Created Space

So from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view. Though we once regarded Christ in this way, we do so no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! All this is from God,who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them.  And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation.  We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: Be reconciled to God. God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.  

--2 Corinthians 5:16-20

Last week one of the vocabulary words my high school students learned was reconciliation. The word means to mend a relationship, to bring two unlike things into agreement, or to come to terms with something.  Again, this week, as the boys were studying the World War I era in U.S. History, the term irreconcilable came up. The irreconcilables were those who absolutely refused to agree to the stipulations set forth in the Treaty of Versailles at the end of World War I. And then this morning I read in 2 Corinthians 5:19 that "God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation" (italics mine).

So now I'm wondering: What exactly does it mean to be reconciled to God in Christ? What is the message of reconciliation? Is anyone truly irreconcilable?

There are those whose version of the message of reconciliation grabs its hearers in a chokehold and yanks them toward the end result without considering the means. There are those who have been nearly irreparably wounded by this distortion of the message and have limped away from this perversion of God, never to return.  Reconciliation is not merely conforming to a lifestyle or adapting to a new set of beliefs.

As believers reconciled to God in Christ and given in turn the message of reconciliation to the world, we are not here to force anything. We are not here to break people so that we can splint their brokenness with our own rigidity. We are here to shout our joy from the rooftops:

Our sins are not being counted against us!

You who snapped at your son this morning and still hear your words ringing in the air between you. . .

You who sit mute next to your friend and can't shape wordsaround the truth you wish would ring in her heart. . .

You who struggle with perfection. . .

You who struggle with addiction. . .

You who cheated on your wife last week. . .

You who cheated on a test in fifth grade. . .

You who are plagued with guilt for sneaking a cookie. . .
You who won't look yourself in the mirror because you don't want to feel any guilt at all. . .

God knows.

And he knew.

And he is not counting people's sins against them!

We're getting out of jail free!

It's a grace day.

A grace day. 

Reconciliation is not about becoming a Christian. Reconciliation is about your grace day--the day Christ climbed to the cross carrying the full knowledge of the pain to which he would subject himself and the full weight of what he was accomplishing for humankind.

On the cross, the Father broke from the Son so that we--you and I--could be reconciled to Him. The rending of Father from Son in that moment opened a gap, and the gap is now filled with the souls of the ones who will claim their grace day. Where his blood poured out, his children pour in. You are invited into the created space--the created grace--between the Father and the Son.

This is reconciliation. It is so far beyond morals, lifestyles, music styles, and dress codes that it leaves those things completely shriveled and powerless in the dust on the hill at the foot of the ancient cross.

From the cross, Jesus makes his appeal: "Be reconciled to God."

Believe. 
Place your hand into the hole in my side.
Be reconciled. 
Place yourself into the space I created, here next to the heart of God. 

This is where new creations are born. This is reconciliation.

ErinRMS 2/26/16

He Will Stand

He Will Stand

"Who are you to judge someone else's servant? To his own master he stands or falls. And he will stand, for the Lord is able to make him stand."  --Romans 14:4

I may be taking this verse out of context, but perhaps not. The 14^th and 15^th chapters of Romans urge us to accept the believer whose faith is weak, to refuse to be an obstacle between a brother and the Lord, and to bear with others in order to demonstrate the grace of Jesus Christ extended to both us and them. 

Funny how these truths make sense to me in light of mothering teenage sons. These days I am surprised often by the subtle-sharp shock of the reality of their separateness. At times I have found myself strung with tension, death-gripping seasons recent and past, mourning a phase of life that is passing, fearing the changes that are already turning the color of our days like the overnight blush on October leaves. The irony is that I'll wake tomorrow and it will be winter unless I grasp the truth about letting go. The truth is that this winter has chilled my soul once, and I would hurl myself, heave my fear, and leave my children at the cross of Christ a thousand times before subjecting myself to it again.

I have three sons who openly claim the Lord Jesus as their authority and the rescuer of their souls. They stand alongside me in worship, and they take part in prayer with their dad, with me, and with others as equals. They do their best to stand with their peers in strength and loyalty. They are not naïve to struggle. They are not naïve to temptation. They are not naïve to some of the worst that human beings have to offer. They are not naïve to their own weaknesses. They are not naïve to the limitless warm swell of the very grace of God.

