We met Dalton a week after we moved here.
He was walking down the street, dirty and haggard, and I offered him a meal. We were doing a fish fry benefit for a local ministry and plates were $7 each. He said he didn't have any money and I told him that I asked if he was hungry, not if he had money.
From there a friendship was born.
Even though I discovered that he was not homeless, having inherited an aunt's house, he had no money, no furniture, and no groceries. I included him in my homeless ministry.
I picked him up for church every Sunday for six months, until he got his truck running and began driving himself to church.
He would have periods of time when he would start to back away, but I'd always find a job for him in the church and make sure he felt needed.
He liked to text and we had frequent text conversations. It was obvious from the start that his cognitive function was oddly paradoxical. Aware of historical and world events that only Jeopardy champions could recall, in some ways he was brilliant. But he also showed signs of a stunted mental growth and severe social disorder, similar but not quite the same as Asperger's. A diagnosed schizophrenic, he went to a psychiatrist twice a month.
I didn't care about any of that nor did it scare me. We're all a little crazy, I figure, and the root of ALL illness, physical or mental, is spiritual anyway so I knew one day he'd be set free.
We've been friends now for a year and half, and even though he stopped coming to church a few months ago, I've continued to help him and engage in some interesting text conversations.
He grew up with a drug-addicted, prostitute mother who was in and out of jail, grandparents who despised him, and a largely absentee father. I was the first real friend he'd ever had, he told me.
The text talks aren't unusual; I receive several every day. Many guys touch base just to stay accountable, or to know that someone out there truly cares.
But Dalton's texts started getting much darker a few weeks ago.
Attacking Christianity, church, and bizarre things like the moon and kittens, his rants were often left unanswered.
I knew I would be carrying on a conversation with the devil.
Only when he'd reach out and ask for help in clearing his mind would I respond.
But he was like a child, trying to see how far he could go.
He kept on. And on. Attacking the Bible, attacking Christians, trying to provoke an argument.
Last night, he crossed a line. He attacked my husband and the message he preached from the pulpit. (The sermon was about Paul.) I'd heard Dalton argue before that Paul was basically the devil but this time when he attacked Paul, he attacked my husband as well.
What was I supposed to do?
Turn the other cheek? Take a stand?
I wasn't going to get into another text marathon with him. Those never ended well. He always had to have the last word, and as soon as he seemed to receive help, he'd go off in left field somewhere.
I felt like a mom who'd finally reached her wit's end. That's it! I thought. You wanted me to get to this point. I'm there!
My reply was short and succinct. I'm sorry you feel that way about my husband. Goodbye.
I honestly don't know if I did the right thing.
Because it's still bothering me, I'm thinking I didn't.
I can only pray for guidance and clarity in my future steps.
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Pitching Your Tent Toward Sodom
This morning's sermon was on Genesis 13:12 and how Lot pitched his tent toward Sodom.
I'd already known the title of the sermon and some of the points. I try to act as an attentive audience as my husband prepares his notes throughout the week, but if I hear too much of a sermon beforehand my mind tends to wander to grocery lists and meal menus during the service.
So even though I knew the gist of the message, I didn't know the details. Nor did I know the conviction that would accompany it.
I'd like to think of myself more as Abraham, leading the nations and following God faithfully.
But during the sermon I saw myself as Lot, receiving the fringe benefits instead of earning the wages.
But I don't pitch my tent toward Sodom, I meekly declared to the Lord. I am not living in sin, nor am I fixated on living like the world does. Of this, I was confident.
No, He said. You've pitched your tent on a carousel. In my mind's eye, I saw one of those little merry-go-rounds that make for great incentives in getting kids to behave in Wal-Mart. I've spent many post-shopping trips with kids and grandkids on the little horses, rewarded for patiently sitting in the cart throughout my shopping, while I impatiently waited for the cycle to end.
I could clearly see the things of God on one side and the things of the world on the other. And me, right there on the carousel, spinning dizzily around and around as my focus shifted.
He was right. That's exactly what I do.
My Sodom may not be sex and drugs, but it's love of money, and secular music, and tv shows that poke fun at sin.
What happens when the music stops? Where are you facing? He continued.
Somewhere different each time, I realized. Sometimes toward the Lord, sometimes toward the world. Yet others times I ride without ceasing. Around and around.
They call that being double-minded.
Here's the thing. As long as I want to stay on that carousel, He's going to keep feeding it quarters. That's His permissive will.
In His perfect will, I take my tent, face it toward Him, hang the OUT OF ORDER sign on the carousel, and cast not my eyes on the world ever again.
Did we learn nothing from Lot's wife? She turned into a pillar of salt.
We just turn into pillars of unrighteousness.
Where is your tent pitched? Near God, but facing the world? In the world? Facing God and with your back to the world?
Or are you like me, on a carousel, praying that the music doesn't stop when you're faced the wrong way?
I'd already known the title of the sermon and some of the points. I try to act as an attentive audience as my husband prepares his notes throughout the week, but if I hear too much of a sermon beforehand my mind tends to wander to grocery lists and meal menus during the service.
So even though I knew the gist of the message, I didn't know the details. Nor did I know the conviction that would accompany it.
I'd like to think of myself more as Abraham, leading the nations and following God faithfully.
But during the sermon I saw myself as Lot, receiving the fringe benefits instead of earning the wages.
But I don't pitch my tent toward Sodom, I meekly declared to the Lord. I am not living in sin, nor am I fixated on living like the world does. Of this, I was confident.
No, He said. You've pitched your tent on a carousel. In my mind's eye, I saw one of those little merry-go-rounds that make for great incentives in getting kids to behave in Wal-Mart. I've spent many post-shopping trips with kids and grandkids on the little horses, rewarded for patiently sitting in the cart throughout my shopping, while I impatiently waited for the cycle to end.
I could clearly see the things of God on one side and the things of the world on the other. And me, right there on the carousel, spinning dizzily around and around as my focus shifted.
He was right. That's exactly what I do.
My Sodom may not be sex and drugs, but it's love of money, and secular music, and tv shows that poke fun at sin.
What happens when the music stops? Where are you facing? He continued.
Somewhere different each time, I realized. Sometimes toward the Lord, sometimes toward the world. Yet others times I ride without ceasing. Around and around.
They call that being double-minded.
Here's the thing. As long as I want to stay on that carousel, He's going to keep feeding it quarters. That's His permissive will.
In His perfect will, I take my tent, face it toward Him, hang the OUT OF ORDER sign on the carousel, and cast not my eyes on the world ever again.
Did we learn nothing from Lot's wife? She turned into a pillar of salt.
We just turn into pillars of unrighteousness.
Where is your tent pitched? Near God, but facing the world? In the world? Facing God and with your back to the world?
Or are you like me, on a carousel, praying that the music doesn't stop when you're faced the wrong way?
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Be Careful, Little Ears, What You Hear
"Oh, be careful, little ears, what you hear...be careful, little ears, what you hear...For the Father up above is looking down with love. Oh, be careful, little ears, what you hear..."
Many of us learned this song as a child.
I remember thinking, How are you supposed to be careful about what you hear? Or what you see? I understood the verse about being careful what you SAY, but when you're five years old, your world is a pretty controlled environment.
It's taken forty years to get my answer.
It's a concept, one learned at an early age, that we should learn and meditate on as we get older and have to make those choices.
One I sometimes forget.
I think it's a song we should be singing as adults, every day as a reminder.
I was on my way home last week when I started flipping through the radio stations. I generally keep my radio tuned in to K-Love but sometimes I want to hear something else. If a country song isn't blatantly extolling the virtues of living for the devil, I will sing along at the top of my lungs.
This day, however, I came across Meghan Trainor's All About That Bass. Now I knew the song from a Kidz Bop CD (which cleans up lyrics of popular songs) and I loved the beat so I decided to listen to the unedited version. I'd heard it before so I knew this was a mistake but I did it anyway. (How many times do we say THAT?)
I felt a little convicted but figured, hey, it's just one time, and even though I knew it grieved the Spirit, it was only 3 minutes and then it was over.
Only it wasn't.
For six days in a row now, I've woken up to the song in my head. And not just any part, but the part where she curses. I've wanted to crawl under a rock.
The worst part was preparing the church for service Sunday with the song refusing to leave my head.
Then, in the middle of the sermon, when my husband said, "It's all about the faith," my mind started rapping again.
