I'm Not Who I Was

I’ve probably said this a hundred times, to a hundred different people, in a hundred different ways. None of this is really new, none of it is really news, and yet I feel compelled to put it down in some sort of concrete form in a public place.

Brandon Heath has a song, I’m Not Who I Was, all about forgiveness and the changes that are made in our lives as a result. I first heard it when a friend shared it with me, and since then I’ve heard it on various “Christian” radio stations, and finally bought it and downloaded it so I can hear it whenever I need to.

This message, though, is less about forgiveness, and yet I feel that phrase sums it up better than almost anything. You see, we are all born one person in this life, we are all shaped by our experiences in our lives; all of our perceptions become colored by the world around us. In a very real way, we all become a specific person long before we grow into adulthood. Our families know us as that person, they learn to expect things of us based on the person they’ve watched us become, and they learn to react to us based on their understanding of our shared experiences. But if we were to remain the same person all of our lives, never growing up, never changing from our immature and incomplete understanding of things, never maturing in our relationships and our reactions, it would be a very sad, incomplete, and even wasted life. In fact, when individuals are limited to childlike development through injury or illness, we grieve that loss of potential. Just as we become a person when we are young, we must not remain that same person as we grow into adulthood.

When I say that I’m not who I was, I’m referring to that sort of healthy development and maturation, and yet even more. You see, while taking the step from childish perceptions and a selfish focus into adulthood is essential to our lives as adults, there’s another change in our lives that is often overlooked. It is what Christ preached, experiencing the second birth He spoke of to Nicodemus in John 3. If you struggle with the idea, you’re not alone; even the highly educated Nicodemus didn’t understand what “born again” meant, possibly not until after the resurrection of Christ, if even then.

I’m guessing that as you read this, you’re in one of about 3, maybe 4 camps. Maybe you’ve dismissed me already as a religious nut, in which case, I’m surprised you’re still reading. Hopefully, you’ve opted to “hear” me out, and you’ll read this to the end. After all, like the sower in the parable, all I do is plant the seed; what happens to it after that isn’t up to me. Or perhaps you’re in the second camp, where you think that you know what I’m talking about, you may even count yourself among those who claim to be “born again”. But you’ve never had a real change in your life, you’ve never understood what the big deal is, and even now you, like the previous sort of reader, are debating if you should dismiss me as a nut. If you’re in the third and fourth camps, men and women who have seen a change in your life due to faith in Christ, then I ask you to stop reading right now, get before the Father, and pray for the others reading this. When you’re done, come back (by the way, the fourth camp is folks who are saved but are more rational and logical about their faith than I am… but you can still pray, can’t you?)

I grew up in church. I have a book my mother gave me when I was really young “on the occasion of [my] baptism in the Holy Spirit”. I was baptized Catholic as an infant, have Godparents, and have attended nearly every denomination of Christian church there is. I would have described myself as a Christian all my life, even had things in my life that most would think of as “typically Christian”. Yet when I was 16, the first day of my Junior year in High School, I realized there was nothing intentional to my faith. I was floating through life, and if God was moving through me, it was despite me, not in any sort of active cooperation on my part. I claimed the name, but nothing really changed. I decided that wasn’t enough. Floating through religion wasn’t faith, and I wasn’t confident that I had been truly changed. I opted to be, as I recall the imagery being, a glove, empty and ready to be filled with the Hand of God. I wanted to live intentionally.

Now I’m not going to pretend that I was suddenly, magically without sin, or even the impulse to sin. I’ve fallen, stumbled, staggered through life since then. I was far from “pure as the driven snow” (or maybe I was… have you ever seen snow that’s been driven through? It’s black and grey and brown and nasty and filthy… and that I can identify with more than the beautiful unspoiled powder that falls in the dead of winter). I was even suicidal after that. I made serious attempts on my life even after I decided to give my life to God for His purposes, at least one of which landed me in the hospital to get my stomach pumped, and many of which grieved my husband.

You see, in many ways, I was a child in a woman’s body, physically matured, but not emotionally so. I still had deep, deep wounds from my upbringing. While I was able to see that I didn’t want to be the person I’d grown into, I didn’t know how not to be. I didn’t know where to start changing things to change the person I was. I stumbled blindly through life, and yes, through faith, and hurt people I loved in the process. But something was happening inside of me all the same, and the only thing I had to do to start the change was to admit I needed the change and that God could work it. The simple process of recognizing that I wasn’t who I wanted to be was enough to start making me over. It wasn’t an instant change. God is certainly capable of instant changes and miraculous healings of body, mind and soul. But just as a child in the womb begins to grow and change and develop without conscious effort, so too did I.

One summer, about 4 years ago, after the hardest first year of teaching, after suffering for 13 months with head pain and all of the diagnostic tests and medications to try to treat the cause and relieve the symptoms, after yet another suicidal ideation (I was considering going to a bridge just off the school property and throwing myself into the interstate traffic below because I was just so tired of it all), I began the difficult birthing process. My students, who didn’t know quite what I was going through (though a few knew more than others), rallied around me. They did the best they could to take good care of me, even as I was trying to teach them (these were high schoolers, though the burden they carried on my behalf was still unfair to them). Oh, what a blessing they were to me (and several of them continue to be)! After the school year, I went on vacations with my husband’s family, with my adoptive family, and back to see my birth family and my sister’s first child, an angel that God gave my face. Each trip reinforced that unconditional love my students had shown me. A niece who declared her love for me without any prompting moved me (still moves me) to tears. Family members who spoke of their love for me and pride in my accomplishments opened my eyes. Holding the new infant in my arms, just holding her and adoring her, was life-changing. In her, I recognized my need to be loved the way I loved her. I finally saw the light.

I did a bible study that summer and fall, one on the “Beloved Disciple” and another on “Breaking Free” (both by Beth Moore). One afternoon in October 2004, as I worked on several days of study (I’d gotten behind, again), I was brought to tears again, and I walked away from the day feeling like I had truly been born again, literally born a brand new person.

I realized that I spent my life trying to earn love, trying to earn approval, trying to earn the right to wake up the next day. No wonder I was so tired; I didn’t trust anyone’s love for me, I didn’t believe that anybody COULD love me. Even those who said they loved me, I’d doubted- they loved me for what I meant to them, and if I died, yes, they’d grieve me, but without me there to continue earning their love, they’d be able to move on with their lives, able to find better things to do with their time than deal with me. I desperately wanted the unconditional love I gave to the infant, even as I denied I was worthy of it… even as I made it conditional. And as I opened my eyes, I realized that love deserved is a lie, that true love is independent of the recipient, that I’d been created to be loved, that I was always loved, that the thing I’d most wanted all my life had been freely available to me had I only known where to look and how to see it.

I was born that day. My physical birth had been nearly 27 years earlier, and yet, I was born that day. I was the infant I’d cradled, loved, adored, new and alive. I became a new person, different than the person I’d been as a child, different than the person I’d been as an adult, different from anything I’d ever known. In a very real way, I’m really not now who I was before. I’m not who I was. I’m alive, finally really living, and not just surviving from one day to the next.

I’ve still got problems, I still struggle. That’s the nature of life with all its imperfections. But I haven’t been suicidal once since then. I’m 51 months past the last time I had suicidal ideations, past the day I wanted to leap off a bridge into oncoming traffic. In all the languages I’ve studied, I’ve never found a way to express just how different I am that fits better than being born again, born a brand new person.

One of my struggles in life, in fact, possibly the largest struggle, is how to interact with the people who knew me before I was reborn. I’ve been blessed, and most of the people I know who knew me before rejoice with me over the change. They were waiting for me to open my eyes to the truth. It’s really easy to get along with these people. Even the people I’ve met since then are easier to get along with; I am able to see them through new eyes.

