Pilgrim Hope

                                                                                      Photo by Melissa Rose Boord

We’ve had some dark days of late. You know what I’m talking about—Ferguson, the Middle East, suicide, genocide—take your pick. But God has taught me, over the years, something important about dark days. Pilgrim steps have taken me into the darkest of emotional and spiritual places three times. Many of you will recognize these places. Many of you have been there yourselves.

1. I was nineteen, and I had to decide what I desired. I could continue on the path I had embarked upon, pursuing what the world said I should want—passion, money, adrenalized adventure, success, fame. Or I could pursue a life that might include all or none of those things, the life that God desired for me. In the simplest of terms: did I want what God wanted, or not? It was an agonizing question of trust and control from which, I was fairly certain, there would be no turning back. At the time, the answer felt like life and death. I still think it was.

2. I was in my early thirties. One minute, she was laughing and vibrant. A world without her was unimaginable. The next minute, I was holding her in my arms, watching her life drain away. This darkness was the most humanly familiar of the three, and the deepest cut. It was also the most transforming. When the clouds began to clear, ah! A shining silver lining—I discovered that my faith didn’t rely on me, but was held safe and unassailable in the hands of my Savior.

3. Six weeks of medication-induced nightmare depression in my early forties. Yet here, also, a bright side, beyond the joy of finding out how easily I, unlike most people, could exit that shadow land. After years of praying that I would somehow better love and understand my friends and family who struggle with depression and anxiety—prayer answered. Now, rather than being mystified and a little judgmental, I am floored by their courage.

The Apostle Paul also knew about dark days. He said that dark days “produce endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint,” because hope—that is God’s love poured into our hearts. It’s the proof that He abides with us.

It is sin in our world that produces dark days. Sin produces death and the Bible is clear on this: death is the enemy. But in his ever-paradoxical way, God turns even dark days into light and hope, if we desire it. It is in darkness that we who believe begin to see ourselves and God more clearly.

And so, in these dark days, we mourn with the mothers who have lost their children—my fellow believers, it doesn’t matter why or how they have lost them—and we pray for peace and a way to love those, in our own country and in our world, that we do not understand.

We mourn for those who are trapped in darkness by their own minds and emotions. We pray and hope for their relief and vow to be there for them, no matter what.

We mourn for those who are deceived, who have been drilled from their earliest days to believe that God desires hate and murder from them. We pray and hope that they will see the light—and there is light. A Christian in Iran tells us: “Do not pray for us, pray with us. If you pray for us, you will pray that our suffering will cease. Instead, pray that we will have courage and be light in our sufferings, because it is those sufferings that are turning others to Christ.” (Confession: I can’t help it. I still pray for, as well as with them).

We do not mourn as those who have no hope. We do not become weighed down by others’ burdens, angry or defensive. That is not who we are. Instead, we access the power of our hope to lighten their loads, to lift them up. It doesn’t matter that we don’t understand, that we would have done things differently, that they are our enemy. It doesn’t matter. And saying, “That’s hard. I’m so sorry. Let me help,” does not change who we are or what we believe.

Yes, this can be difficult, mourning with hope, compassionate joy. Sympathy when fear and righteous indignation comes so much more easily. Intentional action that means something instead of merely going through the motions. This is work that takes training, thought, heart, presence, and courage. It takes eyes that see the world differently than everyone around you. It takes the Spirit of the living God.

But we were made for this. We’re not just standing alone and waiting to be rescued. We are on this pilgrim journey home, together, and we’re supposed to be gathering as many stragglers as we can along the way. He has told us, so many times and in so many ways: He walks with us, this journey is worth the cost, and it will not disappoint.

*Photo by Melissa Rose Boord

Many Kindnesses

“Love begins at home, and it is not how much we do…but how much love we put in that action.”  ~Mother Teresa

Ahhh, home.

Just returned from a week-long visit with a friend who needed some help after a life-threatening illness and emergency surgery. Beyond comfort and company (and the changing of some bandages), I did for her family basically what I do for mine everyday—laundry, dishes, dinner, errands, drop-offs and pick-ups—I love these people and it felt so good to have the opportunity to do this for them. Somewhere along the way, as I was thanking God for that opportunity, a little voice in my head said, “When was the last time you thanked God for the opportunity to do these things for your own family?”

Oh, I don’t know, the answer to that question might be, “Never.”