Now I truly get the song...be careful, little ears, what you hear. Not just because He's watching, but because He cares for us so much that he doesn't want the things we listen to or watch to separate us from the perfect love of Christ.
I pray now that with true repentance He will banish the song from its endless loop in my head.
I will be more careful what my little ears hear from now on.
Many of us learned this song as a child.
I remember thinking, How are you supposed to be careful about what you hear? Or what you see? I understood the verse about being careful what you SAY, but when you're five years old, your world is a pretty controlled environment.
It's taken forty years to get my answer.
It's a concept, one learned at an early age, that we should learn and meditate on as we get older and have to make those choices.
One I sometimes forget.
I think it's a song we should be singing as adults, every day as a reminder.
I was on my way home last week when I started flipping through the radio stations. I generally keep my radio tuned in to K-Love but sometimes I want to hear something else. If a country song isn't blatantly extolling the virtues of living for the devil, I will sing along at the top of my lungs.
This day, however, I came across Meghan Trainor's All About That Bass. Now I knew the song from a Kidz Bop CD (which cleans up lyrics of popular songs) and I loved the beat so I decided to listen to the unedited version. I'd heard it before so I knew this was a mistake but I did it anyway. (How many times do we say THAT?)
I felt a little convicted but figured, hey, it's just one time, and even though I knew it grieved the Spirit, it was only 3 minutes and then it was over.
Only it wasn't.
For six days in a row now, I've woken up to the song in my head. And not just any part, but the part where she curses. I've wanted to crawl under a rock.
The worst part was preparing the church for service Sunday with the song refusing to leave my head.
Then, in the middle of the sermon, when my husband said, "It's all about the faith," my mind started rapping again.
Now I truly get the song...be careful, little ears, what you hear. Not just because He's watching, but because He cares for us so much that he doesn't want the things we listen to or watch to separate us from the perfect love of Christ.
I pray now that with true repentance He will banish the song from its endless loop in my head.
I will be more careful what my little ears hear from now on.
Monday, January 18, 2016
The Fizzle Factor
So many people jump into projects with both feet, only to abandon them when they get tired or something new comes along.
I call this THE FIZZLE FACTOR and it happens even in ministry.
People jump on board with a church program or ministry project and fully intend to commit. Then something happens. Whether it's an illness, financial issue, or family problem, the devil's arrows hit their mark and the person fades out.
They usually don't see past their own circumstances to notice the effects on the ministry. Others have to step in and pick up the pieces. Or people feel abandoned because this person who'd made a commitment stopped coming around.
The Lord makes provisions and he always has workers in the field so with faith and trust in the Lord, that ministry will survive and continue to thrive.
But not without a spiritual rift in the Kingdom first.
The worst part of it all is that they are backing out of a commitment made to GOD.
We honor commitments made to our spouses, our landlords, our bosses. Yet we are cavalier when it comes to our commitments to the Lord.
Even worse than those who set out to serve are those who think they are above menial tasks in the Kingdom of God.
We've seen it several times.
Someone gets saved, is on fire for the Lord, and wants to serve God. You give a few ministry options but they decline. They believe God wants them to do something bigger. Like pastor a church. Or run a home.
There may be a calling to do just that. But as a new Christian, if you think there are areas of serving God that are beneath you, you might want to go back to the beginning and really examine your heart.
At best, you still have some pride to deal with.
On the other end are people who are entertaining a religious spirit and they have no clue that their salvation is merely a mirage.
A few months ago one of our street guys came to us proclaiming he was one of us now.
He began quoting scriptures and denouncing the demon that made him use spice. He wanted to go out and minister with us and preach a service at church.
He was still drinking (The Lord told him THAT was okay) and he would continue to live under the bridge because all he needed was his knife and the Lord would help him cut anyone who messed with him.
The spirit within him was saying the right things, but was so cunning it sent chills down my spine.
How do you use scripture to denounce a demon quoting scripture? WITHOUT hurting the person who truly believes he's got it?
Fortunately for me, my husband was there (this is why we should go out in pairs) and he knew how to respond.
Less than a month later, there was no talk of religion or serving God, and it was obvious that he hadn't had a true salvation experience.
But for some, it isn't as obvious.
What about you? Do you KNOW that you know?
Do you hear His voice? Do you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are a child of God? Or do you just know the verses? Know ABOUT Him?
If you are saved...if you KNOW that you have committed your life to Him, how well do you honor your commitments to Him? Do you jump in and then fizzle out? Or do you remain committed?
Whether it's a committee you've joined, a Sunday School class you're teaching, or an outreach program you've committed to, don't fizzle out!
The harvest is great, but the laborers are few.
In other words, don't be all the other animals. (Not I!) Be the Little Red Hen!
I call this THE FIZZLE FACTOR and it happens even in ministry.
People jump on board with a church program or ministry project and fully intend to commit. Then something happens. Whether it's an illness, financial issue, or family problem, the devil's arrows hit their mark and the person fades out.
They usually don't see past their own circumstances to notice the effects on the ministry. Others have to step in and pick up the pieces. Or people feel abandoned because this person who'd made a commitment stopped coming around.
The Lord makes provisions and he always has workers in the field so with faith and trust in the Lord, that ministry will survive and continue to thrive.
But not without a spiritual rift in the Kingdom first.
The worst part of it all is that they are backing out of a commitment made to GOD.
We honor commitments made to our spouses, our landlords, our bosses. Yet we are cavalier when it comes to our commitments to the Lord.
Even worse than those who set out to serve are those who think they are above menial tasks in the Kingdom of God.
We've seen it several times.
Someone gets saved, is on fire for the Lord, and wants to serve God. You give a few ministry options but they decline. They believe God wants them to do something bigger. Like pastor a church. Or run a home.
There may be a calling to do just that. But as a new Christian, if you think there are areas of serving God that are beneath you, you might want to go back to the beginning and really examine your heart.
At best, you still have some pride to deal with.
On the other end are people who are entertaining a religious spirit and they have no clue that their salvation is merely a mirage.
A few months ago one of our street guys came to us proclaiming he was one of us now.
He began quoting scriptures and denouncing the demon that made him use spice. He wanted to go out and minister with us and preach a service at church.
He was still drinking (The Lord told him THAT was okay) and he would continue to live under the bridge because all he needed was his knife and the Lord would help him cut anyone who messed with him.
The spirit within him was saying the right things, but was so cunning it sent chills down my spine.
How do you use scripture to denounce a demon quoting scripture? WITHOUT hurting the person who truly believes he's got it?
Fortunately for me, my husband was there (this is why we should go out in pairs) and he knew how to respond.
Less than a month later, there was no talk of religion or serving God, and it was obvious that he hadn't had a true salvation experience.
But for some, it isn't as obvious.
What about you? Do you KNOW that you know?
Do you hear His voice? Do you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are a child of God? Or do you just know the verses? Know ABOUT Him?
If you are saved...if you KNOW that you have committed your life to Him, how well do you honor your commitments to Him? Do you jump in and then fizzle out? Or do you remain committed?
Whether it's a committee you've joined, a Sunday School class you're teaching, or an outreach program you've committed to, don't fizzle out!
The harvest is great, but the laborers are few.
In other words, don't be all the other animals. (Not I!) Be the Little Red Hen!
Friday, January 15, 2016
Sometimes You Just Need to Turn It On
I spent over 7 hours yesterday downloading a Spanish course for my husband.
I put all the lessons in a folder and then created a shortcut on the desktop.
I came home from cleaning the church this morning to find my husband sitting at the computer dismayed that his new course wasn't working.
I was aggravated. Did we waste our money? Do I need to reinstall RealTime? Am I going to have to download all thirty-six lessons again? WHY did I waste all that time yesterday?
Obviously, cleaning the church had not left me with the mindset of service to others.
I sat down, ready to take a sledgehammer to the entire system when I looked over and noticed the speakers. Off.
With a quick flick of the wrist, I turned the knob and strains of espanol filled the air.
"Oh," my technology-challenged husband exclaimed as I rolled my eyes.
Yet even before my eyes could return to their rightful place in their sockets, I felt the gentle admonishing of the Lord.
This is what so many people do, He explained. (When He approached me gently like that I knew that I was one of the SO MANY.)
I've laid it all out there for you and you are running around frantically saying, "It won't work! It's not getting better! Help me!"
But you never even tried to turn it on.
I put all the lessons in a folder and then created a shortcut on the desktop.
