Broken Pieces: Thoughts on suffering on the anniversary of a friend's death.

A wise woman told me this week that "the broken pieces of our story is where the light shines through."

Fourteen years ago, today, my life and worldview were smashed into pieces by the tragic murder of a friend. The English language is devoid of words to describe that experience (and several other things I have faced in the years since), but this anniversary I feel prompted to share some thoughts about it.

Life is a teacher. We can choose to ignore her or to learn from her. Here are some things that life and suffering have taught me over the years:

1. You will make it through. In times of deep suffering and struggle in my life, I have questioned whether I was strong enough to survive. It's pretty evident by the fact that I'm writing this that I did. The reality, though, is that I wasn't strong enough to survive those things. God carried me through them and sent people to care for me when I was unable to care for myself. He is our strength in our times of weakness. 
2. You are not alone. One thing that has remained constant in very different scenarios of suffering in my life is the presence of God. He truly is near to the brokenhearted. I have never felt closer to Him than in times of suffering and pain. That fellowship is the thing that has carried me through experiences that no human being can comfort. 
3. God can use your pain to help others. I love John Piper's book and often used quote, "Don't waste your life." When he had cancer, he wrote another book called "Don't Waste Your Cancer." In that same line of thinking, I don't want to waste my pain. One of the beautiful things about our suffering is that God can use it as a platform from which to speak into the hearts of other hurting people. That has brought me great comfort as I look back over the painful parts of my story. God loves to use us in His work in the lives of other broken people like ourselves. Our pain doesn't have to be wasted. 
4. Suffering is part of the sanctification process for Christians. No book could ever teach me what I've learned from seasons of suffering. In the end, it has made me who I am today. As much as I didn't want to go through any of it, I know I am better for it and closer to God because of it. In many ways, it has solidified my theology. As Christians, our hearts long to be more like Jesus. As hard as it is to say, we become more like Him and know Him more intimately as we enter into suffering as He did.
5. Jesus came to make an end to our suffering. This is something I cling to when I can't understand why God is allowing suffering in my life or the lives of people I love. A good God can't look on suffering and turn His back. We see Jesus in John 11, weeping at the death of his friend Lazarus. Jesus is the visible image of the invisible God, so we know how God responds to suffering from Jesus' response. This life passes in the blink of an eye but there is an eternity waiting where those who put their hope in Jesus' finished work on the cross can rest in the promise of Revelation 21:4. A day is coming where He will wipe every tear and make the wrong things right. 

I hope this post will be an encouragement to someone who is suffering. You can make it through whatever you're facing and your suffering has a purpose. God really does use the broken pieces of our story for ourselves and for those around us. Even if you are not able to see that today, I pray He will bring you to that place.

Tears, anger, and prayers for change: My thoughts on Ferguson

Tonight I sit by my sweet, brown-skinned boy as he sleeps and just cry. Not one of those nice, controlled cries, but a weeping that comes from deep within your soul that you cannot describe with words. I used to try to fight my tears, but you can't hold that type of emotion inside and be healthy.

As deep as my emotions are running, I cannot imagine the type of grieving that Michael Brown's mother is doing tonight. I cannot conceive of the fact that a group of mothers are weeping in unison with her because they understand her pain. It leads my mind to Jeremiah 31:15. There is no comforting a mother in this. 

Everything in me wants to wake my boy from his sleep just to tell him that he matters. I feel desperate to remind him that his skin doesn't define who he is. I want to tell him again that he is made in the image of God and has value and worth despite what is communicated to him by the world around him. I just sit and hold him and weep as I listen to him breathe.

My tears feel hot, but not hotter than my face has become, and I realize that I am angry. I want to scream at the injustice of the world we live in. I want to fight against anyone who would dare to call my boy a "thug" or "monkey" (words I have read in the media recently to describe brown-skinned boys like him). I want to yell that he wants to be a scientist or engineer, not a drug dealer. I want to rage at the thought of women clutching their purses at the sight of him. He is not a threat, he's my child. I want to make people understand that he is a human being. Just like every young man pictured above. But I can't.

I feel helpless. I know my anger won't change anything and my attempts to justify my views are futile. I pray that this post will escape the sight of those who feel the need to contend "facts" or recklessly throw out words like "race card" as if they would have an audience with me because of my white skin. Honestly, I'm all argued out and having to pray really hard not to be bitter or hateful.

I wish there were some easy answer, but if there were then change would have come already. The type of change we need isn't fueled by anger like the looting and burning in Ferguson and most of it happens outside of the view of news cameras. It begins with talks like the one that happened in my living room shortly after Michael Brown was killed. You can read more about that talk here.