At my wedding, the pastor who married us spoke of love – it was a wedding… of course he spoke about love! But something he said really stuck with me. Love multiplies joys and divides sorrows. When I share my joy with someone, love multiplies that joy through us both. They’re happy for me, and that makes me happier. We get into a recursive cycle of emotions, where just being happy makes us happy. I look forward to sharing the things that make me happy because I know that those who love me will be happy for me and with me. And sorrow shared is divided. When I share my grief (even as I’m doing now), then the one with whom I share it helps me carry the grief. They help chip away at the burden of sorrow so that it’s bearable. The encourage me, come alongside me, and buoy me up with their love. That’s love: shared joy is multiplied, shared sorrow is divided. It’s beautiful.

But there are people in my life who don’t multiply shared joys, they don’t divide shared sorrow. Their calls are always about what’s wrong in life. When I share the joys in my life, it’s countered with everything wrong in theirs. When I am foolish enough to expose my hurts, it’s added to as they tell me how much worse they are than I am. It’s gotten to the point that when I see their number on my caller ID, my heart sinks. I have physiological reactions of stress just knowing they called. And because I tend to have weird recursive emotions, the fact that someone in my life leaves me so wounded and upset upsets me. I’m deeply wounded that someone I love would wound me so.

I know I need to learn how to cope better. I know I need to learn to deal with people who hurt me in a way that I can bless them despite them. I know that I need to be a blessing to them, how desperately they need the life I’ve found. I don’t pretend that I’m blameless in this, just as I don’t pretend that I’m perfect or without mistake myself.

But none of my failings make toxic relationships less toxic. None of my mistakes make them less responsible for their end of a healthy relationship. I can do all the work on me in the world, but healthy relationships require both sides to make an effort. I can’t continue to live if the joy I’ve found is choked out of me by the endless sorrows of unhealthy relationships.

The best gift I can offer is to live well. For my father, who died when I was 17, I can live well as a testament to what he gave me. For my mother, who has lived long enough to regret her mistakes, I can live well as proof that mistakes don’t have to be fatal. For my sisters, who continue to struggle blindly through life, I can live well as an example of the path out of the darkness and offer proof of hope. I can actively seek to live in joy instead of settling for mere survival in despair.

Sadly, heartbreakingly, for now that means that I have to live without people I love in my life. It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s not even that you aren’t worthy of love. I can’t protect you, I can’t help you, I can’t change you, I can’t make your choices for you, and I can’t save you. It has never been my job, my responsibility, nor have I ever been able to change your life. At the end of the day, only you can look at your life and decide that you don’t like what you see, only you can decide it’s time for a change.

I’ve shown the way. God waits to birth new life in you, the way He did in me. I stand as testimony to the goodness of God, to the joy that life can offer. I stand the only way I know how, and I challenge you to never settle for survival. And when you’re ready to live, to really live, to really love, to risk sharing my joys instead of just dumping your problems at my feet, you can call me. I’ll be waiting. Until then – forgive me. I’m not who I was, and I won’t allow even you to hold me back from this life.

On forgiveness

Forgiveness is a funny thing. Many of us talk about it, but few of us really practice it. Maybe that’s because I’m not sure we’ve really got an accurate portrait of what forgiveness really is, and I’m not entirely sure that we can really, truly forgive unless our own forgiveness has been so indelibly carved into us that we’re aware of the remarkable change. Now, I think it’s essential for me to point out that I’m not claiming to have the sole view of forgiveness, or even that I have it completely correct. What I share here on forgiveness is something that’s been wrought in my own heart, born out the fires of trial and even justifiable anger. These are things that I have found are effective in my own soul and scripturally supported. I would challenge you to read the Bible for yourself, to pray for yourself, and ask God to reveal the truth of forgiveness to you rather than to rely on a housewife in northeastern Oklahoma.

The entire idea of forgiveness is riddled and overburdened with ideas of what it is and isn’t, what is required and isn’t, and things that seem good on the surface and actually, may be more harmful than not. For instance, we’ve heard “forgive and forget”. Those in the Christian community have heard this compared the willful forgetfulness of God, who casts our sins into a sea of forgetfulness and separates us from them as far as the east is from the west. The idea is that if we’ve truly forgiven someone, we shouldn’t remember what they’ve done to us anymore. But there are something to remember about this comparison. First of all, in every account I can find of God “forgetting sins”, the offender had repented and turned from their offense, begging God for forgiveness. In other words, God’s forgetfulness seems to be connected with the admission of guilt. I’m not saying His forgiveness is attached to the admission of guilt, I’m only discussing the idea that forgiveness comes hand in hand with forgetting. So while God forgives unconditionally, I’m not certain it would be accurate to just make the blanket statement that He automagically forgets the offense. Secondly, we’re trying to attach the ability of an all-powerful deity outside of the limits of time to men and women who are in a body that will die, who are trapped in time. We’re not God. While God can risk the offender doing it again, we, in our temporal bodies, sometimes dare not, lest the offense be repeated to the detriment of all. I tend to liken this to the idea that I can forgive the guy who shoots me, but only a fool stands there while he reloads and lets him shoot a second time. It is wise to learn from things that have caused you harm, both physical and emotional, in the past and learn to avoid them. We dare not forget that some people are apparently incapable of not hurting others, and to allow them to hurt you again and again, saying you forgave them and forgot what they did. We dare not forget the types of evil mankind is capable of committing. (It’s worth noting here that remembering what was done and being afraid of it are two different things; it’s a delicate balance to not fear the evil that may come to your temporal body, but to be wise enough to avoid it anyway. I’m not afraid of death, but I’m not going to go actively seek it out, either.) Down the road of forgetfulness lies the Holocaust, Death Marches, Gulags, and repeated victimization by sick people. Remembering that these things were done helps us protect ourselves and the innocents who are in our care. Remembering wrongs that have the power to kill and destroy is being wise, or “shrewd as serpents”… not fearing them leaves us “innocent as doves”.

I am absolutely not advocating that there are offenses that we cannot forgive, only that to tie forgetting unconditionally to forgiveness is folly at best and deadly dangerous. I don’t need to remember the kid who tripped me on the playground when I was 6 when I’m 36; I need to forgive him and move on with my life. On the other hand, if someone shoots me, or cheats on me with someone else, remembering the hurt that came from those actions protect me from being hurt again. I forgive the shooter, I forgive the cheater, but I don’t walk around with blinders on, either.

OK, so how do you forgive when there’s been no repentance, or when you can’t afford to forget what was done? How do you get past an offense that continues to do you harm?

That’s where we come to the most important truth in forgiveness. Forgiveness is not about what was done. It’s not about the offense, it’s not even about the offender. You don’t forgive for the good of the one who wronged you. You see, your unforgiveness has no effect on them. They aren’t carrying the physical effects of your unforgiveness in their bodies, you are. Every time you think of them and grow angry, your body has a physical reaction; your brain triggers the release of stress hormones that cause your heart to beat harder and faster so that you can get away from the danger. This reaction is so intrinsic in you, so basic, that it’s not affected by the fact that you aren’t actually seeing the person, that you aren’t in any physical danger now… your body reacts the same to the memory as it does to the initial offense. You’re the one who’s blood pressure rises, you’re the one with stress hormones rising, you’re the one who is slowly but surely being poisoned by a reaction you can’t control to a stimulus you can control.

Wait a minute… a stimulus you can control? Yes. As long as you are unable to forgive someone, the thought of the offense is the stimulus that sets off the biochemical reaction. The way to avoid the chain reaction of stress is to remove the power from the memory… to stop associating even the name of your offender with the offense. Instead of being “Ooooh, that Frank Jones, he did me wrong…” or “Ooooh, I’ll get that Lucy Smith! How dare she!!”, you remember “Oh, yeah… I haven’t thought about Frank or Lucy for a long time… I wonder how they’re doing? They were in a bad place the last time I saw them.”

Bad place? How do I know they were in a bad place? What does that have to do with what they did to you? How do I even begin to get where I care more about them than I care about what they’ve done?