I came home from cleaning the church this morning to find my husband sitting at the computer dismayed that his new course wasn't working.
I was aggravated. Did we waste our money? Do I need to reinstall RealTime? Am I going to have to download all thirty-six lessons again? WHY did I waste all that time yesterday?
Obviously, cleaning the church had not left me with the mindset of service to others.
I sat down, ready to take a sledgehammer to the entire system when I looked over and noticed the speakers. Off.
With a quick flick of the wrist, I turned the knob and strains of espanol filled the air.
"Oh," my technology-challenged husband exclaimed as I rolled my eyes.
Yet even before my eyes could return to their rightful place in their sockets, I felt the gentle admonishing of the Lord.
This is what so many people do, He explained. (When He approached me gently like that I knew that I was one of the SO MANY.)
I've laid it all out there for you and you are running around frantically saying, "It won't work! It's not getting better! Help me!"
But you never even tried to turn it on.
Monday, January 11, 2016
Survivor: The Family Edition
My family has broken out into all-out Survivor mode.
Secret conversations are taking place and alliances are being formed.
My husband and I will be the first ones voted off the island; him, for refusing to make an alliance with anyone, and me, for making alliances with everyone.
Because love has no sides.
It's a lot like looking into a mirror of my 20's.
Everything was a battle and everyone was an enemy.
It was my way or the highway, and if you disagreed with me, you were out.
If you were friends with someone who disagreed with me, you were out.
I snuffed out more torches than I could even count.
And robbed myself of a lot of life.
I know that hindsight is 20/20 and also tends to be viewed with rose-colored glasses.
Some of the issues were too serious to flippantly wave off.
But they inevitable escalated into bigger problems than they already were.
Going through an amicable divorce? Get lawyers involved and see how chummy you remain.
Got in a fight with your sibling over something small? Keep ignoring each other and watch it turn into battle of (silent) wills.
My children are going through typical young adult trials. Some of it is foolish; some of it is quite serious.
It doesn't matter anymore, though, which is which, because it has turned into an all-out war.
Extended family has been dragged in, feelings are hurt beyond repair.
I wish I could make them go to their rooms, grounded, until they could all say "I love you" and hug each other.
Back then they wouldn't mean it, but they'd at least band together long enough to appease me and get out of trouble.
Now, I see a future like one of my friends has.
For twenty-five years she has held two separate Christmas dinners each year, one for half her children and one for the others. They refuse to be in the same room together.
I don't know what they'll do at her funeral. Pay for two separate services?
At some point, it went beyond a sibling squabble and into something much deeper. And heartbreaking.
And I fear that I will be following in her footsteps as well.
I can't help but think of my friends on the streets. Alienated from their own families, they have no-one to turn to, no family support, no-one to even show up at the hospital. Or jail. Or even their funerals.
Did the chasm start over something big? Something small?
Or does it matter?
Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. Colossians 3:13
Secret conversations are taking place and alliances are being formed.
My husband and I will be the first ones voted off the island; him, for refusing to make an alliance with anyone, and me, for making alliances with everyone.
Because love has no sides.
It's a lot like looking into a mirror of my 20's.
Everything was a battle and everyone was an enemy.
It was my way or the highway, and if you disagreed with me, you were out.
If you were friends with someone who disagreed with me, you were out.
I snuffed out more torches than I could even count.
And robbed myself of a lot of life.
I know that hindsight is 20/20 and also tends to be viewed with rose-colored glasses.
Some of the issues were too serious to flippantly wave off.
But they inevitable escalated into bigger problems than they already were.
Going through an amicable divorce? Get lawyers involved and see how chummy you remain.
Got in a fight with your sibling over something small? Keep ignoring each other and watch it turn into battle of (silent) wills.
My children are going through typical young adult trials. Some of it is foolish; some of it is quite serious.
It doesn't matter anymore, though, which is which, because it has turned into an all-out war.
Extended family has been dragged in, feelings are hurt beyond repair.
I wish I could make them go to their rooms, grounded, until they could all say "I love you" and hug each other.
Back then they wouldn't mean it, but they'd at least band together long enough to appease me and get out of trouble.
Now, I see a future like one of my friends has.
For twenty-five years she has held two separate Christmas dinners each year, one for half her children and one for the others. They refuse to be in the same room together.
I don't know what they'll do at her funeral. Pay for two separate services?
At some point, it went beyond a sibling squabble and into something much deeper. And heartbreaking.
And I fear that I will be following in her footsteps as well.
I can't help but think of my friends on the streets. Alienated from their own families, they have no-one to turn to, no family support, no-one to even show up at the hospital. Or jail. Or even their funerals.
Did the chasm start over something big? Something small?
Or does it matter?
Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. Colossians 3:13
Fixers, Insomniacs, and Putting Your Money Where Your Mouth Is
We've all heard the saying, Put your money where your mouth is.
It usually refers to a person exhibiting actions contrary to what they speak.
In essence they are phonies, frauds.
Never have I felt like that description applied to me.
Until last night.
After a well-thought out post on letting go and letting God, I found myself having the most fitful sleep of my life.
As in 99% of today's families, there's a storm brewing in mine and I have tried to step back and let the Lord handle it.
For years I've watched my own father try to help God along when it came to matters of his family, and while PawPaw John is revered in our family, he isn't God.
And as hard as it is for him to admit sometimes, he'll tell you that the best results usually come when he stops trying to fix everything. Even though it sounds like something has literally broken inside him to do so. Danger, Will Robinson!
I learned early on in my empty nest years that the less I knew, the better.
I'd even asked my kids to stop telling about trips beforehand so I didn't stay up all night replaying interstate accident statistics in my head.
But right now, the issues are affecting the entire family and there's no way to adopt my ostrich-tendency to bury my head in the sand.
So I vowed to turn the situation completely over to God.
And I will say this: I didn't take it back believing I could handle it better than God could.
No, it was a full-blown attack from the devil.
I'd wake up from a sound sleep and literally feel the darts as they entered my mind.
Like a predator egging on its prey, everything that was going on would hit me full-force before my mind was even awake.
I was able to recognize it for the fiery darts they were and fortunately able to go back to sleep after rebuking them.
Most of the time.
But I fell into the trap a few times and started worrying. And trying to figure out to fix it.
Then, the gentle reminder from the Holy Spirit would come in, and I'd submit my thoughts to the Lord and go back to sleep.
It was a long night.
I realized for the first time that all those years ago, as I begged doctors for prescriptions to help me sleep just to shut off the thoughts (bills, job stress, raising teens), I was under attack but had no idea how to fight back. So I fought with my own strength.
And I lost a lot of sleep.
Recognizing it is half the battle.
Making the decision to surrender it all (even the most hopeless situations) is the other half.
And that's the half that wins the war.
It usually refers to a person exhibiting actions contrary to what they speak.
In essence they are phonies, frauds.
Never have I felt like that description applied to me.
Until last night.
After a well-thought out post on letting go and letting God, I found myself having the most fitful sleep of my life.
As in 99% of today's families, there's a storm brewing in mine and I have tried to step back and let the Lord handle it.
For years I've watched my own father try to help God along when it came to matters of his family, and while PawPaw John is revered in our family, he isn't God.
And as hard as it is for him to admit sometimes, he'll tell you that the best results usually come when he stops trying to fix everything. Even though it sounds like something has literally broken inside him to do so. Danger, Will Robinson!
I learned early on in my empty nest years that the less I knew, the better.
I'd even asked my kids to stop telling about trips beforehand so I didn't stay up all night replaying interstate accident statistics in my head.
But right now, the issues are affecting the entire family and there's no way to adopt my ostrich-tendency to bury my head in the sand.
So I vowed to turn the situation completely over to God.
And I will say this: I didn't take it back believing I could handle it better than God could.
No, it was a full-blown attack from the devil.
I'd wake up from a sound sleep and literally feel the darts as they entered my mind.
Like a predator egging on its prey, everything that was going on would hit me full-force before my mind was even awake.
I was able to recognize it for the fiery darts they were and fortunately able to go back to sleep after rebuking them.
Most of the time.
But I fell into the trap a few times and started worrying. And trying to figure out to fix it.
Then, the gentle reminder from the Holy Spirit would come in, and I'd submit my thoughts to the Lord and go back to sleep.
It was a long night.
I realized for the first time that all those years ago, as I begged doctors for prescriptions to help me sleep just to shut off the thoughts (bills, job stress, raising teens), I was under attack but had no idea how to fight back. So I fought with my own strength.