Someone once said, “Many kindnesses are spread around…that should have stayed at home.” Why is it so often that serving others feels like the greatest thing in the world to do, except when it comes to the people closest to us, the ones we live with every day? I love my life, adore my family and I’m satisfied. I’m truly thankful for them. But I can’t remember the last time I felt deeply grateful to God for the chance to serve them. You know, that “job well-done,” sleep the sleep of the righteous feeling you get from helping others?

It isn’t that I don’t love the life I’ve chosen—I  do. It isn’t that I feel unloved or underappreciated—I don’t. It’s just that, if I get to the end of the day and I’ve “only” had the opportunity to meet my family’s needs, I feel like I haven’t done enough. And that’s crazy talk.

Sure, God calls us to reach beyond our family and meet needs sometimes (and sometimes, often). When He calls, by all means, answer the call, say “Yes!”

But in the meantime—Mother Teresa and the needy of Calcutta/You and your family—there really is no difference. Be deeply grateful for the chance to serve them. And sleep well.

Writing Without a Wife

Recently, I attended a really great writer’s conference, which brought back memories and comparisons to other conferences. I learned early on, in college, not to ask that newbie writer question: “How do you find the time to write when there are so many other things in life crying out for your attention?” It elicits the usual smug look from the Author with the microphone – the gaze down the nose and the answer (say it with me, now), “You don’t find the time, you make the time.” Touché.

Many years later, after marriage and children, as I was beginning to catch glimpses of the world beyond sleepless nights, childhood illnesses, and so, so many diapers, I decided I wanted to write fiction. When I attended my first fiction writers conference I was more confident and just curious enough to ask that famous newbie question of the male keynote speaker – but from a new vantage point. It went something like this:

"I’m feeling the call to write, but it takes a lot of time to do well. I have small children and a husband with his own stressful career. I’ve been wondering lately whether and how much it is appropriate to take time from my spouse and parenting roles to give to my writing?”

As I suspected he would, the man in front blustered about being wholeheartedly committed to your calling, and spouted truisms like “writers write.” Finally, he kind of wound down…I don’t know, it may have had something to do with the faces of the women in the audience. After a pause he shrugged his shoulders and said, “The truth is, I have a really great wife. She takes care of all that while I write.” While I appreciated his honesty, I almost responded, “So what you’re saying is that to be successful, I should get myself a good wife?” I didn’t say it. I was confident, but I wasn’t that confident.

At this most recent conference, the speaker had a running joke. When someone called him about taking on a project his first question was, “Does it pay?” You would need to hear the whole series to understand why this was funny, and it was funny. It was said somewhat tongue-in-cheek. But I couldn’t help wonder what a wife’s first question would be: something along the lines of, “Who will take care of the children?” Or maybe, “Will it conflict with my husband’s travel schedule?” Questions that the keynote speaker didn’t have to hesitate about because, I’m assuming, his wife took care of that. I’m also betting she did some major sacrificing in order to make ends meet in-between those paying gigs.

I’m not saying there is anything wrong with how these men arranged their lives and made their decisions. They were answering God’s call, gave appropriate credit for their success to their wifely partners, and I know acted courageously and sacrificially in their own ways. In addition and understand, there is no way I’m going to let my role as wife and mother or my calling as a writer become excuses to shirk any of the roles and jobs I’m called to do. God forbid.

It all just helped me realize I needed to carry over a lesson from my last career. As I began to take on leadership roles and management positions, I looked around for mentors – people who could teach me how to manage well. Many of the best leaders and managers I knew were men, and I did learn from them. But it didn’t take long to realize that following their example could only take me so far. What worked for them wouldn’t necessarily work for me for the simple reason that they were men and I was a woman. I had to find my own way, or find women who could help me, and twenty years ago, that was easier said than done.

Lately, I’ve been reading the Old Testament book of Numbers, which can be mind-numbingly (numbingly…get it?) boring in places. But it’s also helped me see how much context matters. The Old Testament God, without the revelation of Jesus Christ, could be seen as vindictive, a puppet master, ruthlessly moving human pawns in some unfathomable game. But taken in the context of Christ, who taught us that God would make the ultimate sacrifice to save us, that he loves us like children he would die to protect, suddenly so many of the Old Testament laws look different…they look like love.

As I’ve pondered this latest writer’s conference, there’s another verse from the Bible that I’m seeing differently, in love’s light, and taking it to heart. 

“And older women, likewise…should teach what is good, so that they may encourage the younger women...”

I have a lot to learn, but I have also learned a few things over the years about being a woman, a wife and mother, and having a call to write. I’ll share some of what I’ve learned in a future post, but in the meantime, how about you other Christian women living a life in the arts, or just involved in the art of living. What is your one best jewel of wisdom that you would share with “the younger women?”