Not that long ago their Bibles needed pictures of epic heroes and wind-whipped waves. Not that long ago I molded their hands into little clasped fists and gently pressed their sweaty heads into a reverent bow. Not that long ago I elbowed their squirmy sides on Sunday mornings. Not that long ago I had to explain. I had to remind. I had to wonder.

As both their mother and a spiritual leader, I was and am flawed, fearful, and too-often failing. But God is gracious. It was by his grace that he gave me a season to press and mold and model and hold. Yes, God is gracious, because these young men stand. The same rescuer of my own soul will go to any length to defend theirs. If in any sense they were ever mine, it has always been under his authority. They are his servants, and who am I? I see now that I have never been their master. I am their mother, but to their own master they stand and fall. And they will stand, for the Lord is able to make them stand.

God is gracious. 

We will stand.      

ErinRMS 8/5/15

Homing

Family is supposed to be better than none.

Love is supposed to transform. 

A hand extended is intended to lift. 

An embrace is intended to warm. 

She nursed you with chemicals, starved you of milk. 

She taught you to need with no want. 

They stuffed you with filler.  They blinded with bling

And pitched soul-numbing dazzle to stunt. 

Would you have been better off left where you were?

Was anything changed by our choice?

Your tongue now spits curses. Your heart still fears love.

The only thing new is the force of your voice.

The time you spent here, did it buoy at all?

Did we shelter or catch and release?

Did you rip yourself out at the roots when you left

Or shake off the shallowest layer of dust?

The man I see now:  skinny, smoky, sunk-in,

More raw than the day that we met,

A self-declared orphan, fists balled on your thighs,

Wild hair dull, blue eyes hardened to flint--

How is it possible?  Nine years of home, 

Of my life braided daily with yours,

Was only the curl of my heart around air.

Was I somehow a fool for your ghost?

But maybe, like color picked up in the wash,

Or smoke curling under a door,

Or the imprint of sleep on your cheek when you wake,

We endure with you more than you know.

Son, we are real.  With our flesh, breath, and soul,

You are named.  You are loved.  You are known.

Though the shell of you--hardened, electrified--runs,

The truth of you still lives at home.

--ErinRMS 7-18-15

Plank Removal

Ah, the angst of the soccer mom. 

Yesterday I was shushing one of my sons for making negative comments during his younger brother's soccer game.  I realized later (and, honestly, at the time) that I'd been launching grenades of my own.  And mine were more negative, more pointed, and much, much louder. 

"Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?"  --Matthew 7:3 

Match results:  

Not a win for the team.  

Not a win for the player. 

Not a win for the mom.

When my kids started playing sports many years ago, it was a struggle for me to learn the difference between cheering and yelling.  I did learn it, but sometimes I don't invite it to sit with me in the bleachers. 

This I know:  Yelling does many things.  It raises the blood pressure, bathes the system in a very unpleasant rush of adrenaline, strains the throat, stresses out the kid, blinds the eye, piles on the regret, and, worst of all, breaks places in my sweet child's heart.  But it rarely, if ever, leads to better performance. 

Cheering does many things, too.  It raises the spirits, bathes the system in belief, saves the voice, buoys the kid, notices the hidden victories, leaves no regret, and, most importantly, lets that precious boy know I've got his back no matter what. 

"Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen."  --Ephesians 4:29      

A year or so ago, I was sitting with a friend at a basketball game that the boys' team was in the process of losing badly.  She caught herself becoming discouraged and negative in her reactions to the game and, flicking her wrist in front of her face to brush the unwanted thoughts away, dropped this nugget of wisdom into my life:  "Oh well.  I don't want to care too much." 

What?  How could you care too much?  Isn't that our job as moms?  We care.  It's what we do. 

But she's right.  Caring too much is like too much of anything:  It morphs into the opposite of what it was intended to be.   

Too much sweetness turns the stomach. 

Too much cold burns. 

Too much care comes out like a blowtorch. 

I apologized to my soccer player after the game.  And because he has a sweet spirit, he forgave me immediately.  

I need to apologize to my older son for clobbering him with my plank as I was gouging the dust particle out of his eye.  I need to apologize to anyone sitting near me who was dragged under in my current.  I need this to not happen next time. 

Next time, I pray that what I've learned will sit with me on the sideline.  

I don't want to sit in silence, because I really do believe there is magic in the excitement of a noisy crowd.   

