Chasing After Me

Hope isn’t trite. Hope isn’t naivete. Hope isn’t an escape. Hope isn’t even wishful thinking.

I feel that all too often we brush off hope as something touchy, feely and squishy. Something meant to make us feel warm and fuzzy. Something Pollyanna-ish.

But we forget that hope is strong. Hope withstands. Hope gives comfort. Hope gives peace.

Sure, hope can make you happy and it can make you smile, but hope is bigger than optimism…bigger than happiness…

Hope is real.

People often ask me what keeps me going…how I can always look at the upside of situations…how I can smile so often…how I can be so happy.

The answer is hope.

Hope is mentioned a lot in the New Testament (it’s especially prominent in letters from Paul). The Greek definition of that word in every single reference is an expectation and a confidence. For me, that expectation and confidence is knowing God is with me. Always. Forever. There’s no shaking Love Himself.

That means, once you realize hope is unshakable, you might end up with the same happiness disease that I have. Be warned, with a realization of hope, you’ll end up laughing more, crying more, taking more risks, loving more people…because there is nothing – absolutely nothing – to lose.

The author of Hebrews calls hope an anchor for our souls. I think that’s a pretty good descriptor. Hope keeps us connected to a solid foundation. When storms come and hurl everything into a tailspin, hope is still connected to the foundation. In moments of unhappiness and in times of discontent hope still exists and reminds us that ultimately everything will be OK.

Hope withstands anxiety.

Hope withstands frustration.

Hope withstands when smiles don’t.

Hope dwells in our souls. Hope is everpresent. Hope gives our lives life.

Hope is bigger than us. Thank goodness, because then we’re not left holding on to ourselves when everything else feels like it’s falling apart. Hope being bigger than us also means that when peace and happiness overtake us, it’s not about ourselves either…we are fueled by the love of someone much bigger.

Call me an optimist. Roll your eyes. But don’t downplay hope’s power.

Hope is powerful. Hope changes people.

I would know. Hope changed me.

Hope is my anchor. Always.

Love leads the way… and it’s what we leave behind…

“Are you one of those ‘love’ people?”

“Don’t you go to that ‘love’ church?”

“I know you believe in love, but…”

Yes. Yes. And there are no “buts.”

It seems a month doesn’t go by without at least hearing these questions a few times.

To me, it’s a strange question. It seems to me that the deep-seeded desire of every person is to be loved. I believe that much of the hate and hurt in the world comes from a unwillingness to let ourselves be loved, and an unwillingness to love. And, maybe it’s because I can’t imagine life without love…I believe with all my heart that love, true unconditional love, brings life…I believe that life and love are inseparable.

Some might call that idealistic.

I like to call it human.

Jesus told His disciples that people would know they were His followers because of their love…not their knowledge…not their eloquent words…not their theology…not their morals…not their performance…not their judgment on others…but because of THEIR LOVE FOR ONE ANOTHER.

God IS love.

A couple weeks ago when I was volunteering with some Bloom friends at The Family Place in St. Paul, there was a moment. A moment when I realized that I’m on this journey filled with love and grace with many other people. A moment that was like a rally cry. A moment that was all about love and letting others feel love.

When Bloom set out to connect with organizations in the community, we never set out to tell people about Jesus. You heard that correctly. We’re a church hellbent on loving and serving when we’re in the community, not tossing out a soapbox to stand on and scream from. Why? Because we want to be known by our love…true, overflowing, unconditional love.

I believe it’s because LOVE is what matters. I believe it’s because LOVE speaks louder than words. I believe it’s because LOVE helps people love themselves, despite their mistakes. I believe it’s because LOVE connects with our spirits and our souls in a way nothing else can. I believe LOVE speaks its own language, one without words. I believe LOVE always wins.

After all, if God is Love, and I believe in God…then logic says my belief in love is undeniable.

On Sunday at Bloom, I put a shared a picture of a seemingly confident and happy woman 22-year-old woman on the big screen for all to see.

The young woman was just out of college and, on the surface, looked as if she was happier than happy and probably had all of her crap together.

But, in all actuality, it was a girl who had struggled for years with things that many people struggle with… starving herself and then forcing herself to puke when she did eat…racking up crazy amounts of credit card debt at a very young age with no great way to pay it off…going out every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night…drinking too much…finding guys to pay attention to her. In many moments, she was afraid the façade would crack, and that people would instantly see her thoughts of inadequacy, imperfection and brokenness. That they would instantly see that she was a sham.

