This Is Forgiveness

Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?”

Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.

Matthew 18:21-22 (NIV)

The other day, I read something so profoundly full of grace and forgiveness, it brought instant tears to these feel-like-I've-seen-everything eyes. I was cruising through Facebook, skimming through the words and stopping briefly at the pictures. This particular picture caught my eye.

If you know me at all, you know that I have a daughter who is proud to tell anyone and everyone, that she has Down syndrome. That she is a young woman with Down syndrome. She doesn't lack for self-esteem. And she doesn't lack for compassion, or empathy, or friendliness, or helpfulness, and sometimes, just, plain stubbornness. Which can sometimes make me crazy. But that's not the sum total of who she is.

She's the girl who texted the wrong Uncle Jerry (my sister's husband) to tell him happy birthday - because she saw my happy birthday message to MY Uncle Jerry on Facebook (her great-uncle -- thus, the confusion). She's the one who tells my husband about his birthday present within five minutes of telling me that it's a secret. She just can't keep good news to herself. She's the one who showed me a series of texts to my sister:

My daughter: love you
My sister: I love you, too! So much!
My daughter: love you now let me work

So, this picture caught my eye, and I just HAD to click on the MORE. I had to read the whole story.

Well, it wasn't a story, really, it was a letter. The letter was to a young woman, quite pretty, a news reporter in fact. Apparently this news reporter described President Obama as a 'retard' in a tweet, and the letter was written in response.

True story. It actually happened in 2012, during the Presidential debates.

For me, hearing the word 'retard' feels like a punch in the stomach. It wasn't too awfully long ago when my daughter was in fifth grade at the school where I was teaching. Fifth grade. My classroom sat beside her classroom - two portables along the fire road behind the main school building, right next to the playground. We used to call them our little cabins in the woods. Our classes had recess together, the teachers taking turns to monitor.

One day, during my partner's turn at recess, a couple of girls from her class came to see me. Upset and fidgety, they told me about an on-going incident involving my daughter and one of the boys from my class. Apparently he had told my daughter that his name was JackAss. My daughter is really good with names. Just last weekend she kept all 38 of our relatives straight during our visit to Indiana. It's one of her superpowers. So this boy told her this name and then proceeded to follow her around the playground asking her his name. When she said what he told her, he laughed at her, and called her a retard.

I could barely thank the girls for letting me know what was going on.

I. Was. Furious.

Did you know that God can calm a storm? Thankfully, I said a little prayer before calling the boy to me - to hear his side.

Long story short, my classes, from that time on, were educated on the word 'retard'. They were educated about it's history -- how it used to be used to describe the mental capabilities of people with delayed cognitive abilities -- how it had slowly evolved into an insult -- how using that word as an insult, meant that they considered people like my daughter to be insults.

Not too long ago, I wrote an article about the word, very much like my classroom lecture. You are welcome to read it on page 10 of the July, 2014 Christian Journal.

But now this true story. This beautiful, grace-filled letter by a young man with Down syndrome. I don't know if he had help - the writing is leagues beyond anything my daughter is capable of. The forgiveness may be leagues beyond anything I feel I'm capable of.

See, he asks the pretty reporter why she uses 'retard' as an insult. He explains that, as a man with Down syndrome, he struggles to break public perception that intellectual disability means being dumb or shallow. Then he gives examples of the kinds of people she could have possibly meant to link to President Obama by calling him retarded. The people he describes are victims who rose above the bullying they received in school, or people who have to consider what they say, people who don't jump on the quick-comeback-snarky-soundbite bandwagon. He asks if she is perhaps linking President Obama to people with intellectual disabilities who live in low-rent housing, with state-provided health care who STILL, in the midst of poverty, manage to see life as a precious gift.

I've seen these people, friends of my daughter's, friends of mine. They participate in Special Olympics, supporting each other with encouragement and enthusiasm. They worship at churches and help with missions. They participate in meetings about living conditions, and jobs; they show up and sometimes even speak up at rallies and forums. They work. They play. They argue. They gossip. They forgive.

They forgive.

That's what made me cry when I read this letter. The young man was very clear and concise about how the word 'retarded' is used as an insult. He was very clear and concise about the link between a population of people and that insult. If you don't read the whole letter - then here are the final seven sentences...

After I saw your tweet, I realized you just wanted to belittle the President by linking him to people like me. You assumed that people would understand and accept that being linked to someone like me is an insult and you assumed you could get away with it and still appear on TV. I have to wonder if you considered other hateful words but recoiled from the backlash. Well, Ms ___, you, and society, need to learn that being compared to people like me should be considered a badge of honor. No one overcomes more than we do and still loves life so much. Come join us someday at Special Olympics. See if you can walk away with your heart unchanged.