Of Motherhood, Careers and Salvation

There’s been a lot of shouting over the fence lately. Christians on each side, weighing in on the debate:

Is being a mom enough, or do women also need a career to find true fulfillment?

As if there aren't whole lives to be lived before and after our child-rearing years. Alexander the Great conquered the known world by the time he was thirty - my sisters, what are you waiting for? Seriously, I’m not here to put down anyone else’s journey. But I do feel called to add my voice and my experience, mostly for my sons, and so...

Dear Sons,

It’s been about fourteen years since, at the age of thirty-three, I chucked a successful career in order to parent and homeschool you full time. The regret I have is the same one I had the minute they placed you in my arms: I wish I’d done it much, much earlier. I was blown away by the feelings I had for you - I wasn't one of those baby crazy girls. I wasn't even sure I would like you until I saw you, but you had me at "hello."

I know you'll roll your eyes at this part. "Oh, Mom," you'll say. But if I lost that career only to gain the chance to tickle your little baby toes with kisses every morning, breathe in your milky breaths as you drifted off to sleep, nuzzle your wrinkly necks, be there for your first smiles, and your first words and your first steps – it would have been enough.

The Bible says that women will be saved through child bearing, if they continue in faith and love and holiness with self-control. It’s a notoriously difficult and mysterious verse, especially in our culture, and one open to a lot of misinterpretation. It’s a verse I preferred to ignore, until I had children.

Jesus walked with me on my journey of enlightenment through all of your many incarnations: the screaming at 2:00 a.m. infant, the exhausting never stop toddler, the astonishing man-child and the amazing young adult. Both of you on more than one occasion came close to death and I was nearly undone. Even so, every day with you has been full of life – and if I haven’t loved every moment, I’ve loved every phase. I kid you not, each year I’ve thought, “This age is the best.”

While I worked in partnership with your two fathers, the earthly one and the Heavenly One, to love you and grow you up, this is what grew in me: love, joy, peace, long-suffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Hmmm, where have I seen that list before?

Like the Book says, there is a season for everything under the sun. Over the next few years, our season, the one where you get the best of my creativity and the lion’s share of my time, will come to an end. More and more, God will use my gifts and talents elsewhere.

But I want to be clear, I’m not leaving you in order to find myself. I’m not leaving you at all, and I already know who I am – a strong and courageous child of the living God; someone who knows how to love, sacrifice, comfort, and show compassion and mercy; a woman whose faith in her Savior can no longer be shaken, and I became this person while I was your mom. My sons, know this: So many times and in so many ways being your mother has saved me. For that, and for you, I will be eternally grateful.

Secret Identity

So many people to be…so little time. A recent article in Wired titled Hunting the Ghost reminded me why, for a while, I wanted to be an investigative journalist. I’ve also been reading Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories over the break, while simultaneously streaming the first two seasons of the BBC’s Sherlock Holmes – a surreal experience that has put me in a detective-loving mood and filled my dreams with riddles.

But back to the story in Wired about “the world’s best bounty hunter,” a woman named Michelle Gomez who does something called “skip tracing.” In the words of the article, “a skip tracer finds people and things that have disappeared on purpose. Gomez specializes in hard-to-locate recoveries. She prefers cases others can’t solve.”

How Sherlock of her.

The article went on to tell the story of Gomez tracking down, not a criminal mastermind, no modern-day Moriarty, but a criminal who stumbled on a genius method of distraction. This bad guy discovered that by creating multiple identities via the Internet, credit cards, and social networking, his true identity became so obscured that it left him practically untraceable. Not untraceable for our Sherlock, of course. Gomez made short work of him.

…he confided that three days before his capture he’d had a feeling something was wrong and thought then about moving to a new location. “I wish I had listened to myself,” he said.

Gomez laughs when she hears this. “Maybe he lost track of which self he was, until I came along to remind him.”

by Melissa Rose

And I thought, I’ve done that. Lost track of which self I am, where my identity is found. Haven’t we all? In an age of “self-branding,” we use social media to create different versions of ourselves about which only we know the real truth or lie.

This is nothing new. People have been fooling themselves and others since people first walked and talked. That was the great thing about Jesus. He came along and instantly knew who everyone was, better than they knew themselves. He happily shared his knowledge:

• The women weren’t chattel, the children weren’t burdens, the old and poor and sick weren’t useless. They were important, valued, and the kingdom of heaven belonged to such as them. 
• The religious elite weren’t good or God-fearing. They were “white-washed” tombs, full of darkness and death, who couldn’t even manage generosity, let alone righteousness. 
• A group of uneducated fishermen weren't beaten down men stuck in dead-end jobs. They were the strong rocks on which Christ would build his church and save the world.

