feel like we need more diversity. We are not all the same. Different personalities, different gifts, different community cultures. Every building that houses weekly worship gatherings should look vastly different from the next, shouldn't it? But, we sing a few songs, we hear announcement, we sing a few more songs, we take offering, kids - if they've been in the service this whole time - are dismissed to Sunday school or children's church or whatever the new name is these days. Maybe we sing another song then the pastor preaches. We listen, or we let our phone distract us, or we fall asleep. Then we sing another song, get benedicted and we try to fellowship, usually with a  coffee in one hand and a cookie in the other (makes it easier to not pray with or hug anyone, am I right?) then we go home, and forget what was taught. And these are just some of the minutia we fight for. We preach community but it mostly only happens within the walls of the building. and when we are pushed to commune outside the walls we balk at the notion. We talk about the love of Christ but it seems to be only for us - those who have already said yes to him. And then we are perceived as thinking we are perfect when we all know we are, in fact, not.

     I know I am not alone in this. In the last few weeks, I have been in conversation with people that are just done with church. They love Jesus to their core but church is killing them. That feeling used to tear me up and make me so angry. It's only because I didn't understand.

We need to get away from defining church as only the place. Or even dare I say, we need to get away from defining church just as the people. What if we started defining church as a verb, an action, a doing. Because the people of church seem to be having a hard tome with the doing of church.

     Now, I know I'm not perfect. Seriously, I know it. But how do we change this? How do we make people want to go to church? Because remember, it's not just about walking through some doors. It's about walking into people's lives and letting them walk into yours. And the building isn't where it's all supposed to happen. 

     Have we forgotten how to be friends, how to make friends? There are so few hours in the day but are there really so few that we can't say hi to our neighbour? Unless you are a hermit living in a yurt on the side of a mountain completely off the grid and self sustainable, not even ever needing supplies for anything, then you have community in your life and community is the potential for friendship. And friendship is the start of doing church.

     Jesus would be a pretty hard sell for church these days. If he was here now walking among us, I think we would have a hard time convincing him of the purpose of church. I want to see more than singing on Sunday morning. Worship is more than that. I was once told that worship means "to kiss the cheek of". The greek translation for worship as verb is the same word for adore and bless. The Hebrew translation has four different words, some mean adore, admire, prostrate. But the one that catches me is the word that means work, labour, worship, toil, serve. Church, I think we have become too afraid of working out our salvation because it is too close to working for our salvation. Do not be afraid of working our salvation. Maybe we should think of it as exercising our salvation. Do not let it grow stagnant and atrophy. Let us not be afraid of the beauty of the doctrine of works. You can labour for the Lord without saying that you are abandoning His grace. There is worship in doing work for the Lord. Doing what he has called us to do. And when you respond to his call on your life with a "Yes Lord" you are kissing his cheek.

     So then let us do more. Let us do more as a people, let us rely heavily on his grace, let us not leave it to “the pros” we are all worthy to share his grace and love. Let us toil and get dirty, hands and feet dirty so we leave our mark on what we touch. Let us not make blanket judgement but let us cover with blankets of grace. Let us put down our first world desires lest we ignore the basic needs of the least of these. Let us feed, clothe, heal, love, serve, sacrifice.. as our saviour did for us…

Let us live the church in the world. Let us turn church into a verb instead of a noun. Let us church. 

Let us church.

Day 3,652. Or, waking up ugly and still being desired

     We woke up this morning, or through the night, you and I - as is our lot these days. Three boys that have bad dreams or fall out of bed or have to pee or leak or sleep walk or just need a snuggle. A full night's solid sleep is a dream for both of us.. a faint memory of a time gone by. Like the linger of someone's perfume long after they've left the room (you know who I'm talking about). And we go to bed too late, maybe watching Fallon, or reading or wasting energy on our phones, or trying to recapture the magic of our honeymoon (or show our younger selves how it's really done). And the boys wake too early. Always too early. We creak out of bed... moaning and groaning of another day in crazytown with our little superheroes. We love them and we love each other and it's been 2,526 days since we were allowed to wake up when we wanted (work excepted), read when we wanted, poop when we wanted, make love when we wanted, and eat whatever we wanted for meals. We had dates with no thought of sitters or curfews and we both worked and met for lunch if it lined up or we went out for lingering breakfasts or you would go for a swim and I would go for a run and no one was trying to hold onto our legs.

