Is that what life is really all about?

Oh, I’m not naïve. I get it. I understand the implications. I freelance and consult to make ends meet. My husband works for a major U.S. retailer. I know what happens when companies tighten expenses their customers tighten expenses. I get it. I could dwell on it…scurry…worry…but it’s not worth it to me.

It’s not what life is about.

Today 31 Navy Seals died in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan. It’s not about why our military is there and whether or not it’s the right thing. It’s not what this blog is about.  The point is 31 families are hurting today. Their hearts are breaking. They’re hanging on to memories. They’re shedding tears. They’re probably immensely proud of their lost ones. They probably wish they could have shared their feelings with their loved ones just once more.

Those families are being thrust into remembering what life is really about.

I’m pretty sure that today those families don’t care about the downgraded U.S. credit score. Frankly, I’m pretty sure that many of them would probably give up their jobs for another moment with their lost loved ones. I bet that the lives of those 31 Navy Seals have collectively inspired tens of thousands of others…inspired them to really live…really embrace life…

And the odd and encouraging thing is that despite the hurt that comes with this news is that even in death, the inspiration of those 31 Seals lives…lives filled with life, passion, commitment and loyalty…lives filled with life.

The economy will fluctuate forever. But life isn’t about money. Life isn’t about worrying what may or may not happen. Life is about embracing LIFE. Life is about inspiring others to LIVE. Life is about a community’s love and compassion for one another amid hurts and shortfalls. That’s the life I want to live…not wasted on worry…but a life embracing hope…an economy of life.

My House

Home is not what my house becomes when people are made comfortable there. Home  isn’t even a destination. Home is bigger than that.

Home is where we’re most vulnerable, but where we’re also the safest.

Home is a where we’re naked and where our dirty laundry piles up, but also where we become refreshed and beautiful.

My Home

Home is where we feel safe crying, but also where someone will be to wipe our tears.

Home is where we’re comfortable being all of who we are, but where we have a family encouraging us to follow our hearts, to take risks and help us grow.

Home is where we love and serve others.

Home is where community flourishes.

Home is where love abounds.

Home is something we experience…a state of mind…a community of friends…for me, home is a made possible by grace and powered by Love. A Love that overflows to, I hope, help others experience HOME.

We’ve all heard something like that…probably from our parents…or a teacher. What we didn’t realize then was that those were lessons in empathy.

Enter the tragic loss of Amy Winehouse.

How would you feel if you were in her shoes?

Lonely. Unsure who you could trust. Wondering if there was any way out. Tired of pressures you put on yourself. Tired of everyone pointing their fingers at you. Wishing someone might understand the pain. Not knowing what to do.

Pretty sure all of us have felt similar emotions. Pretty sure — whatever tragic truth unfolds about the details of her death — that the same thing could have happened to me…to you.

Furthermore, none of us know what happened to her. So why are we pointing fingers and making assumptions? Especially in her death? Who does that help?

What made me so sad about her death was to watch so many posts on Twitter and Facebook pointing fingers at her lifestyle. Seriously? Put yourself in her shoes. Not the the self that you pretend to show off to other people…but the vulnerable self that barely makes itself out of the deepest, darkest crevices of your mind. Imagine what it would feel to have other people judge what hides in those secret hiding spots.

That’s where grace comes in. That’s where the benefit of the doubt comes in. That’s where kindness and gentleness comes in.

Now…imagine her happiness. Imagine how much those closest to her loved her, and how deeply she probably loved back. Imagine how she must have felt to make a career out of music. Imagine how many people she inspired to be themselves and embrace themselves for who they are. Celebrate all of those things.

Here’s the thing. I can’t fathom how she felt everyday. But I can imagine feeling the emotions she felt. And that makes me appreciate her life even more. I believe God can bring peace through loving attitudes toward her life on this earth, and to her friends and family.

We get to be love. Be positivity. Be understanding. Be kind. All of that makes grace come to life…even in death.

I just read that quote on a blog.

And it hit a nerve.

Anti-Biblical causes? Where, exactly, does one draw that line? Last I checked we are given a cause in the New Testament. It’s LOVE. That’s it. Just love. Big love. The God kind of love. Love and nothing else.