And I lost a lot of sleep.
Recognizing it is half the battle.
Making the decision to surrender it all (even the most hopeless situations) is the other half.
And that's the half that wins the war.
Saturday, January 9, 2016
Forcing Interventions
A friend of mine called yesterday begging me to hold some
sort of intervention for a loved one.
Her fears were founded, and I share similar concerns.
But I won’t do it.
She doesn’t understand why, and will likely blame me if
something happens to him. Little does she know, that guilt will torment me for
the rest of my life anyway.
Just like with Roger and JJ.
I’ll always wonder if I could’ve done more, if somehow a
forced intervention could’ve prevented their deaths.
But forced interventions rarely work.
When I was fifteen, my parents sent me to a drug rehab. I
didn’t want to go, vowed to never speak to them again, and did everything I
could to convince them they were the worst parents ever during the 2-hour drive
there.
But I was a minor, I lived in their home, and there was
nothing I could do about it.
I stayed six weeks and it turned out to be a good
experience. But I had no choice. Had I left in Weeks 1, 2, or 3 there would’ve
been a totally different outcome.
Fast forward a decade later and I was forced once again to
seek help. I was no longer a minor but I had four beautiful children at home.
Faced with losing them or getting help for depression, prescription drug
addiction, and an eating disorder, I again had no choice.
I had something to lose.
And I KNEW I needed help. I was 88 lbs. and had to have help
washing my own hair because I was so weak. I knew I was dying and I knew
something had to change.
I wasn’t exactly willing, but I was resigned.
That turned out to be my bottom and a new life in Christ was
formed from that forced intervention.
So I’m not opposed to Spirit-led interventions.
The problem is, most people want to conduct them in the
flesh.
And the recipient is unwilling, hostile even.
I’ve seen adults “forced” into rehab that leave after a
couple of days because they were only trying to appease their families. They
end up in worse shape than they were before.
Gambling, pornography, violent tempers…if you force someone
to deal with issues they are unwilling to deal with (even if it’s for their own
good) you run the risk of losing that line of communication forever. When the
person is ready to deal with their issues, they aren’t going to turn to someone
who’s been brow-beating them.
This doesn’t apply to children; of course, you should
confront all issues.
The gray area comes in when they are adults, but they’re
still YOUR children.
It’s a tough line to be a parent and yet still respect the
autonomy they’ve earned by living on their own. You can’t ground them; you
can’t even force them to talk to you. You might can insist they listen to you,
but heeding your advice is a completely different story.
We get five or six calls a week from parents of adult
children.
They want us to intervene.
Our first question is, “Do they want help?”
99% of the time the answer is, “Well, no, but we have to do
something. I’m afraid if they don’t get help they will die.”
This is a parent’s number one fear. Ironically, it is the
fear of parents whose kids are struggling with a multitude of things from drugs
to homelessness to violent streaks.
We offer alternatives but we warn them to be cautious.
“If he/she doesn’t want help, you aren’t likely to do much
good. You can’t fix this for them.”
Of course, we immediately add the child to our prayer list.
While we may not be able to change the person, we know
Someone who can.
It sounds cliché, but the old saying packs a punch:
Sometimes you just have to let go and let God.
Thursday, January 7, 2016
Presenting Our Lives
I love to read celebrity biographies.
Not the salacious, glorifying-sex-and-drugs tomes of rockers and unreformed bad boys, but insightful memoirs from troubled (Jodie Sweetin, Tori Spelling) and beloved (Dick Van Dyke, Betty White) stars who have a real grasp of their own identities in the weird world that is Hollywood.
I like seeing how the other half (tenth?) lives.
Their thoughts often mirror those of everyday folk, and I've been surprised to find just how much I have in common with some of them.
But no passage has ever resonated with me quite like the one I read this morning.
Doris Roberts, the meddling matriarch from Everybody Loves Raymond, describes her feelings when her son went off to college in her autobiography, "Are You Hungry, Dear?"
I remember the mourning I went through when my son Michael went off to college and I faced the realization that, from that moment on, he would always be a guest at our house, even though he would never be allowed to use the guest towels. We would never again have that casual intimacy that comes from living together as a family and knowing all the little ins and outs of each other's day. From then on, he would be presenting his life to us, describing it, instead of living it with me...
Having experienced my own empty nest, I understood. And I was mesmerized with the term presenting.
As with anything that grabs my attention so strongly, I put the book down and reflected on her wording.
He would be presenting..
That's exactly what grown kids do. At least mine.
I know about what they tell me only. Or what the others tell me about them!
It's what all kids want growing up, for their parents to only know the good, but never the bad.
Once you leave home that goal is attainable.
I've learned about cross-country vacations, job promotions, and explosive sibling fights while sitting around a holiday meal months later.
Things I would've been a part of, I'm now just a spectator to.
And the things they don't present, I will never even know about.
It's the same way on the streets.
They present the life, the story they want you to see.
Some are deliberately deceitful (the pair of sisters I wrote about a few months ago are in jail again) and some are just deceiving themselves (Scooter is in a new camp waiting on SOMETHING to change), but they only show you what they want to.
In a way, we are all like that. We put our best face forward.
I had an interesting encounter yesterday with presentation.
I went with Mary and her limited-English-speaking father to the hospital yesterday so Mary could have some tests run.
It was 6:30 in the morning and we were greeted by a less-than-enthusiastic billing clerk. She huffed and puffed as I translated and she filled out mounds of first-time paperwork. At one point, Mary's dad had to go back to the car to get her social security card.
While waiting she received a phone call from home in which she yelled and cursed and hung up on the caller.
She then turned back to me and asked if I was Mary's mother.
"Oh, no ma'am. I'm the pastor's wife. I'm just helping them with the paperwork."
The change wouldn't have been any more obvious if she'd have physically put on a costume and mask.
"Ohhhh, okay sweetie." She smiled and began entering information. "Just one second."
Mary's dad came back and handed her the document. His eyes were huge as he took note of the Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde transformation.
"Thank you, sir." She hummed along as she completed her task, thanking us and then escorting us down the hall to the lab.
"What happened?" he whispered as soon as she was out of earshot.
"I told her I was the pastor's wife," I shrugged, not sharing that my heart had been hurting for her.
While some might have seen a fake woman, someone fronting...I saw someone who feared and revered the Lord deeply but was caught up in anger and hurts that had her bound.
But herein lies the biggest problem we have today.
People want to present their lives to God.
And they only want Him to see what they want to show.
Here it is, God. I give you everything. My life, my marriage, my sins. I admit to my affairs and I repent. (But I don't want to talk about that secret pornography.)
Or, Here, God. Take the drugs. They've ruined my life. I've lost my family, my home. Take it all. (But not the beer. I can handle that. I don't need help from You with that.)
Or...Lord, take the anger and the bitterness. All that hate in my heart. I'll forgive everyone. (Except for X, you know I can never let that go so don't ask me.)
The problem is, He sees it all.
And you can't surrender all and hold back any part.
A five-year-old can understand the concept of ALL better than some adults. If I give you all of a cookie yet keep a bite, I haven't given all of it to you.
It's the same with God.
Give it ALL to Him. Don't just present what you want to.
Not the salacious, glorifying-sex-and-drugs tomes of rockers and unreformed bad boys, but insightful memoirs from troubled (Jodie Sweetin, Tori Spelling) and beloved (Dick Van Dyke, Betty White) stars who have a real grasp of their own identities in the weird world that is Hollywood.
I like seeing how the other half (tenth?) lives.
Their thoughts often mirror those of everyday folk, and I've been surprised to find just how much I have in common with some of them.
But no passage has ever resonated with me quite like the one I read this morning.
Doris Roberts, the meddling matriarch from Everybody Loves Raymond, describes her feelings when her son went off to college in her autobiography, "Are You Hungry, Dear?"
I remember the mourning I went through when my son Michael went off to college and I faced the realization that, from that moment on, he would always be a guest at our house, even though he would never be allowed to use the guest towels. We would never again have that casual intimacy that comes from living together as a family and knowing all the little ins and outs of each other's day. From then on, he would be presenting his life to us, describing it, instead of living it with me...
Having experienced my own empty nest, I understood. And I was mesmerized with the term presenting.
As with anything that grabs my attention so strongly, I put the book down and reflected on her wording.
He would be presenting..
That's exactly what grown kids do. At least mine.