A friend you haven't made yet,

John Franklin Stephens 

Global Messenger Special Olympics Virginia 

... A friend you haven't made yet....

"YET..." This is hope. This is forgiveness.

Linking with Three-Word Wednesday, TellHisStory, Coffee For Your Heart

The Strongest Thing

This post is a continuation, in a way, of A Fragile Thing.

For I am convinced 

that neither death 

nor life, 

neither angels 

nor demons, 

neither the present 

nor the future, 

nor any powers, 

neither height 

nor depth, 

nor anything else in all creation, 

will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 8:38-39 (NIV)

Imagine this:

A young man walks into a church during bible study on a weekday morning. He sits in the church for an hour, listening. Impressed by the kindness he is shown, he almost doesn't do what he came to do. But a voice whispers to him. A voice in the recesses of his soul. A familiar voice. A voice of darkness. "Do it."

And he does. He opens fire on the very people he has been sitting with, killing eight with multiple gunshots. A ninth dies at the hospital. He tells them they have to die. That voice has taken over his life.

Days later, the survivors gather at the young man's hearing. They tell him what he has stolen from them. They show him the depth of their sorrow. And then, they forgive him. There just isn't room in a heart for hatred and love. They choose love.                                                   Find the article here.                             

This is a strong thing.

Imagine this:

An infant is adopted from abandonment. He is terrified of people. He has been diagnosed with a language disorder. He has a sensory processing disorder. He is not an easy child to enjoy. And yet, his mom takes him out, to explore places, to be with people, to interact and intermingle - always hoping beyond hope that he will connect.

And he does. To a stranger at a rodeo. He laughs and giggles, and discusses the bulls. The mother sits by in tears because a miracle has happened. Her heart is full at the kindness of that stranger, the one who chose to love a boy unconditionally.                                                     Find the article here.

This is a strong thing.

Imagine this: 

A young woman with Down syndrome is preparing to graduate high school. She is excited to do and be like the other graduates. She is excited about the robe, and the hat, the diploma, the ceremony. But she can't do it all by herself, independently. She can't quite wrap her intellect around the alphabetical order, the turn this card in at that table at this time, the lining up and the marching in, the waiting your turn. It's all confusing.

A young man, about to graduate himself, with honors and a scholarship to play football, on a day when it should be all about him, chooses to take this young woman under his wing. Into his care. He does it out of kindness. The kindness of a stranger enables the young woman to soar through the ceremony, without helicopter adults; she is doing and being like the other graduates. It is a gift.

Read about it here, here, and here.

This is a strong thing. 

Imagine this:

El, the Master of the Universe, created day and night and all that they encompass with His holy breath. He formed creatures to inhabit the air, the sea, and land. Then He made man and He made woman. These He made in His own image, companions to each other and to Him. He gave them His world, His universe. He gave them free will. He saw that all was well and good.

Free will includes temptation. It includes enticement. It includes choices. The man and the woman made a choice that separated them from the face of El. It was a disobedient choice. It was sin. And sin then became a part of who they were, separate from their Maker. Sin was separate from good. All was no longer well.

But El, still loved his creation. Unconditionally. Even when they wronged and disrespected His wishes. Even when they allowed the not good to ruin them, to ruin the earth, to ruin the creatures. And He made a plan to redeem them.

Through selfless love, He came to earth. Fully man and fully God. Through selfless love, He experienced hurt and pain, hunger and sickness, violence and greed. Blameless He allowed Himself to be sacrificed. For the sins of men. He experienced punishment and returned grace. He experienced thirst, and returned mercy. He experienced hatred, and returned forgiveness.

Through selfless love, He changed the world.

This is the strongest thing.

"If we could imagine the love of one who loves men purely for their own sake, and not because of any need or desire of his own, purely desires their good, and yet loves them wholly, not for what at this moment they are, but for what he knows he can make of them because he made them, then we should have in our minds some true image of the love of the Father and Creator of mankind."  --O.C. Quick

Heavenly Father,

Thank you for your love, your unconditional, all-powerful, inseparable love.

Help us to remember to love others as you have loved us.

It can change the world.

It is the strongest thing.