     We stretch our joints to the bathroom, yes our joints are there, and if we're lucky we can conserve some water ;) .  We have learned a lot in 10 years, not as much as 25 or 50 but for 10 years we have learned a few things. And the importance of water conservation is right up there. We have learned that sometimes it IS ok to let the sun go down on your rage because sometimes the rage is like flaming arrows and would burn too deep. We have learned that as much as we know each other there is still so much to learn. We have learned Grace in all it's forms (so far) and that love is a verb (hella DCTalk).

     I have learned that I "moi?" am not perfect. Hard to believe, I know. But neither are you. Thanks be to God because how would you live with perfection. We were told by friends, as we planned our wedding, that we were planning a marriage and that sometimes marriage sucks. We knew it, but we have learned it in the last ten years. How could it not? Two imperfect people trying to join lives.

     We have learned that life is full of surprises and is always changing. Sounds sooo cliche but it's true. Who could have predicted our journey together. The bumps, meadows, crevices, beaches, mountains, valleys, twists, straight and fast highways, loop-de-loops and park benches. We've shared tears and rum and cokes, laughter... so much laughter. You have seen me at my ultimate worst, physically, emotionally and spiritually, and you have given me space to breathe, think, question and process, you have loved me through and never left my side.

     You have given me the trust to ask you tough questions. The kind that can't be answered right away, or even in a day... or a week. But you have never shut down my pursuit of your best, our pursuit of growth, our reach for the Holy, and sacred. And we have seen that Holy and sacred show itself in the darkest places. We didn't always see it at the time but when we look back it still lights our way.

     We have, by God's grace, created "Strong Warrior" and "Small Champion" and "Comfort-Rest" and "Yahweh is Gracious". Our Strong Warrior paved the way and made space and protection for his brothers and we weep at his life less lived but we share the joy of seeing him again.

     We have delighted and stressed at our lively tribe. We look at each other and try not to laugh or we lay a hand on each other to keep a grip of ourselves. I am often exhausted in wonder at the three of them, that they are part of us yet so different. That they can simultaneously make our cups to runneth over and empty out those same cups. We have learned that we aren't completely the parents we thought we would be, but that they have made us better. They have showed us where we were wrong and have taught us about grace, and redemption, and forgiveness and how the Father sees us.

     You have taught me that I am so much more than I thought I was. Capable of more love, and grace, and fun, and crazy.... and crazy

And I hope I have taught you the same.

     I pray that ten years from now... in another 3,652 days we will have learned more, loved more, forgiven more, tried more, failed more, hugged more, kissed more, saved more water....

 Basically, I don't want the ride to stop. Thank you, man of my dreams, for ten years.. a continuing story so unique that it could only be ours.

still alive..

21 Jesus got into the boat again and went back to the other side of the lake, where a large crowd gathered around him on the shore. 22 Then a leader of the local synagogue, whose name was Jairus, arrived. When he saw Jesus, he fell at his feet, 23 pleading fervently with him. “My little daughter is dying,” he said. “Please come and lay your hands on her; heal her so she can live.”

24 Jesus went with him, and all the people followed, crowding around him. 25 A woman in the crowd had suffered for twelve years with constant bleeding. 26 She had suffered a great deal from many doctors, and over the years she had spent everything she had to pay them, but she had gotten no better. In fact, she had gotten worse. 27 She had heard about Jesus, so she came up behind him through the crowd and touched his robe. 28 For she thought to herself, “If I can just touch his robe, I will be healed.” 29 Immediately the bleeding stopped, and she could feel in her body that she had been healed of her terrible condition.