Forgiveness isn’t about what was done. It’s not about the one who did it. Forgiveness is all about your relationship with God. Forgiveness is all about the recognition that you are a sinner, unworthy of grace or forgiveness yourself, no better than the worst of offenders. Forgiveness is readjusting your view of yourself until it’s in proper perspective.

You see, unforgiveness lifts you onto a pedestal, where you’re better than the one who dared offend you. It lifts you above your brothers and sisters. You don’t have to be afraid of heights to know that being high and lifted above others is a dangerous and untenable position. You make a bigger target of yourself. You have farther to fall when you, yourself, are the offender… and don’t pretend you aren’t, because right now, as you’re reading this and thinking of someone who you can’t forgive, someone else puts your picture in the “unforgivable” column.

Forgiveness is recognizing that we are all guilty. It is the recognition that we all need grace, we all need forgiveness. It’s understanding that I am no better than the one who wronged me, that I am no more worthy or deserving of the forgiveness I need than the one I need to forgive.

When I put myself in the right perspective, when I elevate my view of God and demote myself back to my right position as human first, just like my offender, it’s a lot easier to forgive.

It’s not easy. We’re always tempted to think more of ourselves than we ought. (Even if you think ill of yourself… constantly thinking less of yourself is still constantly thinking of yourself.) It’s even harder when the offense is one that we can’t really risk forgetting, when it’s one that’s changed us forever, marked us forever somehow.

But as one who has been greatly offended, hear me out. My father was killed in a car accident in 1994. I can harbor unforgiveness towards the man who ran the stop sign, putting my father in danger, or in the couple who collided with him, causing his death. But what does that get me? None of them did it intentionally, none of them were considering the effect his death would have on me.

Big deal, you say… that was an accident. It wasn’t intentional. It’s different when they knew they were doing you harm and were intentional in their wrongdoing.

My mother’s second husband is serving time in prison for molesting me and my sister for over 3 years. He threatened to kill me repeatedly. He raped me over and over again. He stole my childhood from me, and even though I told repeatedly, he intimidated me into recanting repeatedly. He’s been in prison since I was 13, when I finally had the courage to insist that I was telling the truth, that I had been all along. I had to go to court and testify against him, to his face. To this day, red-headed men scare me.

But I am no more deserving of grace than he is. I am no less a sinner than he is. He is a human first, before he is an offender. I am a human first, before I was his victim. And I will not give him the power over me of being his victim still. I will not poison my body with hatred for a man who was created to be loved, just as I was.

I have to remember to actively forgive him from time to time. I admit that it’s not easy. I don’t pretend it is. But I’ve decided that I am no better than he is, that he, separate from his actions, is just as deserving of God’s grace and love as I am. I don’t deny that his actions were wrong, and I can’t afford to be cavalier about it; I do bear the effects in my person. But until I can remember his name, not in fear or anger or hatred, but in sorrowful remembrance of another soul desperately in need of God’s bountiful grace and love, then I can’t pretend I’ve forgiven him.

I’m getting there. Because the truth is that God loves him just as desperately as he loves me… and just recognizing that was a powerful step of forgiveness.

I’m inviting you to walk with me on this difficult road. The first step is a doozy, but then, falling from the heights we’ve lifted ourselves to always will be. You’re not alone; there are plenty who’ve gone before you and who will come after you yet. But healing can’t begin unless you take the first step.

Musical Musing “How Can I Keep From Singing?”, Chris Tomlin

How Can I Keep From Singing?

There is an endless song
Echoes in my soul
I hear the music ring
And though the storms may come
I am holding onTo the rock I cling

How can I keep from singing Your praise
How can I ever say enough
How amazing is Your love
How can I keep from shouting Your name
I know I am loved by the King
And it makes my heart want to sing

I will lift my eyes
In the darkest night
For I know my Savior lives
And I will walk with You
Knowing You'll see me through
And sing the songs You give

How can I keep from singing Your praise
How can I ever say enough
How amazing is Your love
How can I keep from shouting Your name
I know I am loved by the King
And it makes my heart want to sing

I can sing in the troubled times
Sing when I win
I can sing when I lose my step
And fall down again
I can sing 'cause You pick me up
Sing 'cause You're there
I can sing 'cause You hear me, Lord
When I call to You in prayer
I can sing with my last breath
Sing for I know
That I'll sing with the angels
And the saints around the throne

How can I keep from singing Your praise
How can I ever say enough
How amazing is Your love
How can I keep from shouting Your name
I am loved by the King
And it makes my heart
I am loved by the King
And it makes my heart
I am loved by the King
And it makes my heart want to sing
Yeah
I can sing!


I’m sitting here, one day post surgery, on the computer after I decided I needed to take a break from it, blogging because of the joy that I have in me when I listen to this song.

What an infectious melody, driving beat, what a just plain fun song! And yet, behind the fun in this piece, there is the solid truth that buoys the spirits and encourages the discouraged (though, actually, unlike last time, I’m not really discouraged about the result, just bored while I let my eyes heal). Indeed, how can I keep from singing? (I suspect John will look at me at some point because I’ve stopped mouthing the words and signing what few I know and started singing out loud, interrupting his news).

This isn’t the only song in the contemporary Christian market right now that contrasts the idea of singing praise to God despite the circumstances that would suggest despair, not even the only one in recent times. Two others spring to mind readily, one done by Mercy Me and the other by Tree 63. I think it’s the truth that’s inside all of these that I’m tapping into when I’m lifted this way, and it’s the same idea that I was reaching for with Victory In Jesus. I wrote that piece when I was really struggling with non-stop pain from a headache (or series of headaches, I’m not sure we ever knew which) that just refused to go away.

I know I’m not the only one who understands the way that pain just wears at you. Even when it’s within tolerable levels, and you can function in your day, being in pain all the time is exhausting and discouraging. It’s easy to get lost in the pain, to think that our pain has become our new definition, to lose hope. It’s easy to be defeated in situations like that, to begin to fear that the “you” you want to be has died, and this new “you”, the one who is limited by pain or disease is all that remains. If you’ve ever suffered from a serious illness or chronic pain, I’m sure you understand what I’m saying. If you’ve watched someone live that way, you have some concept of what I mean when I say that it’s entirely too easy for us to be defeated by our circumstances.

These songs, like my poem, defy the idea that our identity or emotional state need be defined by our disability or disease. They call us to remember that our identity lies not in this life or this temporary trouble, but in the immortal Savior who has redeemed us. Paul, living with disability and chained for his faith called these things “light and momentary troubles” and encourages us to “not lose heart”. He reminds us that nothing in all of creation can separate us from the love of God, even as he reminds us that life is hard and trials will come.

You see, Beloved, Christianity isn’t a promise that life will go smoothly, or that you can pay all your bills on time, or be wealthy beyond imagining, or healthy and hale all the time. Jesus tells us that trials will come, and forgive me for being bold, but anyone who says that they won’t is repeating a lie from hell.

The power in this song, and those like it, isn’t that we praise God for the good thing, it isn’t that we are thanking Him for all the marvelous blessings we have in Him, though both of those things are good and worthy things. The Bible talks about loving people who are good to us, and dismisses this by saying that “even the pagans do this” (note, I mean “non-believers”, and nothing remotely derogatory by it), but instead challenges us to love those who do ill to us.

The power here, the truth that leaves me singing as I sit here in pain in the darkness with my computer set at a huge font just so I can see clearly enough to write, is that my identity is found in my Savior. I am not defined by my pain. I am not defined by my past. I am not defined by my limitations, my illness, my disability, my mistakes, my failings, my ANYTHING. No, Beloved, my identity is that of redeemed, loved, prized, treasured daughter of the creator of the universe. I am the dearly loved and longed for bride of the King of Kings. I am who HE says I am, I am wanted, I am loved, I have value and worth beyond my own estimations.

My identity isn’t temporary, it’s not based on what I do or who I know, it’s not based on what records I hold, what I know, my abilities, or even my disabilities. When you find your identity separate from the temporary things of this world, separate from the sunny days or the dark ones, when you have a promise that everything so far is so light, so minute, so temporary that even cancer and imprisonment can be called “light and momentary troubles” in the face of the glory to come… well, how could you keep from singing?