Then there was one of my personal favorites: the encounter with the woman at the well. Jesus gently cuts through all the “branding” that had been done to her and by her, and then does the thing she needs most, though she hadn’t realized it. He reveals who He is, her Savior, her God, the only place in which she could find her true identity: “If you knew who you were talking to you would ask me for the water that gives life.” The woman reveals she’s been hoping for the Messiah, that she believes when He comes He will “explain everything to us.” Jesus tells her simply, “I am that one, and I am speaking to you now.”

Jesus is very clear on who we are and who He is. This is no secret to Him. We are the confused ones. Through the static and the noise and the digital identities we create for ourselves, He speaks. Ignoring the false names we call ourselves and others, He’s happy to tell us who we are.

"I am speaking to you now."

Down all the wrong paths we’ve taken (He, too, prefers cases that others can’t solve). Despite the ways we’ve been branded and the lies we’ve believed and our stupid, stupid pride.

"I am speaking to you now."

We drink of the water He offers, and He names us: Chosen, Holy, Blameless Before God. Beloved, Redeemed, A New Creation.

I forget sometimes who I really am...until He comes along and reminds me.

A Life of Privilege

He didn’t set out to be the focus of all this attention. Neither did his wife and children. He went to Iran to help launch an orphanage for young unwanted girls, to show them that they are valued, that they are loved. To comfort them.

But he believes God is more than a set of rules that no one can keep. He believes in a Creator God who loved us beyond our imagining, humbled himself, and with the gift of his life set us free from sin, and broken rules, and death. For that belief, Saeed Abedini was arrested, tortured, imprisoned and left to die.

His wife and children are not so much younger than me and mine. They live here, in my town, and they are friends of friends. It’s become personal. My prayers for them turn into tearful pleas. I talk about them, keep up to date, sign petitions. And last week, to raise awareness, like so many of us I changed my Facebook profile picture to his portrait.

It was the least I could do and I was happy to do it. I hope it made a difference. I hope one more person noticed and added their voice to the cry for his release. But the next day, I changed it back to a picture of myself. Not because I stopped caring, but because I couldn’t live with the disconnect between my life and his. His face—my silly posts about my dog, or my kids, or the new brand of coffee I was drinking. I’ve been thinking about that—that disconnect—ever since.

All that I have is a gift from God, and I am so grateful. Still, I have this in the back of my mind, always, like it is in yours: I have so much compared to most of the people in the world. We do what we can to help, and we struggle to make ends meet daily. But I know, we all know, we live a life of privilege. Why me? Why them? Why him?

And then I see this, the banner Saeed posted above his bed in his prison cell:

So which of us is living the life of privilege?  There is what God gives, there is what He withholds, and there is what He takes away. If it draws us closer in, to Him and to each other, it is a gift. We stand before His throne together. The questions die on our lips. Overcome by His lavish love for us, we praise Him.

By Grace We Are Saved

“You must help the weak and remember the words of the Lord Jesus, that he Himself said, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’” ~ Acts 20:35

“Love… does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not remember a wrong suffered.” ~ I Corinthians 13:5

“Our problem is that we remember the things we should forget, and we forget the things we should remember.”

It will arrive in the mail, in magazine articles and news shows, from pulpits and politicians, from friends and family: advice on how to make this holiday season meaningful, joyful...gracious.

photo by Melissa Rose

I’m all for the big gestures and the small kindnesses, the traditional and the not being limited by tradition. The extravagant gifts, the donating and volunteering, the special church services, the cookies for neighbors, the extra tip for the paper boy – all good and worthy things. 

But bear with me for a minute, because I’ve been thinking about grace lately – the kind that God shows us – absolutely free and unwarranted mercy. It engenders in us an immense amount of gratitude, or it should. But God showed us grace while we were still his enemies with the full knowledge that we would never return the favor. We could never do for him what he did for us.

Jesus made this clear, though: God uses his children to continue his grace project here on earth. Like I said, I’m all for the big gestures, the traditional gifts. But God stuff tends to be paradoxical – the kind of thing that doesn’t immediately make intuitive sense to us.