I'm praying tonight that many more of those talks will be happening in the days to come - especially in the context of the church. I know I'm powerless to change things, but I can pray and do what I can to be part of the solution. If not, we'll just be back in this same place in a matter of months. And I cannot just sit here and wait for that day to come.

Wrestling through Jordan Davis and Michael Dunn:Thoughts on race in America

"What is the value of a black man's life in the United States of America?"
 
The mere question posed on a social networking site last night had me in tears.

 

 
 
To people who don't have a brown-skinned husband or son, this might seem like a ridiculous question. To those of us who do, it's a very real question and one we find ourselves asking every time we hear of young men like Oscar Grant, Trayvon Martin, Jonathan Ferrell and Jordan Davis. This issue makes me feel both deep grief and deep anger.
 
As I sit here and think of times when my husband has been racially profiled I'm forced to consider the next inevitable questions. I have to wonder if my sweet boy will ever cause another white woman to hold her purse a little tighter. I have to think through when we'll have to have a talk with our son warning him of how to interact with law enforcement officers should they ever stop to question him. I have to wonder if I'll ever get that life-altering phone call that so many mothers of young black men in our country have received concerning their sons.
 
At times it feels overwhelming and even hopeless but I refuse to let myself believe that there isn't hope. I think about the progress we've made as a country and specifically several exchanges that I've witnessed lately that lead me to believe that change is still coming. Here are three reasons I'm not feeling hopeless in light of the latest verdict:
 
1. Last year, our city held a forum on race sparked by the exoneration of George Zimmerman in the death of Trayvon Martin and the racial tensions that were illuminated by that case. This forum was both honest and peaceful. It showed that our community acknowledged that there was a problem and that citizens in our city were interested in being part of the solution.
 
2. For the last few months I was able to be part of a diverse group of people who sat and talked candidly about our differences, some preconceived ideas and how the school system could help build bridges across some of those gaps to better reach kids. The group put together an event to help get information to families on what resources are available in our community to better ensure success for ALL local students.
 
3. A few weeks ago, I sat across from two talented young black men from our community who made choices years ago that they are still paying for today. Also present at this table were a local pastor, businessman, and police officer - all of whom are white. I wasn't really sure what to expect walking in, but what happened around that table has really impacted me - and I think everyone else there as well. In this meeting, I got to hear white men declaring and affirming the worth and dignity of the two black men despite their past choices. I was able to watch stereotypes on both sides of the table being laid aside and men engaging one another as men. Not as black men and white men, but as men created equally in the image of God.
 
I keep thinking of something our pastor often says - "the ground is level at the foot of the cross." There is no distinction made between rich and poor, white or brown skin, seemingly good or seemingly bad. In God's sight we are humanity and He is deity. No other separations exist that we don't create ourselves. The gospel is the starting place for true, lasting change.

Culturally, Americans are learning to be more politically correct - or careful what thoughts we allow to formulate into words. But God offers another way. The gospel changes hearts and with changed hearts come changed communities and changed standards for people within those communities.  

I believe a change is coming. I just pray that change comes before we have to bury another one of our sons.

Those days when the tears won't stop: 4 thoughts on pain

Last week I had another one of those days when the tears just wouldn't stop. I'm pretty sure if you've lived any time at all in this broken world (and especially if you are involved in outreach ministry) you can relate to that feeling. 

Those days have become more frequent the more I'm allowed the privilege of stepping into the lives of others. Over the last two years, I've heard stories that cut me to my soul. Horrible stories that seem like they should be part of a movie - yet I find myself staring into the face of the person who has or is currently living that nightmare.

Some days I wonder why God thinks I can handle so much. The pain and struggles of my own life are, at times, enough to push me to the edge - yet God keeps allowing me to see a pain and hopelessness deeper and more urgent than my own. 

Last week, I sat and listened as a precious young mother of 6 shared how she was struggling with deplorable living conditions while being exploited by a slumlord. Over the last year, I've heard stories of human trafficking, childhood rape and women forced to barter with the only resource they had left - their bodies (just to name a few). 

As much as I used to pride myself on being "tough" or "hard," I'm at a place in life where I often find myself weeping. Sometimes it's because there is no other way to express my anger over injustice and the feelings that come when I hear stories of suffering and vulnerability. Sometimes it's because I feel frustration at my inadequacy to help and inability to "fix" things. Either way, all I can do is weep.