Beloved, my faith isn’t based on what I’ve done. It isn’t based on my ability to get myself into Heaven. It isn’t based on how smoothly life goes now. My faith is based in the person of God, who provided a way to bring me home to Him through His son, Jesus, and who has sealed me with His own Spirit. Even now, my God is in heaven, singing for joy over me, my Jesus is preparing a place for me, and eagerly awaiting when I take my place at his side as treasured bride. Let life bring what it may. Let me have the worst it has to offer; I’ve survived things that have destroyed others, and even if I don’t survive, I will be with the One who created me, who loved me so much that even before my birth He provided my redemption, who seals me and keeps me for Himself, who even now intervenes and intercedes on my behalf and is waiting to bring His bride to Himself. Bring it, life… because you don’t define me, and I won’t be defeated by temporary things.

You tell me… how can I keep from singing?

Post op

Well, folks, first of all, I apologize for any and all spelling mistakes.

I really shouldn't be on the computer at all, but scrunching to within a foot of the screen, I can see fairly well, which means when the haze heals off, I should be GREAT.

And knowing what to expect this time made the entire process better. This time the first time around, I was in frightened tears that something had gone terribly wrong. Now I know better, and I'm just coasting through.

I'm coasting my way to bed now... have fun, folks!

Something to remember:

It should be noted that the only thing really prompting this tonight is watching an episode of DS9, and yet there are many reasons to consider both, not only under the current administration, but even more so under future ones.

The following two statements stand in opposition to each other, and yet are essential to remember. The first, known largely because of a Star Trek episode, is "Inter arma enim silent leges". It's actually a quote from Cicero from the Roman empire, who said "Enim silent leges inter arma"... the word order makes no difference in Latin; the declension of the nouns and conjugations of the verbs determine the meaning, not only of the words themselves, but of the sentence as a whole. The phrase means that the law is mute during 'the time" of arms. DS9 translated it as "In times of war, the law falls silent"; this is similar enough to the actual meaning that we can work from this translation.

The other statement, often attributed to Benjamin Franklin (who said some remarkably similar things, to be fair) but of uncertain origin, comes from the era of American Independence. It is "Those who would give up Essential Liberty to purchase a little Temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety." It. like the above, is often paraphrased and quoted differently, but again, with enough similarity to the original that it too, can be discussed comfortably.

It should be clear enough why the two are in such complete opposition, yet let me make absolutely clear that it is enumerated. The first, Roman quote, discusses the tendency of government to suspend legal behavior in order to accomplish the "greater" goal of winning a military conflict. Indeed, this was invoked in a Supreme Court decision made in 1866 following the American civil war, when they declared that the Bill of Rights were suspended in times of war, when the safety of the individual was supreme over all other laws. The second, attributed to Franklin, one of the fathers of our nation and indeed, author of the very Bill of Rights that the Supreme Court declared were suspended in time of war, discusses the balance between liberties and safety. It argues that the surrender of freedoms in an attempt to purchase safety is dangerous at best.

I ask you to think these things over. I ask you to be intentional in your political decisions. I know that it sounds as though I'm speaking out against the current administration, but I'm not. I'm speaking of all governments. Do you really want a government large enough to sell our liberties in the name of providing us safety that they can not actually guarantee? (You really think the government LET 9/11 happen, with full knowledge that thousands of innocents would die? Wow... let me read your conspiracy blog!) Do you really want a government large enough that they would ignore the laws put into place to limit it and protect it whenever it feels threatened? The constitution was created to limit the government and protect the people from tyranny... and yet, the very freedoms it guaranteed are now questioned and considered disposable. The right to bear arms was to arm the people against an abusive government; today we are required to register with the government the very firearms we would use to defend ourselves against it.

How big do you want your government?

full disclosure: I am a registered Republican, I agree whole heartedly with the decision to go into Iraq, I don't think we can pull out given the current situation, and while I know how to use a gun, I do not currently own any and couldn't hit the broad side of a barn from 2 feet away. None of those facts negate the discussion above.

Keeping Track of Heather

Thanks to the internet, our world that was once insurmountably large is now incredibly small. It's not that the planet went on a diet or something (what? Diet? That works?!), but rather that our social networks have grown larger. With the advent of global internet, telephones, cars, trains, airplanes, and other communication and transportation devices, we are no longer limited by how far our legs (or our beast of burden's legs) can carry us before we drop. I have dear friends all over the world and from all over the world.

The internet, particularly what media call "Web 2.0", allows us to share as much (or as little) of our lives as we desire, and often at little or no cost. I've signed up for lots of different websites and web-based services, and it's easy to lose track of them all. So, as much for my sake as yours, I've decided to link as many of them here as possible.

Photos:
Snapfish (Mostly pictures others have shared with me)
Webshots, Webshots, Webshots (My most common "dumping" ground of pictures. Cruise pics here, etc. more than 3000 pictures across the three accounts, folks!)
Flickr (If this doesn't work, leave me a comment, please!)

Video:
LiveVideo (I usually TRACK Vids here, not upload them).
YouTube (My favorites, and vids I've uploaded).

Blogs & MicroBlogs (Twitter)
Blogger
Xanga
Twitter

Social Networks
FaceBook
MySpace

It's worth noting that 99 out of 100 times you find "hjourdenjackson" somewhere, that's likely me. "hjackson" is me, too, quite often, but not always. I'm on forums, in chats, in email... It's entirely possible to have an entire social life online, and I'm living proof of that. The above are just the most common places to find me.

ETA: Nearly forgot one of my favorites. My poetry is regularly listed on the first page of results when you Google me by name. Whoo! (We think that the website where it's located actually winds up inflating the chances of being found...)

Twice-Baked Potatoes (16 April 2008)

OK, to be fair, I measured NOTHING in this "recipe", so I'm guessing at approximate measurements to replicate it.

Baked 3 HUGE russetts in-skin, in microwave (took 15.5 minutes before they were done, and in a few places, I think the last 30 seconds might have helped...)

Pan-fried 4 strips of turkey bacon and chopped into 1/4"ish square pieces (nothing fancy, just ran my knife through them in a rough chop.)

I halved the potatoes and scooped out the innards, saving skins as possible (If you manage to save all 6 halves, bravo! I only got two!) even though that meant they were not scraped of all the flesh.

Mixed with maybe 1/2?cup of milk (I know I started with about a 1/4 cup, but they needed more, so I tossed in another healthy splash), and about 2? ounces of sour cream in my stand mixer. Added bacon, a handful of shredded romano, 1/2? 1/3? cup shredded sharp cheddar (somewhere between a 1/6 & 1/8th of one of those 2 cup bags) and a tablespoon or two of "trail dust", a boutique spice I found in a flea-market type booth here in town (yes it was sealed!). Added a stick (yes, an entire stick!) of butter (1/4 pound) and about a tablespoon or so of kosher salt as I mixed.

Scooped the two skins full and overflowing (if you save all 6 skins, you may not be able to do quite "overflowing") and had about a quart of mashed potatoes left. Sprinkled about a hand full of sharp cheddar on top and poof... will bake them off in the oven in a few minutes.

It's worth noting: cheddar was 2%, milk was 2%, sour cream was "light", and the bacon was turkey bacon. This SOUNDS horribly decadent, but it's not as bad as it could have been. Also worth noting: The only thing I had to buy specifically for this was the potatoes. I had the seasoning, the bacon, etc. I used up the remains of one bag of cheese in it, and took the cheese to top it with from another opened bag (no, I don't know why I had two bags of the same sort of cheese open).

They say the best cooking is the kind you don't worry or fuss about measuring out, and just put together to your tastes. This was that sort of cooking. Shoot, that's MOST of my cooking. I might start with a recipe, but I rarely follow it exactly (except for baking, where chemistry means I fiddle with things less than other recipes).

