Chasing After Me

Giving money = generosity.

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.

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.

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…

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”