Linking with: The Sunday Community, Monday's Musings, Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood, RaRaLinkup

#TellHisStory: Even at Lunch

When the king of Israel saw them, he asked Elisha, "Shall I kill them, my father? Shall I kill them?" "Do not kill them," he answered. "Would you kill men you have captured with your own sword or bow? Set food and water before them so that they may eat and drink and then go back to their master." So he prepared a great feast for them, and after they had finished eating and drinking, he sent them away, and they returned to their master. So the bands from Aram stopped raiding Israel's territory.

2 Kings 6:21-23

"I could never be a Christian," she said, with that I-really-want-you-to-understand-me stare, a look of pleading, entreaty.  We weren't alone.  We were in the teacher's lounge - eating lunch - as we did daily. Regular circumstances, not-so-regular topic.  Sure, some of us went to the same church in town.  Sure, sometimes conversation included church stuff.  But not salvation.  Never something as deep as actual belief.

"I just can't get past the saving part," she confided, "the part where if you say you believe in Jesus, you go to heaven."  I was a brand-new Christian myself.  That saving part was a precious gift in my mind. Grace.   That saving part was a miracle to me.  A miracle that I had finally claimed - desperately.  And now that I had invited Jesus into my life, I knew I would never let Him go.  So, here I was.  In the teacher's lounge.  Listening.  

"Is it true," she asked, "that once you accept Jesus, you go to heaven?  He is the only way to heaven?"  I nodded, she had opened that tiny little door to one of my own issues.  The only way.  Every day I prayed a little prayer to cover my own issues.  God, I believe.  Help my unbelief.   The only way - surely good people, moral people, saintly people would have a way.  It sounded so exclusive - so Manifest Destiny-ish.  My inner turmoil...not now...spinning a web in my head....not now.  God, I believe.  Help me overcome my unbelief.

I listened.  She was so intent, so intense; her face hardened.  "My father became a Christian.  According to Christianity, he's going to heaven."  She looked away for an instant, her hand unconsciously clenched on the table.  Then unclenched as her eyes turned back to mine.  "He abused us, my sister and me.  Years ago.  He doesn't deserve to go to heaven."  She stared through me, laser focus to a time and place only she could see.  "He deserves to rot in hell."  Her lunch was half-eaten, napkin neatly laid out, yogurt cup opened, plastic spoon ready.  We were in the teacher's lounge - eating - as we did daily.  Regular circumstances, not-so-regular topic.

She wasn't a hugger.  My natural reaction was to give her a hug - of reassurance, acceptance, understanding.  She wasn't a hugger.  

What do you do with that?  What do you say?  How do you comfort?  Words weren't enough.  "I'm sorry," I said.  "I'm sorry that you had to go through that."  Oh God, help me.  Help her.  I see you, knocking.  Like you did with me.  Surround her with people who know you, help her to continue to seek You.  Let this not be about her father, but about You.  God, help me to know what to do...

God isn't easy, sometimes.  He is awesome.  He is terrible.  He is all-powerful and all-knowing.  He has high expectations of and for us.  That lunchtime was difficult for me.  I wanted to help, to share, to rejoice about Christ in my life.  It was not a time for words - and neither were the next six months at that school.  Not directly.  To her.  But...it was a time for action.  Our actions speak for us - louder, more eloquently, more consistently than our words.  I was changed - working to glorify God in my life - which affected the lives of those around me.  Not always successful, but lifted through my failures by grace.  Working, even at school.  Even at lunch.  Through action.  

Thousands of years ago, a prophet of God told the King of Israel to show mercy to the soldiers of a rival king.  Not only mercy, but generosity.  So he set out a feast for the captured soldiers.  And released them.  The story could end here - with the obedience of the King of Israel.  But God went a step further.  Cause and effect.  Because the King did as he was told, his subjects, the Israelites were kept safe from further raids by those released troops.  Cause and effect.

I continue to pray for my friend.  I pray that she is shown God's love and God's grace in her life.  I pray that she open the door to Jesus, so He can strengthen her, teach her, help her - to forgive, to love.  I pray that He lead her to peace.  Her questions will be answered - He is the Truth.

God, I believe.  Help my belief.

Linking with TellHisStory

#TellHisStory: You Just Have to Ask

This is a story born from true circumstance.  I liked the idea of interweaving the testimony with the song Hello, My Name Is by Matthew West.  It's real, you know - this forgiveness/grace thing.  All you have to do is ask....

Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.  

James 5:16

Everyone was there, sitting on the futons, the rug, pulled up in chairs.  It was a shoes-off, bare-feet-in-the-shag-rug kind of night.  The volume of music playing in the background was just right, allowing conversation to ebb and flow like tides on the ocean; voices pitched high and low, threaded in and out of the noise in the room.   The perfect night for fellowship.  Like it was staged or something.  The boy looked around at the group - his group - some of them friends from way back in elementary and middle school.  He was ready.