Musical Musing: Nichole Nordeman, "Sunrise"

Sunrise, Nichole Nordeman

If I had the chance

To go back again

Take a different road,

bear a lighter load

Tell an easy story

I would walk away

With my yesterdays

And I would not trade

what is broken for beauty only

Every valley

Every bitter chill

Made me ready

to climb back up the hill

And find that…

You are sunrise

You are blue skies

How would I know the Morning

If I knew not midnight?

You’re my horizon

You’re the Light of a new dawn

So thank You, thank You

That after the long night,

You are sunrise

There’s a moment when

Faith caves in

There’s a time when

every soul is certain God is gone

But every shadow is evidence of sun

And every tomorrow holds out hope for us

For every one of us

You are sunrise

You are blue skies

How would I know the Morning

If I knew not midnight?

You’re my horizon

You’re the Light of a new dawn

So thank You, thank You

That after the long night,

You are sunrise

You alone will shine

You alone can resurrect this heart of mine

You are sunrise

You are blue skies

How would I know the Morning

If I knew not midnight?

You’re my horizon

You’re the Light of a new dawn

So thank You, thank You

That after the long night,

You are sunrise

You are sunrise

It’s been a while since I worked on this particular series, but listening to the music again and having a moment after changed doctor’s appoinments and lunches gave me a chance to be still and chew on the lyrics again.

Let me start by giving you some scriptural references that give us the biblical basis for Nichole’s assertions that God is sunrise. There’s a lot here, and I didn’t get them all, so feel free to do your own searches.

Ezra 9:8 Psalm 18:28 Psalm 118:27 Isaiah 60:19 1 Corinthians 4:5

2 Corinthians 4:6 1 Peter 2:9 1 John 1:5 Revelation 21:23 Revelation 22:5

John 8:12 John 12:35 John 12:36 1 John 1:7

I find myself really identifying with these lyrics. I’ve said one version or another of them at different times in my life, even written poetry with these ideas swirling at the foundation. This idea of what we would do differently if we could go back and do it over again often forgets the essential nature of an experiential life; we learn by doing. We gain strength by surviving. We grow through adversity. The abuse I grew up with, the physical beatings, the verbal lashings, the rape and seduction of my innocence, the emotional uncertainties… every bit of it, it was horrible, and no, I wouldn’t wish my past on anyone. I wouldn’t recommend my upbringing to anyone, and I would (and do) report any adult I saw repeating on a child the things that were done to me. Every time, I would stand up and fight for the defense of the child. Please don’t think for a moment that I would ever advocate that child abuse is necessary or acceptable. It is a repellent stain on humanity.

That said, if I had a chance to go back in time and magically prevent what had happened to me, to undo the abuse before it happened, I wouldn’t. I am the woman I am today because I survived that. My faith blossomed in ways I can’t imagine it would have without the struggles I faced.

I’m not saying that the only way to have a deep faith in God is to have a traumatic upbringing or horrifying event in your life. As my sweet mother would say, I don’t have to become an alcoholic to be as aware of my need for grace and reliance on God as the alcoholic walking the path to recovery. God is mighty and wonderful and beyond our imagining; His grace is as individual to each of us as we are to Him.

What I do mean to say is that faith is tested and proven in the fires of trial and adversity. When it seems there is no reason to hope, no joy to cling to, no future to long for, no external reason to have faith that there is more than the darkness that surrounds us, life is bleak and frightening. But when you are able to see just the faintest glimmer of the coming dawn, when you can reason with yourself that now is not forever, and better will come in time, when you can cling to faith when there’s no obvious reason to do so, then the faith that emerges will be stronger for the trials. In a very real way, our faith is like gold, which must be melted and destroyed in fire in order to remove the impurities and be shaped into its final form. It is like steel, which must be tempered with heat to strengthen it, make it harder and less brittle. It is like clay which must be molded and shaped in the hands of a master craftsman to be useful.

Let’s say for a moment that you’ve lead a privileged life. You never wanted for anything, you never knew what it was to go without. There was never any doubt that you were dearly loved. Life was a cakewalk. You enjoy sunrise, but you never doubted it would come. You have the sort of precious faith that was poured into you by your family and loved ones, that is as much a part of who you are as your own name, your very being. Now try to imagine what it is like for someone who didn’t have that remarkable privilege. Think of a child from a third world country, for whom peanut butter is a luxury rarely afforded. You get tired of the everydayness of peanut butter and jelly sandwich; imagine the poor child, half naked, and delighting in the first peanut butter and jelly sandwich he’s ever had. Give him a burger and fries and look at how stunned he is at the meat… and how ordinary it is to you. Imagine, beloved, that your faith in God is like the food we eat. Sometimes, it’s so easy that it’s easy to take for granted. But when each meal is remarkable, how sweet it tastes, how satisfying it can be! Now go back to our person who has had enough all his days. Suddenly, life changes, and he finds himself hungry, cold, lost and alone. What a shock! What in life has ever prepared him for less than enough? Maybe his family told him what to expect, maybe they raised him with respect for the frailty of life. But the other child, the one who’s known nothing but want all his life? When everything is yanked from him, he’s grown accustomed to the possibility. He’s stronger, harder, not because his lifestyle is good or ideal, but because the only choice he’s ever had was cling to uncertain hope and survive, or give up in despair and succumb to the overwhelming loss and death.

I’m married to a man who is the first, who had a stable, loving home with stable, loving parents. He didn’t have everything he wanted all the time, but his parents made sure he always had what he needed. His faith is no weaker than mine, no less valid than mine. I’m not saying that at all. The trials he faced built him in ways I can’t understand. But in many ways, I’m the second (though I’ve never gone hungry). There were literally days I didn’t know if I’d wake up in the morning, days when I wasn’t sure not waking up would be such a bad thing. But being carried by my faith in Christ meant that when the rug was pulled from beneath my feet (when my father, the one person I thought really “got” me, died when I was 16), I already had in place the faith I needed to carry me through the darkness of grief to the dawn of my life after his death. Because of the way I suffered as a child, I had hope to cling to that, this, too, was survivable. Oh, beloved, there were dark days, darker nights, suicide attempts and heartbreak before and after I lost my Dad, but every night has been faithfully followed with sunlight and hope. Every time I’ve lost all hope, the sun rose in the morning and renewed me.

I guess what I’m trying to say is simply this: When all seems hopeless, in the darkness so bleak you can’t see tomorrow… you’re not alone, you’ve never been alone. I was there before you, and there are times I stumble back into the disheartening darkness. But there is hope, there is a reason to continue. After we’ve been tested and tried, beloved, we stand taller in the coming dawn in the love of Christ who died and was resurrected to bring us to Him. I’ve been where you are, and I stand in the light of a new day, proof that there is a tomorrow. There is worth in our sufferings because we are stronger for them.

Thank You, God, for the long dark night of the soul that showed me how desperately I needed you just to survive. Thank You for the adversity that tested me, tried me, and gave me the strength to survive and testify to Your provision on the other side. Thank You, God, for being my hope when I had none other. Thank You, God. You truly are sunrise.

Meditation...

I struggle to sleep, and while ambien and CPAP have helped me sleep (I'm more likely to stay asleep long enough to rest thanks to the combination), I'm not always able to fall asleep easily or stay asleep peacefully. After a nightmare, I'm more likely to be restless for the rest of the night, unable to distinguish dream from reality without forcing myself awake, a cycle that repeats itself over and over and over until I finally give up and drag myself through my day, half afraid to go to sleep lest it start over again.

A few years ago, I stumbled across a secret that I forget entirely too often, but as I sit up tonight trying to become tired enough to sleep solidly until I get up almost 2 hours earlier than normal for an appointment, I am reminded again of something I used just last night to find better rest.

I meditate. I don't sit cross-legged and chant the seed sounds of the universe, no, nor do I go to my quiet place or empty of my mind. All of those trails lead to an active mind and restlessness for me; they always have. No, my meditation is singing praise songs in my head, soundlessly worshiping the God who gives me each breath until sleep takes over.