You know people who feel this way. In fact the “people” are probably you.

I would know.

I had to put that picture up on Sunday as I shared with my dear friend Tamara about seeing ourselves as God sees us…I had to put that picture up because it was me…because it was a me who saw herself as broken.

A couple weeks back, when we were mapping out that message, one of my best and most trusted friends mortified me when he shared that some people think I’m always confident and strong and that I don’t make mistakes. I was mortified because didn’t want that to be the case. Ever. I wanted people to see me as transparent. Those closest to me know that a “confident, strong and perfect” Dawn is not reality. But what kept me awake all that night was a burning desire to lay some of the hard stuff out there…a desire to embrace transparency. Not because I was trying to hide anything from anyone, but because those real moments are the moments that can connect people with hope.

Those moments connect people with hope because they can see an anchor of hope at work in your own life…when they can see you smile despite what you’ve gone through or are going through…when they see you can cry, yet still cling to hope to keep breathing…when they see another imperfect soul find love and acceptance from their higher power.

We all go through crap. We all do stupid things. We all have moments of weakness. We all have moments of feeling gross and dirty. But we often carry all of those feelings behind a façade of a smile. Those moments are integral parts of our stories. And, for me, I believe that God – thanks to Jesus – sees me perfect, holy and righteous, despite those moments of inadequacy…those moments in the past, those I’m living now, and those I’ll face in the future.

Embrace your whole story…not just the highlights…the highs and lows complete the story. Even the crap…because I believe God turns crap into fertilizer…where there is crap, beautiful things can grow.

My dad is my hero.

It might sound cliché, but for years I had a hard time saying that.

It was hard because I was frustrated that few others knew the amazing dad I knew existed. It was hard because I was sad to think that my dad was feeling empty and lonely and there was nothing I could do. It was hard because I was angry that he couldn’t just throw away the lifeless bottle and spend time with people who loved him instead. It was hard because it hurt to wonder whether or not he even remembered some of the most important moments in my life. It was hard because I was pissed at him for throwing away his life.

A lifelong battle with alcoholism had isolated my father from the world…had hidden the father I knew that few others could see. Not even my husband knew my real dad, because alcoholism hid him.

I often tried to put myself in my dad’s shoes…and I knew his heart hurt. I imagine anger and resentment overtook him when he could never measure up to the expectations put upon him by others. I imagine he hurt deeply after experiencing unspeakable things while serving in the Marine Corps. I imagine he felt shameful after a failed first marriage and failed jobs. I imagine he felt lonely when those close to him were overtaken by death at ages far too young. I imagine he felt guilty for not being the son he thought his parents wanted. I imagine his heart broke for both of his daughters when they each, separately, experienced murders of their best friends. I imagine he condemned himself for things we can’t even fathom. And then, I imagine, those feelings spiraled to the point of unspeakable numbness…to a place where he could no longer allow himself to feel…anything.

I won’t lie. There were many, many, many hard moments over the years.

I remember bad arguments. I remember police cars. I remember hiding in closets. I remember mom finding empty liquor bottles. I remember staying with my grandparents. I remember jail visits. I remember being too embarrassed to have my friends over. I remember hurtful things being said.

But I also remember loving no one like I loved my daddy…and always felt that same kind of love directed right back at me.

I remember the dad who played with me. The dad who taught me how to ride a bike. The dad who taught me how to build things. The dad who helped me learn to spell. The dad who taught me to read. The dad who convinced me when I was young that I would marry him when I turned 18 (so that he wouldn’t have to deal with me dating!). The dad who inspired me with his love for writing. The dad who drove me to school. The dad who taught me how to fish. The dad who taught me how to shoot a gun. The dad who wanted me to use said gun to go hunting with him (but there was no way I was up for killing a deer!). The dad who worked hard for years to provide for our family in tough times. The dad who taught me how to drive a stick-shift. The dad who believed in me. The dad who was proud of me. The dad who introduced me to Jesus.

Twenty-one months ago, after an emergency hospital stay, we thought alcoholism might take his life. Sixteen months ago, we thought the same thing again. It seemed as if alcohol might overtake him in this lifetime, even though we knew his heart was directly connected to the divine manifestation of grace and love.