I know about what they tell me only. Or what the others tell me about them!
It's what all kids want growing up, for their parents to only know the good, but never the bad.
Once you leave home that goal is attainable.
I've learned about cross-country vacations, job promotions, and explosive sibling fights while sitting around a holiday meal months later.
Things I would've been a part of, I'm now just a spectator to.
And the things they don't present, I will never even know about.
It's the same way on the streets.
They present the life, the story they want you to see.
Some are deliberately deceitful (the pair of sisters I wrote about a few months ago are in jail again) and some are just deceiving themselves (Scooter is in a new camp waiting on SOMETHING to change), but they only show you what they want to.
In a way, we are all like that. We put our best face forward.
I had an interesting encounter yesterday with presentation.
I went with Mary and her limited-English-speaking father to the hospital yesterday so Mary could have some tests run.
It was 6:30 in the morning and we were greeted by a less-than-enthusiastic billing clerk. She huffed and puffed as I translated and she filled out mounds of first-time paperwork. At one point, Mary's dad had to go back to the car to get her social security card.
While waiting she received a phone call from home in which she yelled and cursed and hung up on the caller.
She then turned back to me and asked if I was Mary's mother.
"Oh, no ma'am. I'm the pastor's wife. I'm just helping them with the paperwork."
The change wouldn't have been any more obvious if she'd have physically put on a costume and mask.
"Ohhhh, okay sweetie." She smiled and began entering information. "Just one second."
Mary's dad came back and handed her the document. His eyes were huge as he took note of the Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde transformation.
"Thank you, sir." She hummed along as she completed her task, thanking us and then escorting us down the hall to the lab.
"What happened?" he whispered as soon as she was out of earshot.
"I told her I was the pastor's wife," I shrugged, not sharing that my heart had been hurting for her.
While some might have seen a fake woman, someone fronting...I saw someone who feared and revered the Lord deeply but was caught up in anger and hurts that had her bound.
But herein lies the biggest problem we have today.
People want to present their lives to God.
And they only want Him to see what they want to show.
Here it is, God. I give you everything. My life, my marriage, my sins. I admit to my affairs and I repent. (But I don't want to talk about that secret pornography.)
Or, Here, God. Take the drugs. They've ruined my life. I've lost my family, my home. Take it all. (But not the beer. I can handle that. I don't need help from You with that.)
Or...Lord, take the anger and the bitterness. All that hate in my heart. I'll forgive everyone. (Except for X, you know I can never let that go so don't ask me.)
The problem is, He sees it all.
And you can't surrender all and hold back any part.
A five-year-old can understand the concept of ALL better than some adults. If I give you all of a cookie yet keep a bite, I haven't given all of it to you.
It's the same with God.
Give it ALL to Him. Don't just present what you want to.
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
A Little Worm in Your Thinking
I had an experience today that illuminated how easily we can be led astray- all by a little faulty thinking in our minds.
I was reading the local newspaper when the headline SHERIFF NAMES NEW POSSE caught my eye. Intrigued, I read the entire article only to put it down thoroughly confused.
What did he name it?
In the era of Taylor Swift's #squad appearing in newsfeeds daily, I was curious as to what hashtag the sheriff would use for his squad.
#localleos? #boysinblue?
All I got was a list of a bunch of people and their positions.
After a few minutes I realized my error.
He named the MEMBERS of his new administration, not the administration itself.
Realizing how silly my misinterpretation was, I had to remind myself that I was still, indeed, an intelligent woman and anyone could've made that mistake.
But I couldn't let it go.
WHY was I so convinced I'd find a new moniker for the policemen?
And why was it bothering me so much that I'd made that mistake?
Upon prayerful reflection, I recalled an article in which a newly elected sheriff was looking to remove all evidence of the previous administration by changing many things, including the officers' uniforms. Even though this sheriff was in a different county, I hadn't yet made that connection. Nor was it a forethought in my mind as I read the article.
It was just a fuzzy thought, rattling around in my head, gearing my thoughts one way when the writer was of a completely different mindset.
This revelation hit me harder than I realized, which once again made me wonder. Why was this bothering me so much?
When the Lord showed me the magnitude of this simple mistake, I understood.
This is how easily people can be led astray.
It starts with one wrong thought.
And, as in my case, it wasn't even a BAD thought.
It was off, just a little. But it set off a chain of events that send me off on a tangent.
How many people out there just took one wrong step and now they are too lost to find their way back?
That's why we are here. To help the lost find their way back.
While steadfastly renewing our minds so we don't fall into the same snare.
I was reading the local newspaper when the headline SHERIFF NAMES NEW POSSE caught my eye. Intrigued, I read the entire article only to put it down thoroughly confused.
What did he name it?
In the era of Taylor Swift's #squad appearing in newsfeeds daily, I was curious as to what hashtag the sheriff would use for his squad.
#localleos? #boysinblue?
All I got was a list of a bunch of people and their positions.
After a few minutes I realized my error.
He named the MEMBERS of his new administration, not the administration itself.
Realizing how silly my misinterpretation was, I had to remind myself that I was still, indeed, an intelligent woman and anyone could've made that mistake.
But I couldn't let it go.
WHY was I so convinced I'd find a new moniker for the policemen?
And why was it bothering me so much that I'd made that mistake?
Upon prayerful reflection, I recalled an article in which a newly elected sheriff was looking to remove all evidence of the previous administration by changing many things, including the officers' uniforms. Even though this sheriff was in a different county, I hadn't yet made that connection. Nor was it a forethought in my mind as I read the article.
It was just a fuzzy thought, rattling around in my head, gearing my thoughts one way when the writer was of a completely different mindset.
This revelation hit me harder than I realized, which once again made me wonder. Why was this bothering me so much?
When the Lord showed me the magnitude of this simple mistake, I understood.
This is how easily people can be led astray.
It starts with one wrong thought.
And, as in my case, it wasn't even a BAD thought.
It was off, just a little. But it set off a chain of events that send me off on a tangent.
How many people out there just took one wrong step and now they are too lost to find their way back?
That's why we are here. To help the lost find their way back.
While steadfastly renewing our minds so we don't fall into the same snare.
Monday, January 4, 2016
What Kind of Message is That?!
I'm very careful not to cloud my witness.
Reacting in anger, sprinkling my language with cursing, or living contrary to the words I speak negates the testimony that shows the glory of God in my life.
It isn't that hard.
My life is far from perfect but it isn't a facade. The peace, and the joy, are real and don't change just when others are around.
My marriage is in the same in private as it is in public.
Well, except for those fights over the thermostat.
This transparency, along with the consistency of my words and actions over time, have led to somewhat of a reverent trust in me on the streets.
Quite simply, they know I'm going to do what's right.
I took great pride in that.
There were two words in the last sentence of note.
I TOOK...and great PRIDE...
Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. Proverbs 16:18
A nine year-old was about to take me down.
I never saw it coming.
The local kids were still out for Christmas break, today being deemed a teacher work day in our district. Some of the parents in church were unaware of this additional day and had to work.
I selflessly volunteered to take the kids to the movie. (Selflessly was said very facetiously here, as I had already looked up showtimes for the latest Alvin and the Chipmunks movie, wondering if it would more odd for a middle-aged woman to go alone or dress my dog up as a child and pretend we were on a family outing. Thankfully I had to do neither.)
Mary and I stopped at the supermarket to load up on candy and sodas before we picked the other kids up.
"We're going to the movie!" she excitedly told the cashier. Mary's parents don't speak much English so movies are a real treat for her.
The cashier raised an eyebrow at me as she bagged the forbidden food and I shrugged, then she laughed and told us to have a good time.
As soon as we got to the car, I tried to explain the movie/concession stand situation.
"Um, Mary, we don't really tell people we are buying food for the movie."
"Why?" She was curious, and a little confused.
"Well, you aren't supposed to bring food into the movie theater. You're supposed to buy it there." She was still confused so I continued, "But it's really expensive there."
"Oh. But it's okay because they are so mean? Making you pay so much money?" She was trying to grasp my reasoning.
"Well, they're not mean, they just charge a lot. So most people bring their own stuff."
"Oh, so it's okay because everyone else is doing it?" There was not a trace of sarcasm in her voice; the child was taking my every word to heart.
"No, no," I stammered out some incoherent reply as I turned the radio up.
Complete and total fail.