His yoke is easy; his burden is light

He is the beginning and the end…at the same time

He is the God who wills, fully and completely, and he who lets our choices matter

The God who cannot abide sin and who took all my sin on himself to save me

The God who tells me that if I lose all for him, I will have everything I need; that in order to live, I must die

So far above me, I can’t even imagine where he is, and he is near, in my heart

So I’ve been thinking that grace – God grace – is paradoxical, too. I think grace is small and all encompassing, it’s simple and difficult and mercy in disguise.

The holidays are upon us. We will have guests and be guests. I’ve surveyed friends and relatives about past holiday experiences and thought about my own, and I’m thinking these are the perfect conditions for the creation of grace. So this year…

Smile and kiss your husband on the cheek in gratitude when he returns with the tub of margarine for your holiday baking instead of the organic butter you sent him out for.

Without missing a beat, and without one scowl or harsh word, hand your kids the broom and some everyday plates to replace the good china they just broke while setting the table.

Ignore the fact that your in-law, trying to help out with breakfast, is scraping a fork across your best non-stick skillet.

Surreptitiously push to the back of the cupboard that perfect wine or champagne you spent a bunch of money on, because of the guest you just found out is struggling with addiction.

Smile with joy and say a heart-felt, “Thank you!”…no matter the gift.

Welcome the bedraggled extra people that arrive with your nieces and nephews, unannounced, as if they are your old, dear friends.

Be fine with two gargantuan Golden Retrievers (“Is it okay if I bring a small pet?” he asked.)

Don’t complain about the rock hard, or abysmally saggy, mattress your host gave you to sleep on…even a little bit…even with the tiniest of groans in the morning…even to your spouse.

Concentrate on your hipster relative's conversation, suit coat, goatee, anything but the fedora that he insists on wearing during his entire visit, even at the dinner table.

Remember to remove your hat when you walk into your grandmother's house.

Relax and just go with the uncle who has to control everything: meal times, conversation, the remote, the Xbox.

Despite your gourmet leanings, make the same Thanksgiving meal your mother made, including the canned sweet potatoes with mini-marshmallows on top or that weird creamed pea thing—because that’s the meal that feels like home to everyone.

Even though you love that creamed pea thing, try the new dish your sister generously provided this year.

Smile fondly at the granddaughter who stares at her smart phone all through dinner.

Have a heart for your older relatives, and turn off your phone for the fifteen minutes it takes to eat the turkey or open the presents.

Now that your granddaughter has turned off her phone, ask her what she's been up to...and don't scoff or smirk...no matter WHAT she says.

Let your whiskery old Aunt, who sees you only rarely, hug you and kiss you and just laugh when she starts to talk about all the embarrassing things you did as a child.

Swallow your pride and go home for Christmas, or at least call. Just because your family doesn’t accept everything about you or love everything you’ve ever done, that doesn’t mean they don’t want to love you and it certainly doesn’t mean they are not worthy of your love and unconditional forgiveness.

Invite the child, relative, or friend who had a falling out with the family or the one that always cancels at the last minute and don’t be disillusioned when they cancel again. Based on past experience, they might have good reason. Determine to invite them next year, and the year after that, and every year until you finally get the chance to welcome and accept them with open arms, like God welcomed us.

Insert your own holiday experiences of control, irritation and offense here. Bunch up your hands like you have those experiences in your fists. Now let them go.

Be revolutionary – defy the lie that silently forgiving an offense or shrugging off an irritation is somehow wrong, or unhealthy, or not "keeping it real." Do all these things, not out of a fear of conflict, or a sense of martyrdom, or for some future reward in the hereafter, but because grace is what God gives us, so that’s what we give to each other.

Finally, realize that the odds are you will rarely, if ever, be given the same mercy, love, or benefit of the doubt that you are about to give others. Because grace is mercy freely given.

I can’t guarantee it will all go well or feel good. But you know all those barriers we tend to build, brick by small brick, between us? The barriers that interfere with our experience of God and our love of each other? They just might fade away in an atmosphere of peace, love and joy that will be like waking to a clear day. Your guests' relief and peace most likely won't be attributed to you and with good reason—are you starting to realize that if grace happens in your home this holiday season, it won’t be you that was responsible for it?

Just like real love, real mercy, real hospitality—real grace is beyond our human abilities. For us, Jesus would say, it’s impossible. But with God, all things are possible.

So here’s my holiday prayer and fervent wish for all of us: Have some love-filled, mercy-filled, grace-filled, GOD-FILLED, very merry days!

(P.S. If you’re reading this and thinking, “I can’t do this because God’s never been a part of my holiday tradition,” I have good news! He wants to be, just ask him. It’s as easy as this, “Creator God, please show me you this holiday season.”)