But next time, I will cheer. 

"Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need."  --Ephesians 4:16

Only Desperation, Only Jesus

This week I was reading the book of Mark and was chilled by verses 5-7 of Chapter 5:  "Night and day among the tombs and in the hills he would cry out and cut himself with stones. When he saw Jesus from a distance, he ran and fell on his knees in front of him.  He shouted at the top of his voice, 'What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?  Swear to God that you won't torture me!'"

Listen.  I understand spiritual desperation.  And it's hard to imagine anyone more miserable than this man:  unrestrainable, self-destructive, despised and feared, and trapped in the ultimate nightmare.  It was complete mental, spiritual, physical, emotional, and relational despair.  Still, despite demonic possession, there was something left in him human enough to recognize his need. 

What strikes me straight in the heart is that even while he was on his knees before Jesus, he was battling spiritually--begging for help while begging not to be tortured. Isn't this what happens when we finally get desperate enough to cry out to Jesus?  It's like a child with a splinter--begging Mommy to get it out while screaming for her not to touch it.  

It hurts!  It hurts!

Coming to the end of our rope is terrifying. 

I have believed in Jesus for many years, but I have also struggled with fear, darkness, anxiety, and often crippling self-doubt, ever since I can remember.  

And lately I feel more at the end of my rope than ever before.  

But don't worry, loved ones.  Today as I write those words--"the end of my rope"--they speak a different language than the darkness that has so often torn its way through me in the past.  They don't come shrieking out, jaggedly dragging toward an end.  They come out swelling like liquified gold, warm honey, sweet relief, a birth. 

You see, what haunts me are lies: wrong, stupid, bad, less, different, embarrassing, obnoxious, ugly, clueless, worthless. . . .  They may not be a legion of demons, but they speak the same language, the age-old native tongue of the father of lies.  

The demon-infested man in Mark 5 could no longer be restrained by man-made chains, though we are led to understand they must have tempered him initially.  Likewise, the remedies commonly offered here to drown out the lies, however well-intentioned, do not silence the lies.  We crave acceptance and settle for acceptability. We seek justification and cast our nets for compliments. But reassurance and rationalization only dilute. They cannot, and they should not, cut through to the hurting heart.  

The beauty in the broken chains and the frequent skids to the end of the rope is that they reveal like nothing else the one true answer. 

Only desperation cuts through everything. 

And only Jesus cuts through desperation. 

So you there, out of control and shrieking toward what feels like the end, I understand the scream deep in your heart:

Help me. But it hurts!

My prayer for you:

That you will drop to your knees amid the broken chains and the frayed end of that very worn-out rope.

That you will raise your eyes bravely above what you are accustomed to seeing and raise your voice bravely above the language of lies. 

That you will be born, cradled in the everlasting arms and sung over in the language of love. 

That you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. 

The Lord has had mercy on me.  --Mark 5:19

Left

Wondering.  Do you ever think about us?

Lately I've dreamed about you every night. Not bad dreams, angry dreams--I've had those before. Not little boy dreams, days gone by dreams--I've had those, too. These dreams are new. In these dreams you are who you are now, and I am me. But we are talking. We see each other. We are a part of each other's days as an adult child and a parent.  We hold love between us, and all is well. New, but well. 

It's not that I'm having visions.  Goodness me, not I.  Besides, if they're visions, I don't understand them enough--haven't studied them enough--to know if God is trying to show me how he wants things to be or what I'm supposed to do. Maybe he is just smoothing out my jagged edges, softening me toward you, so that when you come, I will be ready. 

But do you ever dream about me?  Do you ever even think of us?

The hardest thing about being left is wondering if what existed before meant as much to you as it did to me.  How could it not?  How could it not color your every waking moment?  Or, at the very least, your dreams?

Love doesn't leave.

Family is forever. 

This is what we uphold. This is why we adopt.  These have been our truths. 

But now?  Is truth still true when half of it is hanging like a broken limb?

Yes. 

It is still true because of the everlasting arms of a Father who waits without weariness.  It is still true because of a Savior Friend who, with a reassuring arm around my shoulder, levels his eyes at mine and says, "I'll go get him. Just wait and be ready."  

But--

If you drop your end of it, does love unravel?  Or can I really stand here, stand still, trusting that God will hold your loose ends, faithful to complete the good work that he began?  Can I?

Yes.