The conversation ended, but far from resolved in my heart, I debated on what to do. (Erroneously) justifying my lack of cash as the reason to imbibe in the treats anyway, it should come as no surprise that the treats tasted as appetizing as moth balls to me.
They might not have realized the huge spiritual implications that came with my decision to blatantly disregard the theater's rules, but I did. I'd never before been convicted when sneaking in theater treats, but when this child could only present sinful thoughts in understanding my reasoning, I got it.
It's often those little justifications that open the doors to bigger ones. If this is God's way of saving me from a bigger cliff down the road, I'm heeding caution now.
Thanks, Mary. Sometimes we all need to see life through the eyes of a child.
Reacting in anger, sprinkling my language with cursing, or living contrary to the words I speak negates the testimony that shows the glory of God in my life.
It isn't that hard.
My life is far from perfect but it isn't a facade. The peace, and the joy, are real and don't change just when others are around.
My marriage is in the same in private as it is in public.
Well, except for those fights over the thermostat.
This transparency, along with the consistency of my words and actions over time, have led to somewhat of a reverent trust in me on the streets.
Quite simply, they know I'm going to do what's right.
I took great pride in that.
There were two words in the last sentence of note.
I TOOK...and great PRIDE...
Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. Proverbs 16:18
A nine year-old was about to take me down.
I never saw it coming.
The local kids were still out for Christmas break, today being deemed a teacher work day in our district. Some of the parents in church were unaware of this additional day and had to work.
I selflessly volunteered to take the kids to the movie. (Selflessly was said very facetiously here, as I had already looked up showtimes for the latest Alvin and the Chipmunks movie, wondering if it would more odd for a middle-aged woman to go alone or dress my dog up as a child and pretend we were on a family outing. Thankfully I had to do neither.)
Mary and I stopped at the supermarket to load up on candy and sodas before we picked the other kids up.
"We're going to the movie!" she excitedly told the cashier. Mary's parents don't speak much English so movies are a real treat for her.
The cashier raised an eyebrow at me as she bagged the forbidden food and I shrugged, then she laughed and told us to have a good time.
As soon as we got to the car, I tried to explain the movie/concession stand situation.
"Um, Mary, we don't really tell people we are buying food for the movie."
"Why?" She was curious, and a little confused.
"Well, you aren't supposed to bring food into the movie theater. You're supposed to buy it there." She was still confused so I continued, "But it's really expensive there."
"Oh. But it's okay because they are so mean? Making you pay so much money?" She was trying to grasp my reasoning.
"Well, they're not mean, they just charge a lot. So most people bring their own stuff."
"Oh, so it's okay because everyone else is doing it?" There was not a trace of sarcasm in her voice; the child was taking my every word to heart.
"No, no," I stammered out some incoherent reply as I turned the radio up.
Complete and total fail.
The conversation ended, but far from resolved in my heart, I debated on what to do. (Erroneously) justifying my lack of cash as the reason to imbibe in the treats anyway, it should come as no surprise that the treats tasted as appetizing as moth balls to me.
They might not have realized the huge spiritual implications that came with my decision to blatantly disregard the theater's rules, but I did. I'd never before been convicted when sneaking in theater treats, but when this child could only present sinful thoughts in understanding my reasoning, I got it.
It's often those little justifications that open the doors to bigger ones. If this is God's way of saving me from a bigger cliff down the road, I'm heeding caution now.
Thanks, Mary. Sometimes we all need to see life through the eyes of a child.
Sunday, January 3, 2016
Familiar Spirits
One thing you see often on the streets are familiar spirits.
Nearly interchangeable faces operating the same. Drunk, self-loathing, full of pride men gravitate towards other drunk, self-loathing, prideful men.
Battered women are attracted to abusers.
A drug dealer walks into a store and immediately, almost instinctively, knows who needs to score.
It is spiritual warfare and no amount of psychological studies will lead you to a better understanding than what God's Word has to say.
For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places. Ephesians 6:12
Sometimes we don't even realize the invisible war raging around us.
Makes sense, though, doesn't it?
Have you ever wondered why you are tempted with the very thing you struggle with?
I remember taking a bus trip to Detroit when I was sixteen. It was a 30-plus hour ride from Louisiana and I was alone. Terrified, but too rebellious to show it, I remained aloof. Yet three different people approached me with drugs on that trip.
Why?
Because I had a familiar spirit.
I remembered wondering if I had a neon sign over my head flashing the words DRUG ADDICT. I didn't resemble a strung-out junkie; if anything I resembled a curveless Barbie doll.
Little did I know there might as well have been a sign. Every spirit that had taken up residence in me (from ADDICTION to JEZEBEL) battled for marquee headlining on a giant screen for the whole entire spiritual realm to see.
While those spirits were looking at me, the spirits in me were looking around as well.
Some of those spirits I put in there myself. I'd opened the door to drugs and manipulation and even suicide (as the ultimate manipulative tool). Yet others entered at an age far too young to know evil (fear, sex).
I don't know if the Jezebel spirit came the day my neighbor molested me or if that opened the door for it to come later on, in my quest to regain the control I'd lost as a five year-old. But I let it stay, unaware of spiritual warfare and a mighty force for Satan, for years.
It destroyed several marriages, including my own.
But while it was not uncommon to be hit on at work, or on the Little League field, I was shocked to find it happening at other places.
Like church.
I was trying to live right and be a good mom. I'd gotten off drugs and I was visiting different churches in my quest to get things right with the Lord. So when not one, not two, but three different church leaders hit on me, I was shocked.
It was then that I decided that church was no different than the streets. They just wore different clothes on Sunday.
A few years later I would surrender my life to Christ, learn about spiritual warfare, and remarry. I'd also realize that I was right- and wrong- about church and the streets.
Yes, in some ways, there is no difference.
The people in church have their demons, their strongholds, their hindrances (whatever term you prefer to use) just like people on the streets do. Some of them are completely unaware, some pray daily for help with their struggle, and some are just putting on a show.
But they are in church, for whatever reason, and I believe most WANT a change. Prayerfully, if they are clueless, sitting under the Word will reveal it to them.
Those church leaders are held to a higher standard...and one day they'll have to stand before God and answer for what they did. That's between them and God; I'm nowhere in that equation.
If anything I feel a little bad for them. Once I realized it was a powerful demonic spirit and not some irresistible charm, I realized they were just pawns in this heavenly game as well.
We are just putzes, the proverbial henchmen, thinking we are all that, while the devil laughs at our ignorance.
It took me a year after identifying it to banish that spirit for good.
My husband and I were newlyweds, eating dinner with my new sister-in-law and her husband, at a steakhouse when I saw him.
He was leaned back in his booth, arms outstretched, and staring straight at me with that Joey Tribbiani "How YOU doin'" grin on his face.
I looked behind me.
Nope, he was looking at me like he wanted me for his dessert.
I wanted to throw up.
My husband, sitting beside myself, noticed my discomfort.
"Why is he looking at me like that?"
I was saved, married, dressed conservatively, and in a booth with three other people. WHY?!
His answer confirmed my worst fears.
"Oh, it's just a familiar spirit." Oh. my. goodness. Is he going to want a divorce? What did I do wrong? Maybe these jeans are too tight. I was trying to deal with a spiritual matter in the flesh.
What he said next blew me away. "I wouldn't worry about it."
Wait. What?! You wouldn't worry about it?!
Well, why not? Am I not worth worrying about? Do you like guys to flirt with me? Are you saying I'm always going to have guys leer at me? Am I just always going to be a floozy? I had a long list of questions I planned to ask him as soon as we were alone.
His calm demeanor, in the face of my oft-stormy nature, has served us well over the last few years and this evening was one of the first examples.
"You'll let it go when you're ready to let it go," he simply said when I cried, argued, and confronted him about nonchalantly dropping that I was still harboring an evil sexual spirit.
To dismiss it for good, I had to get to the root of it, and I was too scared at what I'd uncover.
So I kept the spirit buried as much as I could.
It wasn't easy.
What fellowship hath light with darkness?
I wanted the Holy Spirit to have complete control of my life but I'd allowed this spirit to remain locked in a closet I was unwillingly to open.
Several months into our marriage, I knew it was time.
Through prayer and Holy Spirit guidance, I recalled the events I'd long-ago buried and put the pieces of a neighborhood sex scandal together in my mind. One of several child victims, the truth was that the fear of remembering was much worse than the actual remembering.
It was then that I was able to banish that sexual spirit for good.