Now, this particular blog didn’t outline what they believed to be a Biblical cause. But the framing really bothered me because it’s another way that religious institutions are disengaging from culture…another way religious institutions are becoming irrelevant to the people who need to hear that our God is a grace- and love-filled God.

If LOVE is the biblical cause we’re talking about…then there are probably millions of causes that fit that bill…more than many Christians may ever want to admit.

Here’s the thing…God works through more than people who call themselves Christians…He works through more than just religious institutions. God is bigger. Religious institutions do not have the corner on the “do good” market. But, if religious institutions reach out beyond their comfort zones, they just might tear down walls of judgment that have been erected between people and religion. They can live LOVE and give LOVE…not because they’re trying to earn stripes on their heavenly uniforms, but because LOVE literally lives inside of them. And, I think that is the point when a religious institution really turns into a people who are Christ’s Church.

…LOVE is the cause…

“If I could speak all the languages of earth and of angels, but didn’t love others, I would only be a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.” – 1 Corinthians 13:1 (NLT)

It actually looks ridiculous to me to see that written above. It makes me sad to think that, for years, I fell for the lie that American culture leads us to believe. We’ve narrowed the field of generosity to merely something with monetary value. And, to be frank, money is not what matters in this life. Sure, it’s a measure of exchange. Sure, we need it to get stuff done (especially in our consumer-driven society). But really, people matter most. Not money.

What about generosity of time that values people? What about generosity of words that encourage people? What about the generosity of smiles that instantly flip the course of a day for people? What about generosity of kindness that show people that someone cares. What about generosity of forgiveness that makes grace come to life? What about generosity of heart that that loves on people?

I think people are more generous then they’re given credit for. We don’t have to be affluent to be generous. Generosity should never be solely tied to money. Words and actions showing kindness make lifelong impacts. Money only lasts until we put the last quarter in the soda machine.

You are a generous human being. Embrace it.

“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.

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)

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…

Fear is a funny thing. It’s not always obvious. It’s horribly uncomfortable. And, it’s often taboo.

Relational rejection.

There. I said it. That’s my biggest fear. Now it’s out there.

It’s ironic really.

Ironic because I love being completely open. Ironic because I love the freedom to be real…raw…and human. Ironic because I love seeing those traits in other people. Ironic because I’m one of the most obnoxiously relational beings I know.

Yet, somehow, this fear has forced me to hide a piece of my soul from the world. Even from my closest friends. Not because of any lack of trust. But truly out of fear. Fear that if they knew every ounce of my maniacal thought process and pervasive insecurities, they would no longer want anything to do with me.

Frankly, it’s been so well hidden in my life, that I’ve literally forgotten those things exist. I’ve gotten so comfortable with sharing my feelings, that I’ve forgotten there are “whys” behind those feelings. And, convinced myself that no one really wants to know those things anyway.

Wrong.

Way wrong.

The friends who do care about those “whys” have somehow found me. And, their deep love cracked that hard core of fear…a place in my life where I feel most vulnerable.

I let my fear of being alone and being vulnerable limit what my friends could be to me…limit the love I’d allow myself to receive from them. But, thank God for their persistence. For their love. For letting God use them to show me another layer of his own unfailing love and grace.

In close friendships, people don’t see vulnerabilities as signs of weakness or dark corners where no one wants to go.

These deep relationships seek vulnerabilities to embrace them.

Once my friends drew the vulnerabilities out of me, I was reminded that if they desired to get that close to me, than Jesus wanted it more. He doesn’t care about dark corners, because he is light…because he embodies perfect love…because his perfect love casts out fear. Even fear of relational rejection.

In the New Testament, Jesus refers to himself as our friend. I’m convinced he does that so we can capture glimpses in our lives today as to how he wants to operate in our lives. How we talk with him. How we laugh with him. How we cry with him. How we debate with him. And, yes, even what we share with him.

Those friends know who they are. And, I’m indebted to their compassion, loyalty and deep love. And, mostly, I’m thankful that God could use them to remind me of how much I’m loved for who I am. Right now. Despite the flaws, insecurities and fears I see in myself. Because He doesn’t even see them. He only sees beauty…vulnerable beauty.

“Knowing and letting oneself be known require overcoming many ancient fears – but it’s worth every risk.” – Arianna Huffington in “On Becoming Fearless”

“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.