Sometimes pain is a teacher. Here are 4 things I've learned in the times when the tears won't stop:

 1. Someone always has it worse than me. Sometimes I wonder if this is God's way of gently reminding me that the mountains in my life are mere ant hills in the grand scheme of things. It's so easy to freak out over small things in life without a clear perspective. Walking with others has been a great reminder of what a self-absorbed whiner I am. It's hard to feel sorry for yourself when confronted with the harsh realities and abuses that others face. 

2. I'm not the answer. Ministry has been a great reminder of my limited ability to bring about change in the lives of others. Something in me just wants to make it all better, but I'm learning that I can't just fix what's wrong - in my own life and in the lives of others. There is only one who is capable of bringing about change and it's not me. Suffering (both ours and that of others) is a beautiful arrow that points us back to the all-sufficiency of God in our weakness.

3. Prayer is essential. When the pain cuts so deep that I can barely formulate words to pray, that's when I need to pray most. I keep returning to this quote from Bethany H. Hoang that speaks volumes to where I've been these last two years - "When our hearts are so heavily taxed that we feel we can no longer truly pray, God leads us back to himself by telling us simply this: Pour out your heart; pour out your heart before me." There will be times when our hearts are crushed under the weight of the brokenness we see and feel, but those are the times that we need to run with reckless abandon to pour our hearts out before God. He sees and knows and has the power to bring change. 

4. What I see and hear isn't the end of the story. I love in Genesis 3 where God declares a plan of rescue and redemption after the most hopeless and broken story of all time. I always get overwhelmed when I look at a seemingly hopeless situation without factoring in the gospel and the hope of heaven. One of my favorite Bible verses and one I run to in times of suffering is Revelation 21:4-5. When the pain of this life feels like more than we can bear, we can trust that a day is coming where God will wipe away our tears and set all the wrong things right if we will make him our life's greatest treasure.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this post and how you find hope when the tears won't stop.

Why Everyone In Your Church Looks Like You: 4 thoughts on MLK's Letter From A Birmingham Jail

Today, as I sought to honor and remember Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., I thought a lot about his dream. I reflected on how far our country has come and how far we still have to go.

One particular area of the civil rights struggle is still unrealized. That area is unity in the church.

Dr. King once said "It is appalling that the most segregated hour of Christian America is eleven o'clock on Sunday morning." Yet, 46 years after King's death, eleven o'clock remains the most segregated hour in our nation. We're willing to interact cross-culturally at jobs and recreational events like sports leagues but are still unwilling to meet in the middle as we worship on Sunday mornings.

We have seen glimmers of hope in churches like Fellowship Memphis - a church planted in the place where King's life ended with a focus on promoting racial unity through multi-racial leadership and gospel-centered teaching. But in the average church, Sunday morning remains dominated by single cultures.

Lifeway research released a study this week that showed that while more than 85% of Protestant pastors say they want racial unity in their church, 86% say their church is made up of predominately one racial or ethnic group. You can read more of the study here.

As I thought of the divisions in the church, I thought about King's letter from the Birmingham Jail. This letter was his response to the letter A Call for Unity written by eight white clergymen as an editorial in a local newspaper calling for an end to non-violent protests. In the letter, the pastors and religious leaders questioned the need for civil rights leaders to stir up racial tensions and called for unity by waiting quietly for the government to bring about justice.

The video below shares the content of both letters along with video footage from the civil rights movement. I recommend taking the time to watch it today as we celebrate and reflect on the life and sacrifices of Dr. King and all those who fought for racial justice in our nation.




As I listened to both letters and thought about the present need for change, these four things stuck out to me.

1. Both sides were so distant that they had to communicate through an editorial letter. Are we still in that place today? Do we go out of our way to connect with our brothers and sisters in the faith outside of our cultural context? Do we really acknowledge that Jesus' death on the cross not only bought reconciliation vertically but also horizontally? The gospel changes the way we relate to God, but it also changes the way we relate to one another. If we believe the gospel then that belief should be evident when you walk into our churches and into our homes or lives outside of church walls.

2.The willingness to try to understand what's foreign to us goes a long way in racial harmony. In his letter, King said "Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection." I think this sums up the heart of racial division in the church. We're still only willing to offer one another shallow understanding and lukewarm acceptance. King went on to describe his experiences as a black man like this: "...when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of "nobodiness"--then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait." In all honesty, when reading this it sounded much like the description my husband has used in attempting to relate to me what it feels like to be a black man in America today. (If you just dismissed that as ridiculous, you probably don't have a real relationship with someone outside of your race/culture that allows them to express how they truly feel.)