I've never again been approached for sex or drugs.
I actually have the opposite problem now. I was once thrown out of the walkway of a New Orleans Voodoo Shop. I was standing there with a friend, trying to decide where we were going next, when the owner flung his door open.
"GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT! YOU CAN'T BE HERE!" he screamed. I was perplexed until I realized what kind of shop I'd been banished from.
I guess the headline has changed on my spiritual marquee.
Nearly interchangeable faces operating the same. Drunk, self-loathing, full of pride men gravitate towards other drunk, self-loathing, prideful men.
Battered women are attracted to abusers.
A drug dealer walks into a store and immediately, almost instinctively, knows who needs to score.
It is spiritual warfare and no amount of psychological studies will lead you to a better understanding than what God's Word has to say.
For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places. Ephesians 6:12
Sometimes we don't even realize the invisible war raging around us.
Makes sense, though, doesn't it?
Have you ever wondered why you are tempted with the very thing you struggle with?
I remember taking a bus trip to Detroit when I was sixteen. It was a 30-plus hour ride from Louisiana and I was alone. Terrified, but too rebellious to show it, I remained aloof. Yet three different people approached me with drugs on that trip.
Why?
Because I had a familiar spirit.
I remembered wondering if I had a neon sign over my head flashing the words DRUG ADDICT. I didn't resemble a strung-out junkie; if anything I resembled a curveless Barbie doll.
Little did I know there might as well have been a sign. Every spirit that had taken up residence in me (from ADDICTION to JEZEBEL) battled for marquee headlining on a giant screen for the whole entire spiritual realm to see.
While those spirits were looking at me, the spirits in me were looking around as well.
Some of those spirits I put in there myself. I'd opened the door to drugs and manipulation and even suicide (as the ultimate manipulative tool). Yet others entered at an age far too young to know evil (fear, sex).
I don't know if the Jezebel spirit came the day my neighbor molested me or if that opened the door for it to come later on, in my quest to regain the control I'd lost as a five year-old. But I let it stay, unaware of spiritual warfare and a mighty force for Satan, for years.
It destroyed several marriages, including my own.
But while it was not uncommon to be hit on at work, or on the Little League field, I was shocked to find it happening at other places.
Like church.
I was trying to live right and be a good mom. I'd gotten off drugs and I was visiting different churches in my quest to get things right with the Lord. So when not one, not two, but three different church leaders hit on me, I was shocked.
It was then that I decided that church was no different than the streets. They just wore different clothes on Sunday.
A few years later I would surrender my life to Christ, learn about spiritual warfare, and remarry. I'd also realize that I was right- and wrong- about church and the streets.
Yes, in some ways, there is no difference.
The people in church have their demons, their strongholds, their hindrances (whatever term you prefer to use) just like people on the streets do. Some of them are completely unaware, some pray daily for help with their struggle, and some are just putting on a show.
But they are in church, for whatever reason, and I believe most WANT a change. Prayerfully, if they are clueless, sitting under the Word will reveal it to them.
Those church leaders are held to a higher standard...and one day they'll have to stand before God and answer for what they did. That's between them and God; I'm nowhere in that equation.
If anything I feel a little bad for them. Once I realized it was a powerful demonic spirit and not some irresistible charm, I realized they were just pawns in this heavenly game as well.
We are just putzes, the proverbial henchmen, thinking we are all that, while the devil laughs at our ignorance.
It took me a year after identifying it to banish that spirit for good.
My husband and I were newlyweds, eating dinner with my new sister-in-law and her husband, at a steakhouse when I saw him.
He was leaned back in his booth, arms outstretched, and staring straight at me with that Joey Tribbiani "How YOU doin'" grin on his face.
I looked behind me.
Nope, he was looking at me like he wanted me for his dessert.
I wanted to throw up.
My husband, sitting beside myself, noticed my discomfort.
"Why is he looking at me like that?"
I was saved, married, dressed conservatively, and in a booth with three other people. WHY?!
His answer confirmed my worst fears.
"Oh, it's just a familiar spirit." Oh. my. goodness. Is he going to want a divorce? What did I do wrong? Maybe these jeans are too tight. I was trying to deal with a spiritual matter in the flesh.
What he said next blew me away. "I wouldn't worry about it."
Wait. What?! You wouldn't worry about it?!
Well, why not? Am I not worth worrying about? Do you like guys to flirt with me? Are you saying I'm always going to have guys leer at me? Am I just always going to be a floozy? I had a long list of questions I planned to ask him as soon as we were alone.
His calm demeanor, in the face of my oft-stormy nature, has served us well over the last few years and this evening was one of the first examples.
"You'll let it go when you're ready to let it go," he simply said when I cried, argued, and confronted him about nonchalantly dropping that I was still harboring an evil sexual spirit.
To dismiss it for good, I had to get to the root of it, and I was too scared at what I'd uncover.
So I kept the spirit buried as much as I could.
It wasn't easy.
What fellowship hath light with darkness?
I wanted the Holy Spirit to have complete control of my life but I'd allowed this spirit to remain locked in a closet I was unwillingly to open.
Several months into our marriage, I knew it was time.
Through prayer and Holy Spirit guidance, I recalled the events I'd long-ago buried and put the pieces of a neighborhood sex scandal together in my mind. One of several child victims, the truth was that the fear of remembering was much worse than the actual remembering.
It was then that I was able to banish that sexual spirit for good.
I've never again been approached for sex or drugs.
I actually have the opposite problem now. I was once thrown out of the walkway of a New Orleans Voodoo Shop. I was standing there with a friend, trying to decide where we were going next, when the owner flung his door open.
"GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT! YOU CAN'T BE HERE!" he screamed. I was perplexed until I realized what kind of shop I'd been banished from.
I guess the headline has changed on my spiritual marquee.
Saturday, January 2, 2016
High Maintenance People
I used to be very high-maintenance. And proud of it.
When your Daddy puts you first, you expect the rest of the world to as well. I was no different than 90% of the rest of the women, at least in the South.
Boyfriends would tell me I was high maintenance. I'd smile, bat my eyelashes, and tell them that anything worth having required work.
Bosses would tell me I was high-maintenance. Yet it would always be followed by "but you are so good at what you do," hereby reinforcing my belief that the complexity of my nature was an asset, not a hindrance.
Even my husband would chuckle, "No dear, you aren't high maintenance at all," as he would painstakingly crush ice into tiny pieces for the Coke to go with the dinner he'd prepared for me after my long day left me too exhausted to even think about any domestic duties.
I was not only high-maintenance, I was a prima donna.
Loved ones reading this will undoubtedly stumble over the verbage. Was?!! Shouldn't that be AM?
Maybe, in some ways, I still have very, shall we say, ROYAL, needs. I do expect to be treated like a princess, treasured by my husband and kids. I expect to be treated as the Prodigal Son every time I visit home, to a feast filled with traditions and love.
But that doesn't mean that my needs come before anyone else's.
It doesn't mean that I'll always get my way.
And it doesn't mean that my life is more important than the lives of others.
In essence, I've learned to take a back seat.
Part of that comes from having adult children. My kids are having experiences that have nothing to do with me. My son was stationed all over the world for four years. My girls have careers and friends and take trips to places I've only dreamed of going.
Except for a postcard or Instagram shot, these experiences barely intersect with my life.
Originally that took some getting used to, but now I'm excited for my children. What exciting opportunities! Once I finally grasped that it wasn't about me, I was able to see the world in a whole new light. One in which I'm genuinely happy for others' fortunes.
The other mirror of insight came from my street ministry.
EVERYONE thinks it's all about them. I'd venture to say that it was that mentality that led to their situations to begin with.
One guy has asked for help in getting to rehab. No less than three times have we lined up a facility and made plans for the oft hours-away drive, only to arrive and find him passed out drunk. "Not today," he'd slur. "Come back tomorrow."
Facilities, especially free ones, have intake schedules and many will cross an expected person off the list and move on to the next name on the waiting list when someone's a no-show.
In the meantime, he'd start calling. "I'm ready now." "Why won't you help?" "I was ready the next day."
By the time we lined the next one up, we'd have a repeat of the same scenario. The third, and final, time we went to get him, he was nowhere to be found.
Yesterday, he complained that he'd been wanting help for six months but no-one would help him.
I told him if I ever did line something up again (and I doubt I can anymore, at least until I get my own facility) I'd hog-tie him and bring him no matter what shape he was in and what he was saying.
