Chasing After Me

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…

“My name is Natalie. N-A-T-A-L-I-E. I’m four-years-old. What’s your name?”

“It’s Dawn. D-A-W-N.”

“Hi Dawn! I’m going to call you ‘friend.’”

And she did.

In the hour I spent with that sweet little girl, she called me “friend” probably 50 times…every single time she spoke with me.

I guess if you need a quick reminder of what really matters you should just ask a homeless four-year-old.

She didn’t care about task lists, finances, work, material items or even family drama. She cared about relationships.

Relationships built on a Jesus kind of love. Maybe Natalie didn’t know it was a Jesus kind of love. But I have no doubt.

You see…Jesus loved me through Natalie tonight. Natalie decided to be my friend. She didn’t know me, but it didn’t matter. She smiled at me. She hugged me. She held my hand. She wiped chocolate from my sleeve. She carried my dirty dishes to the kitchen. She introduced me to her family. She shared a million stories with me.

When you think about it, it’s totally backwards. You see, Natalie is one of eight kids. Her family has been homeless since October. She and her family live out of their car and at shelters. She was excited about getting a pair of shoes today that actually fit. Her entire family has to believe in the goodness of people and the goodness of God working through people to see hope for tomorrow.

I was supposed to be there serving her! Yet, she wanted to be a friend to me. Take care of me. Love me.

She probably never will know how much I needed that friendship tonight. She probably never will know that she made a permanent imprint on my heart. She probably never will know that Jesus loved me through her.

Her unconditional love reminded me of the importance of letting what Jesus pours into me, pour into the lives of others…a love that is unconditionally compassionate…a love that smiles at strangers…a love that genuinely cares…a love not impeded by worry or selfishness.

Thank you, Natalie. Thank you for becoming a piece of my heart. Thank you for reminding me what really matters.

And, God, thank you for Natalie.

* * *

Natalie and her family just found out that they’ve got housing. They’ll be moving into a newly remodeled apartment within two weeks. Thank God. You should have seen how excited Natalie’s mom was…seeing her excitement nearly brought me to tears.

The Family Place is a day shelter serving homeless families in St. Paul, Minn. The majority of their guests are children. Forty-seven percent of the homeless in St. Paul are children and teenagers. Often, their families have lost their housing because of medical emergencies, job losses and even landlord defaults and condemnations. They’ve unexpectedly found themselves in a new and difficult world, a world where hope and dignity are pushed aside to make room for daily survival. My church, Bloom, partners with this organization to serve their guests without agenda.

I’ve always loved people. I’ve always loved loving people.

I think most people do. I believe most of us love loving others because it’s literally what we were made to do.

I’m not talking about ooey-gooey sappy Valentine’s Day love. I’m talking about the compassion that oozes out of you when you surrender your entire being for the cause. To the point that you can’t stop thinking about others, praying for them and feeling what they feel. To the point where mere thoughts of people and their joys give you butterflies or when their struggles bring you to tears. Even when you don’t know them.

Frankly, I’m incapable of loving like that. But the desire to love like that is keeping me up at night. I can’t even sleep. All I can think about is this crazy love.

Eight months ago, I loved people. But felt some restraint…like loving them might take up too much time, energy or mental capacity that I didn’t have. I wanted to have it…but I didn’t have it in me. Eight months ago, I was also in the midst of a deep, self-reflective period of my life. What I was doing was no longer fulfilling…and all I could wonder was whether or not there was more for me. I’d gotten so wrapped up in all of the cares of everyday life that I was only living, not LIVING…with little time left to love.

Some might look back at that period of my life and think I just needed more time. But, the reality is, I had it all wrong. I was working hard to live AND love…when what I really should have been doing living TO love. See the difference? It’s huge.

I love loving. But loving became overwhelming when I saw it as a responsibility, even if it was fulfilling. My capacity was tapped. I wasn’t sure how I could love anymore with the life I was living.

I can’t put my finger on when I actually realized what was happening. My frame gradually shifted. I started to do more and more with a completely different mindset. I began working for clients with a genuine compassion for their businesses, returning emails, phone calls and scheduling meetings didn’t phase me anymore, because I just wanted people to know how much I cared about them.

I try not to over-spiritualize this blog, but be clear on this: this desire to love is divine. Not human. The only way a desire to love like this can grow is by realizing that you’re imperfect, and loved anyway.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not boasting. Because I screw up all the time. The point is though, I’m busier now than I’ve ever been in my life and somehow have found capacity and energy to do more. I now know it’s because the “AND love” has been replaced with the “TO love.” Loving is no longer an extra. It fulfills me. It fulfills others. And then it winds out of control…and that’s ok…because having a crazy out-of-control love is probably the best thing that could happen to all of us. A lot of world problems and issues could be solved if people would take the time to care about others and then put that love into action.