I can't count the number of times I've lain in bed, weeping myself to sleep with some sorrow or grief, either from a broken relationship or from one who's death leaves me lonely without them. How do you quiet a heart so broken that it must weep or destroy itself? How do you calm the mind racing over all the things you could have said, didn't say, need to say? How do you find the rest necessary to actually rest and be renewed and restored? It's something I've struggled with for so long, so consistently, that I had to find something or go mad.

I'm sitting here listening to Christian music, Natalie Grant, Nichole Nordeman, Third Day and others, letting the praise they sing to God wash over and through me. It forces me to stop focusing on myself, on my problems, on all the ways I couldawouldashouldaoughta been different. It pulls my attention to my Creator, my Redeemer, the Savior who is so eagerly waiting to carry me and all my burdens. As I lay my concerns and the weights that hold me back in life aside long enough to search my mind for songs of praise, I find peace, I find stillness, I find the ability to relax and let go... and then I sleep.

I wish I remembered more often to do what my Maker asks, and seek Him first. He did promise that He would meet my needs and give me the desires of my heart if I made HIM the desire of my heart.

I pray that this never becomes a rote ritual for me, something I do to sleep without any of the consideration of the words that play through my mind. My meditation isn't a magical chant to get me solid sleep. It needs to always remain a way of taking my selfish focus and handing it to God, a path to rest in Him and faith in Him.

And now, unto Him who is able to keep that which we give Him against the day of His coming, be all praise, all glory, all He's asked for, all He deserves and more. And if He gives me a peaceful restful night, well... that's icing on this cake.

Try it yourself sometime. Take the last thoughts you think before slumber and focus them on our mighty God, and see if He doesn't do something mighty and wonderful for you... like a peaceful night's sleep. Me? I'm going to listen to "River God" one more time and go crash.

Musical Musings: All You Need Is Love, The Beatles

Love, love, love.
Love, love, love.
Love, love, love.

There's nothing you can do that can't be done.
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game.
It's easy.

Nothing you can make that can't be made.
No one you can save that can't be saved.
Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.
It's easy.

All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.

All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.

Nothing you can know that isn't known.
Nothing you can see that isn't shown.
Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.
It's easy.

All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.

All you need is love (all together, now!)
All you need is love. (everybody!)
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need (love is all you need).

Yee-hai!
Oh yeah!
She loves you, yeah yeah yeah.
She loves you, yeah yeah yeah.

1 John 4:8b: God is love.

I’ve meant to blog on this for a long time, and there is a part of me that hopes Sirs Paul and Ringo will read this, though I doubt it.

This song makes me cry. It’s so beautiful, it’s so close to Truth, it’s so effervescent… and yet, I am certain that as close as they came, they missed it.

I fear that we, as a people, are too quick to dismiss the God of the Bible as ancient, distant, irrelevant, and in so doing, we miss the great Truth that lies between the covers of the bestselling book in history. We see the lessons we heard in Sunday School in general (if we even went) and don’t see any application in life today. We bash our way through life looking for answers to questions we’re not even sure how to ask and conclude that God either doesn’t exist or isn’t reachable… and that’s if we even have a concept of God that allows for Him to be a person (as opposed to an ultimate state we can all reach if we try hard enough).

The truth is that nearly all of us are almost certainly worshiping idols, even when we think we’re worshiping the God of the Bible, the God of Christianity. I’m not say there is no true worship of the true God; I am quite certain that when we are stripped of everything, we either arrive at the actual God of this universe or we flail in despair and hopelessness.

God is so beyond what we can understand, so beyond what we can grasp and comprehend, so far above us that we don’t even know where to start. We define him and limit him for our own sake, and then we worship the concept of God we’ve created for our own limited understanding. We may not be as exaggerated as Wil Farrell’s character in Talladega Nights who worshiped “Baby Jesus” instead of God, choosing only that small aspect of Him, and even then, treating him like some sort of genie in a bottle to give us what we ask for. But are we far from it? We “name it and claim it”, quoting a promise from the Bible that God made to Israel and all but demanding he fulfill it today. We conveniently forget that Israel is compared to a prostitute (Gomer, the wife of Hosea) and repeatedly breaks the covenant God made with her… even as we do the same. We want all of the Good He offers without any of the obedience, blithely declaring that grace covers our sins. We want a cheap faith without any requirements, forgetting that Messiah fulfills the law, not revokes it.

Now, I’ll admit, I’m far from understanding who God is, and I don’t deny that I fall into the same trap I’m sitting here decrying, happily worshiping God as loving and merciful and ignoring the justice that demands I change my life. I forget that I am meant to be a temple where His Holy Spirit dwells, pure and sanctified, set apart for His purposes and uses and I use what God made holy for unholy purposes. I don’t deny any of this, and I freely admit that, like Israel before me, I all too often am guilty of breaking the covenant God made with us, that Jesus sealed for us. I don’t exclude myself from the great masses as I write this. I feel like Isaiah in the temple, so aware of my own sin that I cry out “Woe is me, for I am a woman of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips!”

God is love. Can you even begin to fathom what that means? Can you even begin to wrap your minute concept of who God is around the broadness of this ONE aspect of the Almighty? Look at 1 Corinthians 12:31-13. Love is described as “the most excellent way”. It is patient. It is the mercy and love of God that makes Him so patient; He allows us each day to come to Him, even accepting us as His if it is the last breath of our life. Can you conceive of a patience that allows for that sort of behavior? Love is kind. Not petty, not mean, not cruel, but kind and gentle. It is God’s kindness that demanded His mercy, that provides a path back to Him where none is deserved. Love does not envy. Love does not boast; can you understand that when God says He is all mighty, it is not a boast, but simply a statement of complete fact? Love is not proud. Love is not rude, Love is not self-seeking. Love is not easily angered. Oh, praise be to the omnipotent God that He is not easily angered. God’s wrath is mighty, but it takes mighty measures to release it. Love keeps no record of wrongs.

Stop right there. Love keeps no record of wrongs. Read it again. Love keeps no record of wrongs. God keeps no record of wrongs. God keeps NO record of wrongs. Bathe in that for a moment. God is not sitting in heaven like Zeus or Thor with a thunderbolt or a hammer to smite you if you make a mistake. Paul tells us in Romans that there is NO condemnation. David tells us that as far as the East is from the West, that’s how far God has removed our sins. Isaiah tells us that He remembers our sins no more. Every mistake you’ve ever made isn’t waiting for you in heaven. Love keeps no record of wrongs. Oh, beloved, stop and thank God that He keeps no record of our shortfalls.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth. God’s JOY is in truth… and He, who IS Truth, knows it better than we can imagine. Love always protects. Love always trusts. Love always hopes. God always hopes that we will turn from our own path and take His hand to walk with Him again in the garden He created for us. Love always perseveres. Love never gives up. God never gives up. He won’t let go of you, He won’t give up on you. He will never stop pursuing you, never stop seeking to woo you to Him. Love never fails. God never falls short. God never makes a mistake. Beloved, you are no mistake.

And now I come back to where I started, with the hopeful song the Beatles first sang over 40 years ago and never understood.

All you need is Love. God is all you need. Not your limited view of Him, not His ability to give you everything you imagine you need. Not the God who his waiting to “get you” for your failings; those are not God. God, in all His majesty, in all His greatness, in all His mercy and justice and all His perfect, unimaginable, incomprehensible Love is all you need. Everything.

Your heart is broken, wounded beyond beating? You need Love, the great physician who never gave up on you and never let you go.

You feel guilty for everything you’ve done, or everything you didn’t? You need Love, who keeps no record of our wrongs, either the ones we did or didn’t.

You feel lost in the darkness? You need Love, who always protects you.

Can you begin to grasp even the edges of what I’m trying to tell you? Love is ALL you need… and not some nebulous concept you can’t define, but the all mighty God of the Universe who is bigger than your concept of Him and is waiting, patiently, lovingly, for you to reach out to Him.