30 Jesus realized at once that healing power had gone out from him, so he turned around in the crowd and asked, “Who touched my robe?”

31 His disciples said to him, “Look at this crowd pressing around you. How can you ask, ‘Who touched me?’”

32 But he kept on looking around to see who had done it. 33 Then the frightened woman, trembling at the realization of what had happened to her, came and fell to her knees in front of him and told him what she had done. 34 And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace. Your suffering is over.”

35 While he was still speaking to her, messengers arrived from the home of Jairus, the leader of the synagogue. They told him, “Your daughter is dead. There’s no use troubling the Teacher now.”

36 But Jesus overheard them and said to Jairus, “Don’t be afraid. Just have faith.”

37 Then Jesus stopped the crowd and wouldn’t let anyone go with him except Peter, James, and John (the brother of James). 38 When they came to the home of the synagogue leader, Jesus saw much commotion and weeping and wailing. 39 He went inside and asked, “Why all this commotion and weeping? The child isn’t dead; she’s only asleep.”

40 The crowd laughed at him. But he made them all leave, and he took the girl’s father and mother and his three disciples into the room where the girl was lying. 41 Holding her hand, he said to her, “Talitha koum,” which means “Little girl, get up!” 42 And the girl, who was twelve years old, immediately stood up and walked around! They were overwhelmed and totally amazed. 43 Jesus gave them strict orders not to tell anyone what had happened, and then he told them to give her something to eat.

Mark 5:21-44 Jesus heals in response to faith

The woman with the issue of blood

The little girl who was “just asleep”

The woman with the issue of blood is like the wounded of the church. They have been bleeding for so long they couldn’t even tell you exactly when or how it started. They are bleeding out their faith, sometimes quietly, sometimes loud but, nobody wants to hear about it or know its happening. Like the woman was treated, 

“Let’s just pretend she’s not there, we’ll ignore her and her issue and maybe she and it will go away” 

and this makes the wounding all the worse.

And the divide deepens but they long to come back and so they cling to the faith they have. 

“I believe LORD, help me in my unbelief”

The woman reaches out tired of bleeding out for so many years, tired of the stench, the cultural invisibility.

“Just to touch his robe” she thinks. Grasping at straws, what will happen if I pull on this thread? Will it be my life line? or will it reveal it all to be for naught.

Have you ever been there? Events have left you so in doubt of your faith that you just don’t know any more? And you try to talk to people about it but instead of encouragement and support they look at you like you’re terminally ill, or worse, a stranger? So you withdraw and hide your struggle, or you become like the little girl who was “just asleep”

I had a friend who believed that God will put people, churches “on the shelf”. That if someone was not honouring Him, he would just put them there almost a “time out” so to speak. In my spiritual youth that sort of made sense to me. I understood rebellion and privileges being taken away. 

“Clean your room or no tv”

“Stop hitting or I will take away your toys”

“Keep your grades up or we take away the car”

I don’t think that is really the case but, I think she believed that so she could explain the seasons of wilderness. She would never admit to being in her own wilderness because she had, unintentionally, cultivated for herself an image of a strong godly woman. Everyone saw her that way. She worked hard at her relationship with God, at the discipline of that relationship. She made a point of saying,

“Devotions should be done in the morning as soon as you wake up” and, 

“Everything in life can be counted against scripture”

Several years ago I ran into her and she was struggling with loneliness and connection. She confessed to the cold feeling of being alone in the evening and would grab a shot of something adult and strong to warm her on the inside before bed. This was not the woman I had known. That woman, in her loneliness, would have cried out praise of the Lord. She would have recited scripture and prayed till the tears dried up the pools of sorrow. As I watched her laugh to herself about her new pattern my heart cried for her in her wilderness. But she wouldn’t admit that God had shelved her, that is for other people. But, I imagined in her mind, that is what she was feeling. And in that my heart breaks for her, she is limiting her God.