But then he fought back. He fought back by giving everything up. All of the anger, frustration, lonliness, hurt, resentment, shame, guilt. All of it. He experienced grace Himself. The Grace who taught him that he was not the sum of his past mistakes. The Grace who told him that he is seen as perfect and pure. The Grace who showed him that his life is not finished.

On Friday, my dad retired and walked out of the doors of the Minneapolis Post Office with 20 years of government service…chin held high…love overflowing everywhere. He closed that chapter of his life on his terms. It was beautiful.

Grace literally redeemed his life. That same grace rekindled relationships in our family.

His courage to own his story encourages me to own my own story. His willingness to continue walking out purpose at the age of 67 shows me that God never stops working. His tender-hearted humility exemplifies Jesus.

I couldn’t be more proud of him…or more inspired by him…a living, breathing manifestation of God’s grace.

So now there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus. -Romans 8:1 (NLT)

Joy unites us. Tragedy unites us.

Why? Because, as Mark Twain so simply said, “We’re all alike on the inside.”

The great unifier? Humanity.

It’s no wonder we rejoice in the happiness of others. It’s no wonder we cry with those who are hurting. Because it doesn’t matter where you live, what color your skin is, what language you speak, how you dress, who you love, how you vote or what you believe.

Tangibly, our bodies work the same.

Intangibly, our hearts work the same.

Our hearts sympathize with others. Our hearts know the feelings of joy and pain. Our hearts long for wholeness, especially when we sense brokenness. And, I believe, it’s because we’re all part of the same body.

This past week, I’ve seen proof. I’ve watched from the sidelines as humanity rallied together to share their love, concern and tears with a friend holding out hope for the safe return of her missing husband and three children. Some people knew the family well. Some didn’t know them at all. (I didn’t know Luke Bucklin well. But I’m blessed to call his lovely wife Ginger my friend.)

The beauty is, it doesn’t matter who knew them and who didn’t. Humanity has felt the hurt and pain of the family. Humanity has fed the family. Humanity sent messages to the family. Humanity prayed for the family. Humanity hoped for the family. Humanity flooded the family’s home with compassion. Humanity rejoiced with the family during the high points of the past week. Humanity cried with them during the lowest points. And, beautifully, humanity stands unified in love with heavy hearts for the entire family after hearing the news that no one wanted to hear.

You see, I believe we were created in the image of God. The same God who came to this earth as Jesus. The same God who created not just one human, but dreamed up plans for an entire human race meant to live together, rejoice together and cry together. The same God who sent His spirit to live inside of those who’ve choose to believe in Him, and work through us so others can physically feel His love for us, as if we’re His hands and feet in the world.

1 Corinthians 12:25-27:

The way God designed our bodies is a model for understanding our lives together as a church: every part dependent on every other part, the parts we mention and the parts we don’t, the parts we see and the parts we don’t. If one part hurts, every other part is involved in the hurt, and in the healing. If one part flourishes, every other part enters into the exuberance. You are Christ’s body—that’s who you are!

We’re made for each other. We’re meant to love each other. We’re meant to laugh together. We’re meant to cry together. We’re meant to encourage each other. We’re meant to function together. In our uniqueness, we’re unified…because, in Christ, we share a body.

None of us are immune to disappointment. None of us are immune to frustration. None of us are immune to sadness. And, God isn’t immune to those feelings either. And, if we are the body of Christ, then He feels our pain and we can feel His comfort.

This I know: my God is not the author of pain.

This I know: my God is love.

This I know: my God is peace.

This I know: my God hurts when I hurt.

This I know: my God uses evil for good.

This I know: my God makes his love tangible for me through other people.

None of will ever have the answers we want in the face of tragedy. But all of us can choose to let God’s love flow from us into the lives of others who need to feel Him tangibly. And, I believe, that love is most important…that love wins…that love trumps answers.

We will be disappointed. We may even be disappointed with God. And, I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be disappointed with God than disappointed without God. I know he’ll love me through the rest of this body. I know that He will love others through me. I’m watching Him love the Bucklin family through humanity right now.

He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.

-2 Corinthians 1:4

…bound together by humanity…bound together in love…bound together by God…