"It was just a pack of cigarettes.  Sitting on the coffee table in the middle of the room.  Just an ordinary pack."  His voice was quiet, earnest.  Some of the kids were still talking.

Hello, my name is regret
I'm pretty sure we have met

"I always thought it had to be a kind of traumatic event that got people started.  Hiding in the woods -  drinking.  Even drugs.  But for me -- just that pack of cigarettes.  Weird, huh?"  He looked around at the group, head swiveling on his wrestler's body - a mountain in the chair - boy and man at once.

Every single day of your life
I'm the whisper inside
That won't let you forget

The music still played, seeping through the room and insinuating itself into his story.  You could see him searching the faces of his friends - for common ground, for acceptance.  Like the rotating beacon of a lighthouse - a flashlight in the dark - searching.  He smiled, a self-deprecating smile, a looking-inward-I-wish-I'd-made-better-choices smile, a smile of remorse.

"I didn't want anyone to know.  So I went out in the woods."  Nodding to the group, now silent - mesmerized - he continued.  "I never skipped classes; I kept up with youth leadership.  But I knew - I knew it was wrong - what I was doing.  Not just the alcohol and smoking - the drugs, but the secrets."

Hello, my name is defeat
I know you recognize me

"So I tried to stop.  I knew it wasn't right - it's called sinning - what I was doing.  The cigarettes were starting to affect my lungs and my wind - I can't even run now without wheezing - y'all know what drugs and alcohol can do....our bodies are supposed to be temples.  I was polluting that temple."  The faces in the room were still - like statues - some frozen in disbelief, some completely blank, expressionless - all listening.  Taking it in.  Watching the man-boy in the chair.  Soaking in his confession.

"And that's when I starting piling up rocks."  His hands were restless.  First on his thighs, then folded across his chest, then down to his knees.  "Not literally."  He smiled again, humor radiating.  "Rocks.  Like piling a burden on your back.  Sin.  It weighs you down."

Just when you think you can win
I'll drag you right back down again

"I was living a double life, and it was tearing me up."  Heads were nodding - common ground.  "I couldn't forgive myself."  His voice was flat - emotionless - like it was coming out of a deep well, coming from a distant place.  He gazed across the room - it was that thousand-mile stare you see on soldiers sometimes - on soldiers who've seen too much, done too much, who can't stop the images. 

‘Til you've lost all belief

"Y'all know me.  I thought I believed in God and all.  I know that Jesus died to take away our sins - to forgive us.  But I guess you have to ask Him first."  Shaking his head slightly, eyes refocused, he contemplated the youth in front of him.  He paused, choosing his words.  "I guess I kind of lost my way."

The only sound in the room was the music in the background.  Like it was staged or something...

These are the voices, these are the lies
And I have believed them, for the very last time

He shifted in his chair, pulling his bulk up, sitting taller, straighter.  The mood in room altered - like a light in the darkness.  The youth leaned forward slightly as he spoke again.  "So, Blackstone.  That's why I'm talking to you about all this tonight.  Blackstone changed me..."  A laugh escaped.  His eyes sparkled.  "No, it was Jesus - but it happened at Blackstone."  

Hello, my name is child of the one true King
I've been saved, I've been changed,
And I have been set free
“Amazing Grace” is the song I sing
Hello, my name is child of the one true King

"There I was, in the middle of this hidden life, making bad choices, and feeling worse and worse about myself because I wasn't stopping.  I kept piling on rocks...I felt guilty about not stopping.  I felt guilty about being a youth leader - I was supposed to know better.  The worst thing was thinking about my Grandma - it would just make her so sad to know what I was doing.  That was probably the biggest rock - I was loading myself up good by Blackstone..."

I am no longer defined
By all the wreckage behind

"It was Saturday night.  During the communion service.  We prayed."  Heads were nodding again - definitely common ground.  "I asked for forgiveness - forgiveness for the cigarettes, for the alcohol, for the drugs.  Forgiveness for the hiding, for the secrets.  Forgiveness for the disappointing.  Mostly, I asked for forgiveness for the trying-to-do-it-myself-and-not-asking-Jesus... for my lack of faith in Him.  Because we're not supposed to do it alone.  We're supposed to ask.  Shoot, we sin all the time.  Jesus doesn't want us to pile up rocks and burdens - we're supposed to let them go - give them up.  So I did - I left my pile of rocks at my seat in the auditorium at Blackstone."