This isn’t all I want to tell you about the truth that dances through this song, but that I fear was missed, but this is the most important. God is more than you think, more than you can conceive, more than you limit Him to for your own understanding. Even one aspect of Him is more than you can understand, and yet He is so much more. Oh beloved, Love really is all you need… and so much more.

My precious readers, if you are reading this, and you have never before understood how much God loves you, if the Spirit has struck you with your need for God, please don’t browse any further before you stop right now. If you know God’s love for your own, then, as Beth says in “The One and Only,” stop and pray in remembrance and awe of the Love of God. There are no magical words, only a profound change in your heart. The words below are but a suggestion if needed.

“Oh, God, I long to walk with You in the garden. I know that, on my own, I can’t reach you. I accept that You’ve provided the Way in the person of Your Son, Jesus. Wash me clean, Lord, and lead me through the garden until I reach You.”

Surgical update 3

OK, I wrote this at a 48 point font and the letters are still really fuzzy and overlap sometimes.

I know I said I would do this daily, but using the computer gets tiring quickly. I’ve got all my windows set larger so that I can see, and while I did the bulletin last week, it was difficult. A week ago, when I went to the doctor one week post-op (actually, closer to 10 days), I was seeing somewhere between 20/60 and 20/80. I think I’m actually much closer to 20/80. I’m still not legal to drive, and I’m getting headaches and tired easily. Up close is good, it’s the further out that wears me out. If I’m not significantly better by the time I go back in 2 weeks, (19 Feb) I’ll ask for glasses or something, because I’m not functioning as well now as I did before the surgery, and that gets disheartening.

Still, as I said the day after I had the surgery… if I never see the way I did before, I’ll learn to cope. People live with worse all the time. And I will still rely on my Rolling River God to carry me through anything this life has to offer.

It didn’t take overnight to get as blind as I was. It’ll take longer than overnight to recover.

Who Are You Dancing With?

The Student Ministries Drama Team put this on for our church yesterday, actually acted it out as you see here. It was part of their focus on purity, and I sobbed freely as I watched. Looking it up online when one of the others I'm in drama with mentioned seeing it on youtube, I found the version you see above, and I wept again.

I don't know that I've ever seen such a beautiful, stunning, accurate portrayal of my savior. No, I'm not talking about any of the actors you see, but rather the portrayal of Christ. That, my dear readers, that is the living, loving, Christ.

Watch it again. See the joy in his face as he creates new marvels for her? Do you begin to grasp the delight and love that God Almighty poured into Creation for us? He made a world fit for us to live in, perfectly arranged in the universe, in our solar system, balancing on the razor’s edge of impossible, all for us, in our temporal bodies, to enjoy. He gave us food to eat, beauty to see, water to drink and refresh us. Look at the joy on his face reflected in hers… the way she delights in the good and perfect gifts he gives. It is man, created in the image of living God, mirroring Him as we were made to, as only we can. It is joy, pure and unadulterated.

Now, as you watch the parade of temptations and influences in her life, in the sins she succumbs to and commits without him, look at the despair in both of their faces. Look at his body language, pleading her to stop, to just come back to him, reaching for her each time she reaches for him. Look at the emptiness and heartbreak in her as she tries one thing after another and finds them all unsatisfying. This is man as we are without Christ, empty, lost, separated from him by the very things we thought would fulfill us, would add to us, would be good for us. This is Christ, as He watches in agony as His creation falls away from Him. This is omniscient God in the garden, asking where we are. This is the death we experience apart from the Creator who gave us life.

Look as he spreads his arms, seeming to surrender, and collapses. That, beloved, is the price of freedom. That, beloved, is the price of liberty. That is the price of life, the price of redemption. Christ is not giving up on us, oh, no, nor has He lost any of Himself. This is Christ, the Creator, Perfection itself, the Word made flesh, paying a debt we cannot, sacrificing His life willingly to save ours. This is the cost of redemption.

Look again as she turns and runs to him, fighting off all the chains that shackle her, all the sin that holds her bound and lost. Look as the sin is shed as the shirt off her back. Look at him, beloved. Look at how he fights for her, never giving up, never surrendering, inexorably drawing her to himself. Look as she falls to her knees, how he rushes in, placing his body between hers and the very sins she once chose over him. Look at the struggle.

This is the war in the heavenlies, the battle raging for our souls even now. This is the God who created us fighting back the demons that would hold us back from who we were created to be. This is the shedding of the old, the death to self, the surrender to the fact that Christ alone can save us. This is our salvation, acted out before us. This is who God is, placing His Messiah between us and all that stands against us. This, beloved, is the once for all time, and the every day salvation of Christ in our lives.

Look again, and see him win, see him stand her to her feet, dust the dirt away, and then draw her to him again.

Christ never loses. Nothing in this world, nothing in all of creation, can separate us from Christ, can snatch us out of His holy Hands. This is Christ, washing us clean, removing everything that seperates us from Him. This, oh desperately loved reader, this is God.

Look as they walk away together, marveling again in the joy, held tightly in each others’ arms. Look at the way they dance together, the way they celebrate… look at the pure joy in their faces as he holds her close in his perfect embrace. This, this was God’s plan all along. This is His purpose for us. This is His heart for us. This is His hope, His future, for us. This is eternal God drawing us back into relationship with Him, and walking step by step with Him.

We are each responsible for the choices we make in our lives. At every step of the journey, there is a choice, even in the things where it seems we have no choice. When the night seems darkest, when hope seems lost, when the battle is too much for you, stop, and ask yourself who you’ve been dancing with. When you have no strength to continue, surrender to the One who was waiting to dance with you all along, even when you turned away from Him. Surrender to the One who places Himself between the death of your sin, your errors, your selfishness, and who lifts you to your feet and woos you into His arms again. Surrender to the living Christ.

This is my Jesus. Who are you dancing with?

update

Let’s try typing now. Still rather blurry, but I can read this without too much work. 60 pt font though, still.

According to the doctor, I’m now at the line for legally blind, which is a HUGE improvement. Wait, weren’t you legally blind before? There’s a difference? How is this an improvement?

Well, I’m starting to be able to read signs and such, and I don’t have to hold things as close to read them as I used to. I’ve not progressed as well as they’d hoped, but none of us did, so it’s OK. They think I’ll be a lot better on Monday, after the bandage contacts come off.

It might take me a month to get “normal” sight. I hope not… but now that I have clearer, more well defined expectations, I can handle the wait.

In the meantime, doctor’s orders call… 1 lortab, some eye drops, eye shields, pretty music, and sleep here I come.

Because we are stronger for the sharing...

I know this is huge, and yet, it’s a little fuzzy for me, but I wanted you to see where I am tonight. (Galatians 6:11See what large letters I use as I write to you with my own hand!)

I had a procedure similar to LASIK done this morning, well… it was this afternoon before they actually got to me.

In LASIK, in case you don’t know, an ophthalmic surgeon carefully removes a slice off the surface of the eye, folding it to the side, out of the way, and then a preprogrammed laser fires on the eye and shapes the cornea beneath to correct, inside the eye itself, the vision problem that has required a patient to wear corrective lenses. After the laser is done, they gently fold the flap back, and the surgery is finished.

When I was being evaluated, I discovered that my prescription (which I knew was around -11.25) was almost too steep to be done at all. In fact, to correct my vision, the doctor couldn’t do the normal procedure; he had to do what is called Advanced Surface Ablation (or ASA for short). See, in creating the tiny thin flap for LASIK, they actually cut into the cornea itself, and some of the corneal structure (called the stroma, if I recall correctly) is lost to the flap (it doesn’t disappear completely; it’s just unshapable because it’s in the flap, off to the side). They needed every micrometer of my cornea to do the correction for me, so they couldn’t risk the flap. ASA instead places a small ring on the eye itself and then removes the epithelium (sort of like the top layer of your skin, only on the eye itself). Then, with every micrometer of the cornea intact, they do the same procedure with the laser shaping the cornea to the new prescription. Because they actually removed some of the covering of the eye, it takes longer to heal, and it’s more uncomfortable.