I’m often afraid to quantify God in any sense as it so often puts a period at the end and then keeps us in that statement. We have not words enough to explain or praise enough to reveal the complexities of our Lord and yet we try, just so we can have a glimpse of comprehension. I have wandered a few wildernesses in my life to date, the most recent being these last three years. But never once had I felt God had put me on a shelf.

Nine years ago my faith entered into a shaky journey. I had gone through a personal loss then, a year later, as my husband and I welcomed the birth of our son, our church was crumbling around us and it was crumbling because people I had known my whole life were tearing it apart almost with their bare hands. People I had grown up calling auntie and uncle, people that had been instrumental in my spiritual growth were doing things I didn’t think were possible. The hurt that was caused felt insurmountable. People that had been there for an age were leaving, so finally done with the fighting and the hurts. The chaos reigned for a year and the carnage was devastating. The only reason I kept going was because my husband was a pastor there and we were unequivocally called to serve there. Neither of us wanted to stay. In fact, I wanted to run. The place I had considered home for ten years was no more. I was angry and questioned God about everything. But we could not deny his call on us at that time and so we stayed and we barely kept our head above water. We witness healing and growth, but I lost my capacity for trust. Church never looked the same after that. God didn’t look, feel, sound, touch the same after that. 

Fast track five years to this same church we were leaving and I had never resolved my trust and because things didn’t end the way I wanted, and God called us to a place I didn’t want to go I felt lost and I was angry and spiritually tired and I turned my back on him. 

Hah! How does one even do that to an omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent  God? 

Well? 

You hurt, you bleed, you weep, you seek help in all the wrong places and it all gets worse. You try to fix the bleeding on your own and you just make it messier. Then you find yourself on your knees, trying to stay invisible so no one sees you hurting but trying to reach out to him who you don’t even feel worthy of thinking of because of all the time you spent being angry with him. 

I had turned my back on him, and I sunk into my anger. I fell into depression and finding joy was next to impossible. Was that God removing his blessing from me? No, I don’t think he’s into that kind of exchange in our relationship. It is our own fault if we live in the void when we choose to separate ourselves from him. We live in our grief, our hurt. We pick at our wounds in fascination and pride of them. How can we possibly feel his comfort when we choose to be angry, when we withdraw, when we are hurt and are doubtful?

I have a two year old. A very strong willed two year old and he hates getting upset. He gets angry when he cries and he would rather sit and be angry about his lot than let mommy or daddy comfort him. It is the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen from a toddler. But it shines a light on our own behaviour. I am constantly reaching out to my son in his hurt. Even though he is pushing me away, I continue to pursue him.

Jesus is always ALWAYS reaching out to us. We are the ones turning away and yet he still pursues us.

I have lived in the anger, doubt, pain, loss, fear. I am still on the fringe of that season. I am the woman with the issue of blood. I am tired of the loneliness, the separation from God, I can carry the anger no longer. I am in the process of going to him, to reaching just for the hem of his robe. I even feel as though if I could just touch the dirt he just stepped on, his footprint, I would be healed. But there is a crowd in my way. I can’t get through all the people that have hurt me, disregarded me, misunderstood me, abandoned me. The same people that walk beside him, my brothers and sisters in him. They love him, I know, but why are they blocking my reach to him? Haven’t we all experienced doubt in some area of our lives? Don’t we all know that ground crumbling feeling? So, shouldn’t we all be there help clear a path to Jesus?  Or throw out a rope to catch? 

You may not be ready to climb it my friend but you can hang on to your end and I promise I won’t let go of mine. And I will help you be like the little girl. She was not dead, only asleep. I will clear the path for you help you reach Him. And when Jesus wakes you and shows everyone that you are alive… even while you were sleeping, you were alive.