3.Tension is needed for growth and change. It may seem easier and more comfortable to worship in a place where everything is done in a way that relates solely to our culture, but is it right? King's issue with the eight clergymen who wrote A Call For Unity was that they weren't willing to do what it took to see true unity realized. They were content to settle for the illusion of unity which was really only the comfort of remaining separate. To them, unity was not taking a stand against injustice but waiting quietly for justice to work itself out. Racial reconciliation won't happen if we just wait it out. We have to be intentional and willing to be uncomfortable at times if we want to see true change.


4. Bridging cultural gaps won't happen overnight and won't always be comfortable but is possible. A few weeks ago, I sat in our church and wept as my pastor and our worship leader - both of whom are white - baptized a black man who was a friend of the worship leader and who had heard the gospel through that friendship. It struck me that this would have been shocking in my grandparent's generation and those that preceded it. Though our church doesn't yet fit the definition of multi-cultural (at least 20% of a church's members don't belong to the predominant racial group there) I have hope that change is coming.

Today, it's my prayer that we take time to stop and look back long enough to remember where we came from and all that was defeated through the sacrifices of so many during the civil rights movement. I also pray that what we see causes us to gain motivation and a determination to continue moving forward especially in the context of church.

I'll end this with the ending to King's letter: "Let us all hope that the dark clouds of racial prejudice will soon pass away and the deep fog of misunderstanding will be lifted from our fear drenched communities, and in some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty."

Four Reasons I'm logging out and putting down my phone

As I started thinking through some things I wanted to do differently in the new year, I considered disconnecting from social media and my phone and being more intentional in engaging the people around me. I even wrote about resolving to do just that in my recent blog on motherhood (You can read more about it here). However, making the change has proven harder than I thought.

I continued to scroll, tweet and upload photos after feeling convicted to put boundaries in place. Earlier in the week I came across this blog post and today I saw the video below. Both of these were sobering reminders that I needed to make a change and led me to some introspection on why it had been so difficult to follow through.



Don't get me wrong, I won't delete my accounts or disconnect my phone. These things aren't bad in and of themselves. I've just come to the realization that there are some deeper reasons I've had trouble stepping away and these things need to be dealt with.

Here are four reasons it's been hard to put my phone down and disconnect (and four reasons I really need to):

1. Social media can become an alternate reality - a way for us to seek approval, validation and inclusion. I realized I was horrified if someone would tag me in an unflattering photo, because I was always trying to paint myself in the best possible light to gain acceptance. This showed me that while I am fully loved and accepted by God, something in my heart couldn't believe it. I was seeking a counterfeit approval from people who didn't know me at all and likely had no desire to know me.

2. Disconnecting is an introvert's dream come true. Those who know me well know that I don't have much love for large groups. I like to fade into the background in social settings and find ways to avoid conversations with people I don't know. I learned that if I wanted to avoid beginning a conversation or the awkward silence that sometimes happens, I could disconnect by scrolling through social networking sites.

3. Pictures can capture memories, but no one likes the paparazzi. I realized that I'm that annoying person who always has their phone out documenting every occasion to "capture memories" to share with social media. I would make my children stop what they were doing repeatedly to pose for photos. I would even coach them on what to do or retake photos if they didn't look their best. You know, teaching them to set up an alternate reality (just like Mom) or that they needed to look a certain way to be accepted. I also happened to accidentally delete all those photos and videos the other day which served as a good reminder that memories still exist after photos are gone and can be created outside of an SD card.

4. Chris frequently refers to my phone as my "white husband." It has been a common scenario for me to watch a movie with him or our children while scrolling through my Twitter or Facebook feed. I always tried to justify that they weren't attempting to engage me in a conversation when I did it. They were engrossed in a movie, after all. The reality is that it's rude and there were times when they were seeking my attention and I made them wait while I finished a text or email. I've been communicating to those closest to me that they're not important enough for my full attention and also set a terrible example for my children to follow.

I'm learning that running away from issues doesn't solve them so I'm making the decision to be pro-active. I'm working through why it's so difficult for me to rest in God's full acceptance and approval of me. I'm not going to use my phone as an easy out in social situations and I'm putting it away while with family and friends. Maybe I'll take photos with a camera and work on just enjoying making memories without feeling like the whole world wants to know what I'm doing at that moment. You may not see me as much on social networking sites anymore, but I hope you understand why.

I'd like to hear your thoughts on this issue. How do you wrestle with setting boundaries on social media and cell phones in order to best engage those around you?