Now that the science is out of the way, we get to where I am tonight as I sit up in front of my monitor, typing in a 60 point font (don’t worry, when I publish this, I’ll shrink most of it down to a size you can deal with).

You see, I’m disappointed, afraid, discouraged, and impatient. I had believed that I’d see a dramatic improvement in my sight as soon as I got off the table, that I’d be just able to see… and while I knew there would be fuzziness that would last, I wasn’t expecting to still be blind. And yet, blind I am.

My husband tells me that they were trying to guess where my vision would be tomorrow… and the number he quoted me is so far better than I’ve ever seen that I don’t even know how to imagine what that would be like. If they’re right, then a good night’s sleep will see enough healing to let me finally not be blind… for the first time that I can remember.

I didn’t know that when I left today. I thought I’d get off the table and be a little fuzzy, but with ready vision. No one explained that it would have to heal through the stages of blindness to wholeness… perhaps I’d have been better equipped for the outcome, be less depressed tonight, be less upset.

So here I am, only now hearing thirdhand where they thought I’d be tomorrow, only now realizing that I never understood really how this would happen for me, that maybe, just maybe, the horrible mistake I’ve feared all day hasn’t happened, that I’m exactly where I should be, that maybe I can be hopeful instead in despair.

Surprisingly, there’s music playing on repeat as I write this, helping to soothe this savage breast, to salve this broken heart (*If you know me at all, you know the above is said tongue firmly in cheek). It’s Nichole again, singing a song I sang to myself this morning as I waited for my turn under the laser, as I prayed for wisdom for the doctors and calmness for me in place of anxiety. How did I get through my day and lose this prayer, this focus?

Rolling River God

Little stones are smoothed

Only once the water passes through

So I am a stone

Rough and grainy still

Trying to reconcile this River’s chill

But when I close my eyes

And feel You rushing by

I know that time brings change

And change takes time

And when the sunset comes, my prayer would be this one:

That You might pick me up and notice that I am

Just a little smoother in Your hand.

Sometimes raging wild

Sometimes swollen high

Never have I known this River dry

The deepest part of You

Is where I want to stay

And feel the sharpest edges wash away

But when I close my eyes

And feel You rushing by

I know that time brings change

And change takes time

And when the sunset comes,

My prayer would be just one:

That You might pick me up and notice that I am

Just a little smoother in Your hands

Rolling River God

Little stones are smoothed only once the water passes through

What a beautiful melody, almost like a stone skipping in progressive waves over the surface of a river, and her soft voice almost a ballad.

I’m done weeping in fear. I’m done being discouraged. I’m done letting the Enemy define who I am.

If my fears are right, and this went wrong, and I will remain blind (or even be uncorrectibly so), this is no disaster. Men and women deal with worse every day. There are worse things out there than the loss of what little sight I had. Besides, all of this fear preys on me before the healing process has the time it needs to bring the change it will. I may yet be the exciting case they talk about, going from blind, unable to imagine life without glasses, to being free again.

My rolling river God has never let me down yet. My rolling river God never will. He still holds me in the palm of His hand, and there, curled against Him who created me, who formed me, yes, even these imperfect eyes, there I will rest and let the physical laws He put in motion work. I will give Him the time that change needs to be effective.

And when the despair comes again? I’ll come back to my rolling river God.

And you’ll get messages each day updating my progress… because I suspect that this time next week, I will live a life I never imagined would be mine.

Despair comes. But it doesn’t have to be our companion. Dive into the River God and let Him wash you clean, polish away everything until we are just a little smoother in His hands. Rolling River God… Little stones are smoothed only once the water passes through.

Didn't want to lose this

I posted the following on a message board 6 December 2007. I didn't want to lose it when it scrolls off the board.

Until October 2004, I went through SERIOUS depressions every 6 or so months. My husband would have to physically restrain me to stop me from doing harm to myself. The last suicidal ideations I had was in Feb 2004.

That year, I finished a brutal first and last year of teaching... and I only finished my contract for love of my students, highschoolers all of them. My Seniors, all 5 of them, hadn't had an English teacher start and finish the year with them since 8th grade. Of the 4 core teachers, 3 of us were new to the school and the fourth was starting his 2nd year (or 3rd, perhaps) at the school. One of the teachers and I got along excellently, but he had a worse year than I did (His house was broken into and his wife attacked one day while he was teaching; he had to leave in a hurry to go take care of her, and his anxiety, which understandably overlapped into his already overloaded schedule, meant that the school refused to renew his contract (which wound up being a moot point as the school was so poorly run it closed before the next term)). Many of my students loved me (and I still keep in touch with 3 of my seniors; spent my birthday with 2 of them, and they came and spent her birthday with me yesterday), and that helped immensely.

That summer, my Zoey-bug was born. The last week of June, I went on a trip with my adoptive family and their 5 children (6 and younger). The second oldest came to me on her own, suddenly, and announced she loved me. Now, they'd told me they loved me before, but usually after I'd given them gifts or played with them; this summer, my knees were troubling me and I couldn't spend as much time with them, and I hadn't just given her something... this was unprovoked and beautiful.

I went the second week of July and saw my sweet Zoeybug just after she'd been born.My GOD, how I love her. How I loved her. I would hold her to me, rocking her softly, bouncing her to sleep, just looking at her beautiful face. There was nothing my sweet Zoey could do to earn my love, and yet love her I did (I do), desperately. I realized I'd spent my entire life trying to earn the love of my family. I saw my aunts and uncle, my grandparents... and I realized they love me the way I adored Zoey. I'd never had to do anything for them to love me; what I'd accomplished in my life was the icing on the cake... not the cake itself.

I took a trip by myself up to see where my father had been laid to rest, and then up to see his sister... she brought in her son, whom I hadn't seen in over a decade, who brought his fiancee and son to meet me, excited by the prospect. They heaped high praise and complements upon me... that I felt I never deserved. By the time I came home, I had a lot to ponder.

I had started one Bible study by Beth Moore (Beloved Disciple) and then another (Breaking Free). They were spectacular, and I soon added what I was learning in the study to what I had to ponder. One night in October, as I was thinking of them, I broke free.

I was MADE to be loved. I've ALWAYS been loved. I NEVER had to earn it. So are you. I know that as deeply in my soul as I know my own name, as I deeply as I know that I AM.

I had been suicidal for SO long because I was tired. I was tired of EARNING love, tired of working for the right, the permission to draw the next breath. I knew that my husband loved me, but I also knew that when I died, he'd get over it, he'd go on with life, and he'd find love, real love, with the sort of woman he deserved. (I am in tears as I tell you this). I was selfish in my suicidal ideations... it wasn't that I wanted to die, just that I was far too tired to keep going. But I considered very seriously the people around me.

One of my attempts, one of my more serious and more nearly successful, was when I was a teenager. I overdosed on my antidepressant after a very bad day, and I purposely fought to stay awake, to stay up after I'd taken the pills until I could put my sisters to bed and go to sleep... they'd be taken care of, and I'd just never wake up.

Until the truth was tattooed on my heart, I couldn't see what I was doing to the ones I loved the most. I couldn't see how horribly selfish it was. Until I learned that I was loved, I couldn't fall in love with life.It's been over 3 years now since the last time I was suicidal. My life is so remarkably different.

Please, be aware that people who are suicidal are in more pain than they know how to cope with.

And please, be aware, that those the suicidal leave behind hurt and miss the ones they've lost more than the lost one can imagine.

Suicide is about pain, on both sides.If you're considering ending your life for whatever reason, please, please know you will be desperately missed, more than you can imagine. Please, give us a chance to help carry your burden before it drags you beyond our reach.

You are loved. You ARE loved. YOU ARE LOVED.