I just finished reading a book called Crazy Love, by Francis Chan. In there he points out something pretty profound:

“God’s definition of what matters is pretty straightforward. He measures our lives by how we love…but Paul writes that even if ‘I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing’ (1 Cor. 13:2-3). Wow. Those are strong and unmistakable words. According to God, we are here to love. Not much else really matters” (p. 93-94).

Wow. Loving isn’t my job. Loving is my life.

I’m no bible scholar, but was reading in Romans 12:11 where it says to “never be lazy in your work, but serve the Lord enthusiastically” when something struck me. The placement of that verse. Do you think it’s any coincidence that the two verses prior to that are about loving others and most of the verses following that one are about loving and serving others? Could it be that the “work” Paul writes about there is your job to love? I’m just saying…

Think about replacing “AND love” with “TO love.” We don’t need more capacity. We need a new frame.

I know how it feels to get wrapped up in all life is throwing at you. You know, the times when it feels like you don’t have time to care about anyone because you’re too busy focusing on everything you need to get done for you, your job, your home and your checklist that has nothing to do with real people. Since you’re too busy to breathe, they should just know you care without you saying anything, right? You really do care, but you just don’t have time to say so. Don’t deny it. I know I’m not alone on this one.

Last week, the tables turned on me.

My dad went into the hospital with kidney failure, pneumonia, emphysema, severe dehydration and a bad case of alcohol withdrawal. Wasn’t pretty. In fact, it was horrible.

One morning, I thought the dad I’d known all my life was no longer. He could barely speak. He didn’t know who I was. He couldn’t eat. His oxygen levels were crazy low. He was hallucinating. He didn’t even know what a straw was or how to suck on one. Doctors were talking feeding tubes, ventilators and nursing homes.

I felt very alone sitting next to him thinking about how alone he must have felt. Feeling as if there were only a handful of people who cared. I assumed people were thinking that his lifelong struggle with alcohol and smoking brought this on, and that it was just too bad. I just wanted someone to care about him as much as our family did. I just wanted someone to see the amazing man beneath all of the struggles. It was as if walking into that hospital room that morning sucked the life, joy and hope out of me. I just sat on my dad’s bed holding his hand and swallowing tears.

Until Muna, the cleaning lady came in…

Muna’s smile was one of the most peaceful and encouraging things I’ve ever seen. She asked about my dad and our family. She mentioned how good he must feel because she could see that he was loved. She said he was too young to not get better. She came in several more times that day, sometimes to work, and sometimes to check on our family. In moments when there were no words, Muna just smiled. Muna visited with all of us throughout the week. We learned about her family, about her jobs, her dedication to her children and, without her saying so, we learned how much she cared for people.

Muna’s visit was just the first encounter with undeserved compassion.

People proved my assumption (about people not caring about my dad) dead wrong. Thank God. Despite his downfalls (as all of us have), loving souls gave him grace and showed how much they cared.

Throughout the week, people our family hasn’t spent time with in 15 years showed up at the hospital to love on my dad. Well wishes poured in from all over the world, and even from people whom we barely knew. Amazing reliable friends checked in on my dad as if he was their own dad. The compassion brought out smiles from my dad that I hadn’t seen in 20 years. Real, genuine smiles.

The powerful thing about taking the time to care about people is that it strengthens their faith and gives them hope. After Muna left the room on that horrible morning, I felt better. I felt hopeful. I felt relieved.

Caring for others is powerful stuff. You might not have time to visit a hospital or make a meal for someone, but that’s OK. A few words go a long way. And when there are no words, a smile or hug makes all the difference…not just in the way a person feels, but in a person’s desire to keep going.

Three days after that horrible morning I described, Muna popped in as she always did. I introduced her to my dad. She just smiled and said, “he’ll be going home very soon.” She was right.

I’m pretty sure that our entire family never felt as cared about as we did that week. I’d really love to get in my dad’s head, I’m sure he’s still trying to process the Jesus-like compassion and grace people showed. The compassion gave all of us faith. Better yet, it gave dad faith. He’s home now…and committed to getting better.

We’ve all been placed in this particular place and time for a reason. Don’t miss out on the chance to be the “Muna” for someone else…be the one who cares…the selfless act doesn’t take much…and it can change an outlook on life. Literally.