The one who makes all things new
Has proven it's true
Just take a look at my life

"I am forgiven.   I came back from Blackstone and I have stopped making those bad choices.  I told those not-friends that I wouldn't be hanging out with them anymore.  No more trips to the woods.  Well...I do still hunt...."  He smiled again - a happy smile - a carefree smile - a smile with a touch of wisdom and experience.  "I thought y'all needed to know.  You need to know how easy it is to be pulled away - it was just a pack of cigarettes on the coffee table.  You need to know how easy it is to get lost.  But mostly, mostly you need to know how easy it is to come back."  

He had them, this audience of his peers.  He had all of their attention.  No more whispering, all ears listening.  His eyes picked out each one, each youth, as he looked around the room.  I need to leave them with one final word, he thought.  They need to know.  So, purposefully, with all of the authority he could gather born of his recent experience:  "Jesus really does save, you know... All those rocks... the ones I kept piling on..." He shrugged his shoulders hard.  "Those rocks are gone"

Last look.  Last words.  "You just have to ask."

What love the Father has lavished upon us
That we should be called His children
I am a child of the one true King

God in Heaven, thank you for the courage of this youth leader.  Continue to hold him in your hand - to guide and direct him as you guide and direct us all through your Holy Spirit.  Thank you for forgiveness and grace.

Linking With:

TellHisStory

Unite

Soli Deo Gloria

Winsome Wednesday

Fingers Pointing to God

I will make you into a great nation,

and I will bless you;

I will make your name great,

and you will be a blessing.

I will bless those who bless you,

and whoever curses you I will curse;

and all peoples on earth

will be blessed through you.

Genesis 12:2-3

Once upon a long time ago, altars were built of rocks.  Rocks piled up in high places like fingers pointing to God.  Altars of sacrifice and worship.  Abraham built the first we know of after his blessing by God - when he was traveling through the land of Canaan from his home in Ur.  He piled up a lot of rocks...was even told to sacrifice his son - Isaac-which-means-laughter.  Told by God to make an altar to sacrifice his only son, his joy, the one named laughter.

But God was only checking out Abraham's faith.  Testing him.  Seeing if he was truly worthy of the role He had planned.  See, Abraham was to be the father of God's chosen people.  All the people on earth would be blessed through him.  He sure piled up a lot of stones.  Not to earn those blessings.  It wasn't like clearing a field for planting.  He piled up rocks to build something out of the earth - something God-worthy.

Rocks - bending my back

Loading up a ton of sin

Altar of darkness

Much later, came another.  Out of Abraham, out of Isaac.  Another man, referred to as Simon.  A man Jesus called.  He said Simon was his rock.  He renamed him Peter.  Rock.  He said you can't build a good foundation on shifting sand; floods will come and wash it away.  Destroy it.  A good foundation is built deep, is dug down, to rock.  Solid.  Strong.  Peter would be the rock for His church.

"Forgive me!"  I cry

On my knees in prayer to Him

Jesus.  Amazing.

So, I'm thinking about rocks today.  Our sins, our mistakes, our bad choices are like rocks.  We can choose to pile them up so they weigh us down with guilt, with despair, with sorrow.  Or we can choose to ask for forgiveness -  to clear them away like rocks in the field - for our sanctification, for our growth.  Sins can be used - been there, done that, won't do it again.  Those rocks, those burdens can be used to build a foundation in us - a foundation based on experience, a foundation of wisdom, a foundation for our future choices.

A gift undeserved

Grace.  Freedom.  Burden lifted.

Go and sin no more

Jesus forgives.  He died so we could be made new.  He can take those sins from us, those rocks, the very ones that bend us in half under their weight - and make altars from them.  Castaway stones, littering the ground.  Discarded sin, forgiven sin - hope for the future, faith and grace.  Piled up in high places.  Fingers pointing to God.

Oh God, thank you for taking away my sin, my burden of rocks - thank you for helping me to build an altar of faith and grace.  You.  Are. 

Drama

Another Saturday.  I slept in a little - those who know me understand that sleeping in for our household means rolling out of bed around 5 or so... It's ok.  I love early morning time.  Coffee and the computer - my connection to the world without the world interfering.

But today was kind of special.  I came upon this link from one of my friends on Facebook.  I have to confess, I don't always watch every video that comes my way; this morning was an exception.  A glad exception.

Here'a the link - drama.

So today, I'm not writing a message - I'm sharing one.

Thank you, God, for showing how much you love us through the sacrifice of your son, Jesus;  thank you for redeeming us, for forgiveness, and for grace.