He's really a great guy. I thoroughly enjoy his company, at least when he's sober. That just isn't often.
Katie is texting, four or five times a day. She's desperate to get her hands on baby supplies (cribs, strollers, clothes, etc.). I've already lined up several things, and told her so, but the baby isn't due for another two months. Given her boyfriend's propensity to pawn anything he can get his hands on for drugs, I'm not bringing anything over until the baby's born.
And I'm only bringing newborn items.
When the baby needs a high chair or toddler bed, I'll take care of it.
But I'm not bringing over "pawnable" things they won't need for at least another year.
Yet she still calls. All day long.
And I'm not the only one she's calling. She's calling every church and ministry around. So to be "hounded" like that, daily, by someone on the streets (albeit in someone's den right now) is EXHAUSTING.
It makes me not even want to help at all sometimes.
I hesitated before writing that last line, because it is not godly at all. It is allowing the flesh to take over, and the opposite of what my ministry is about.
But it is the truth, and I've never been much on a hiding behind a facade.
The bottom line is, I will help her, but on my timetable, not hers. Actually, it's on God's timetable because the frantic nature with which the calls comes leave me very unsettled. I understand nesting but this goes beyond basic preparation. When the Lord tells me to bring the stuff, I will.
Sometimes I just have to stop and marvel and what a great personal assistant the Holy Spirit is.
We also went to visit the guy and his "Grandma" (Intercede..or Intervene?) yesterday. I didn't have to worry about saying too much. She was either oblivious to his unhappiness or trying desperately to hide any signs of contention from us. While we gently prodded, she batted back our questions in a way that closed any meaningful conversation.
I'm sure we will end up going back.
For now though, we will keep on visiting, keep answering calls and texts, keep praying, and continue to love those in need.
'Cause the bottom line is, high-maintenance people just need a little more love than most.
When your Daddy puts you first, you expect the rest of the world to as well. I was no different than 90% of the rest of the women, at least in the South.
Boyfriends would tell me I was high maintenance. I'd smile, bat my eyelashes, and tell them that anything worth having required work.
Bosses would tell me I was high-maintenance. Yet it would always be followed by "but you are so good at what you do," hereby reinforcing my belief that the complexity of my nature was an asset, not a hindrance.
Even my husband would chuckle, "No dear, you aren't high maintenance at all," as he would painstakingly crush ice into tiny pieces for the Coke to go with the dinner he'd prepared for me after my long day left me too exhausted to even think about any domestic duties.
I was not only high-maintenance, I was a prima donna.
Loved ones reading this will undoubtedly stumble over the verbage. Was?!! Shouldn't that be AM?
Maybe, in some ways, I still have very, shall we say, ROYAL, needs. I do expect to be treated like a princess, treasured by my husband and kids. I expect to be treated as the Prodigal Son every time I visit home, to a feast filled with traditions and love.
But that doesn't mean that my needs come before anyone else's.
It doesn't mean that I'll always get my way.
And it doesn't mean that my life is more important than the lives of others.
In essence, I've learned to take a back seat.
Part of that comes from having adult children. My kids are having experiences that have nothing to do with me. My son was stationed all over the world for four years. My girls have careers and friends and take trips to places I've only dreamed of going.
Except for a postcard or Instagram shot, these experiences barely intersect with my life.
Originally that took some getting used to, but now I'm excited for my children. What exciting opportunities! Once I finally grasped that it wasn't about me, I was able to see the world in a whole new light. One in which I'm genuinely happy for others' fortunes.
The other mirror of insight came from my street ministry.
EVERYONE thinks it's all about them. I'd venture to say that it was that mentality that led to their situations to begin with.
One guy has asked for help in getting to rehab. No less than three times have we lined up a facility and made plans for the oft hours-away drive, only to arrive and find him passed out drunk. "Not today," he'd slur. "Come back tomorrow."
Facilities, especially free ones, have intake schedules and many will cross an expected person off the list and move on to the next name on the waiting list when someone's a no-show.
In the meantime, he'd start calling. "I'm ready now." "Why won't you help?" "I was ready the next day."
By the time we lined the next one up, we'd have a repeat of the same scenario. The third, and final, time we went to get him, he was nowhere to be found.
Yesterday, he complained that he'd been wanting help for six months but no-one would help him.
I told him if I ever did line something up again (and I doubt I can anymore, at least until I get my own facility) I'd hog-tie him and bring him no matter what shape he was in and what he was saying.
He's really a great guy. I thoroughly enjoy his company, at least when he's sober. That just isn't often.
Katie is texting, four or five times a day. She's desperate to get her hands on baby supplies (cribs, strollers, clothes, etc.). I've already lined up several things, and told her so, but the baby isn't due for another two months. Given her boyfriend's propensity to pawn anything he can get his hands on for drugs, I'm not bringing anything over until the baby's born.
And I'm only bringing newborn items.
When the baby needs a high chair or toddler bed, I'll take care of it.
But I'm not bringing over "pawnable" things they won't need for at least another year.
Yet she still calls. All day long.
And I'm not the only one she's calling. She's calling every church and ministry around. So to be "hounded" like that, daily, by someone on the streets (albeit in someone's den right now) is EXHAUSTING.
It makes me not even want to help at all sometimes.
I hesitated before writing that last line, because it is not godly at all. It is allowing the flesh to take over, and the opposite of what my ministry is about.
But it is the truth, and I've never been much on a hiding behind a facade.
The bottom line is, I will help her, but on my timetable, not hers. Actually, it's on God's timetable because the frantic nature with which the calls comes leave me very unsettled. I understand nesting but this goes beyond basic preparation. When the Lord tells me to bring the stuff, I will.
Sometimes I just have to stop and marvel and what a great personal assistant the Holy Spirit is.
We also went to visit the guy and his "Grandma" (Intercede..or Intervene?) yesterday. I didn't have to worry about saying too much. She was either oblivious to his unhappiness or trying desperately to hide any signs of contention from us. While we gently prodded, she batted back our questions in a way that closed any meaningful conversation.
I'm sure we will end up going back.
For now though, we will keep on visiting, keep answering calls and texts, keep praying, and continue to love those in need.
'Cause the bottom line is, high-maintenance people just need a little more love than most.
Friday, January 1, 2016
Life...as a cassette tape?
Remember those cassette tapes we used to listen to?
If you were lucky, your favorite song would be the first track on either side. But more often than not, you'd have to do the rewind/fast-forward dance with the tape to find that two-second spot of dead air right before your song began.
Was that so bad?
We were excited when CDs came out (and their video counterpart, the DVD) because there was no wait time to hear your favorites. A few simple clicks and Track 6 comes through from the beginning. BE KIND REWIND signs became obsolete; the discs themselves were kind enough to not require additional work.
But then our lives adopted a similar makeover.
There is no backing up when you make a mistake. You just say, "Oh well!" and move on. Not that it is entirely a bad thing to forge ahead, but we are now a society who buries mistakes instead of learning from them.
Sometimes we need to just stand up, confess our mistakes (if only to the Lord), and rewind.
Learning from our mistakes was once once of life's most valuable tools.
Now we have the spinmaster mentality of never admitting wrongdoing or accepting consequences.
If we CONFESS our sins He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins...(1 John 1:9)
Not spin them, not ignore them, not bury them.
Confess them.
Sometimes we just need an old-fashioned rewind button.
If you were lucky, your favorite song would be the first track on either side. But more often than not, you'd have to do the rewind/fast-forward dance with the tape to find that two-second spot of dead air right before your song began.
Was that so bad?
We were excited when CDs came out (and their video counterpart, the DVD) because there was no wait time to hear your favorites. A few simple clicks and Track 6 comes through from the beginning. BE KIND REWIND signs became obsolete; the discs themselves were kind enough to not require additional work.
But then our lives adopted a similar makeover.
There is no backing up when you make a mistake. You just say, "Oh well!" and move on. Not that it is entirely a bad thing to forge ahead, but we are now a society who buries mistakes instead of learning from them.
Sometimes we need to just stand up, confess our mistakes (if only to the Lord), and rewind.
Learning from our mistakes was once once of life's most valuable tools.
Now we have the spinmaster mentality of never admitting wrongdoing or accepting consequences.
If we CONFESS our sins He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins...(1 John 1:9)
Not spin them, not ignore them, not bury them.
Confess them.
Sometimes we just need an old-fashioned rewind button.
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