Even if we are the furthest thing from your mind. 

Even if all I get is a practice run in my dreams. 

Even if I have to wait.

"The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms."  

--Deuteronomy 33:27

 ". . .being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."  

--Philippians 1:6

ErinRMS 8-19-14

Entrenched

Entrenched 

 

". . .release from darkness for the prisoners. . ."  --Isaiah 61:1

I can think of few things more heartrending than wanting good for someone else who refuses to pursue or accept it.  Moms are well-acquainted with this distress.  There is the relatively mild version:  coaxing your  toddler to eat his vegetables--or to eat anything.  There is also the excruciating extreme:  watching your child slip away by degrees into the oblivion of depression, drugs, or countless other forms of self-destruction. 

God, too, aches for his children. 

 

Mom, remember that little mouth clamped shut in a straight line, impenetrable by carrot, pea, or airplane? 

Remember those fists clenched hip level, those shoulders a bulwark, that jaw set like concrete, those sparkly blue eyes turned to flat, bitter flint?

 

Mom, remember begging, "Look at me!"?  (And he wouldn't?)

Remember actually going to your knees?  (Who have I become?)

Remember wondering if anyone was watching?  (Anyone at all?) 

Remember that day you lay on the floor wanting to die, asking to die, because the choking darkness was clawing at the back of your neck, wrapping around, filling your mouth and throat?   

When you stood up, because you finally did, how did you fill the gaping, malignant void?  With substance, sharpness, screen, or sleep?  With bravado?  With emotion?  With rage, hilarity, company, or work? 

Or, when you finally raised your face to the ceiling, did you see the faintest pinprick of light and lock onto it with every fiber, knowing it--beyond a shred of reason--to be Salvation? 

The heart of stone. 

The heart of flesh. 

The heart of God for those entrenched. 

The flame that draws and warms and frees and sheds the pinprick of light that is all you need, all you're asking--just that one elusive yes amid a swarm of brilliant, black nos.   

If you just focus on it, calm your breaths and name it Real, it swells to dawn and daylight. 

That is the grace and mercy of God. 

That is Jesus.

He sees your numbness and your pain. 

He knows that question you won't let yourself ask.  

He loves you through your very public and very private cursing.

He lowers himself to where you are so you can lock on to him.

He longs to lift your head, feed you, and fill you.

He goes to great lengths to reach you, chip around your concrete feet, and pluck you out of the depression you may or may not have dug deliberately.  

 

 

The Darkness Turns to Light

Isaiah 8:19 - 9:7 

When someone tells you to consult mediums and spiritists, who whisper and mutter, should not a people inquire of their God?  Why consult the dead on behalf of the living?  Consult God’s instruction and the testimony of warning.  If anyone does not speak according to this word, they have no light of dawn.  Distressed and hungry, they will roam through the land; when they are famished, they will become enraged and, looking upward, will curse their king and their God.  Then they will look toward the earth and see only distress and darkness and fearful gloom, and they will be thrust into utter darkness. 

Nevertheless, there will be no more gloom for those who were in distress.  In the past he humbled the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the future he will honor Galilee of the nations, by the Way of the Sea, beyond the Jordan— 

The people walking in darkness

    have seen a great light;

on those living in the land of deep darkness

    a light has dawned.

You have enlarged the nation

    and increased their joy;

they rejoice before you

    as people rejoice at the harvest,

as warriors rejoice

    when dividing the plunder.

For as in the day of Midian’s defeat,

    you have shattered

the yoke that burdens them,

    the bar across their shoulders,

    the rod of their oppressor.

Every warrior’s boot used in battle

    and every garment rolled in blood

will be destined for burning,

    will be fuel for the fire.

For to us a child is born,

    to us a son is given,

    and the government will be on his shoulders.

And he will be called

    Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Of the greatness of his government and peace

    there will be no end.

He will reign on David’s throne

    and over his kingdom,

establishing and upholding it

    with justice and righteousness

    from that time on and forever.

The zeal of the Lord Almighty

    will accomplish this.

 

  "How often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing."  --Matthew 23:37

Oh, Child, look up. 

Look up in the middle of your roaming. 

Look up and do not curse. 

Look up and call me Real. 

Look up and stand still and breathe while I melt you and free you and feed you. 

Look up from your trench.

Unclench. 

I want your best.

I love you.

ErinRMS 8/15/14