Chasing After Me

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…

Picture yourself holding a pitcher of water. Now picture yourself trying to fill up a cup with water from the pitcher. And now put your imagination to work…imagine that cup moving around like a fly that you’re trying to swat…speedily heading in every other direction beside the direction you think it might go…at light speed.

If that fly were a cup, and you were holding that pitcher trying to fill it, you most certainly would have trouble filling it. There would be water all over the floor from trying to pour it into the cup. And, if the cup were flying around like that, the water that may have landed inside of it surely would be splashing out all over the place.

I know it’s weird…but sometimes I think that’s how God feels.

We think we have to do a million things. We think we have to work hard to please Him.

But really, I firmly believe he wants us to find rest. Because once we slow down to realize He is right there with us…guiding us…talking with us…loving us…He fills us up. We finally slow down enough to take in all He has for us. And then, the cup starts overflowing. Overflowing with that same goodness He fills us up with. It’s an overflow that builds a desire to love and serve others the same way we are loved and served by Him. You know it’s overflow when you can’t seem to turn it off. But you don’t have overflow if you don’t slow down enough to find rest in Him…in His grace. Because nothing you can do, learn or understand can make Him love you more…or less.

Those moments of overflow are humbling. They’re humbling because you feel loved in spite of yourself. They’re humbling because you see purpose in spite of yourself. They’re humbling because you’re empowered to be His hands and feet in spite of yourself.

They’re humbling because you realize your life is a meant to be a vessel of His goodness.

That’s what happened to me on Sunday…a moment of overflow…

Click here to listen to the very first message I ever shared as a pastor at Bloom (Religiously Transmitted Diseases, part 2)…God never ceases to amaze me.

You know the people…

…those who are human, yet striving to be superhuman.

…those always, always, always working toward perfection, and are never satisfied.

…those working to please way too many people…trying to make them proud.

…those afraid to share their imperfections, faults and fears, even to those closest to them, because they’re afraid of rejection.

…those afraid of asking questions that challenge the status quo because they don’t want to sound stupid or be seen as rebellious.

…those dying to be all of who they are to everyone, but fear they’ll be abandoned.

If you don’t think you know someone like that, read my bio. Look at my picture. That was me.

Empty.

Lonely.

Fearful.

Insecure.

Unfulfilled.

Then came Grace. Real Grace.

Not the grace you say before you eat…and not the trite religious jargon.

Here’s the thing. I went to church almost all my life. I thought I knew what to say. I thought I knew how to act. Everyone always saw me as the good girl. God forbid they know my questions, doubts, faults and fears. I needed to hide those. From everyone. Even God. I thought I had to do a lot to make up for the things no one would ever know. I thought I had to prove myself. I had to prove to God that I loved and believed in Him. To me, my pursuit of perfection was the same thing as my pursuit of God. That was the way it was supposed to be, right?

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Chasing approval and perfection? Pointless. Embracing the approval and perfection I finally realized I already have? Priceless.

For me, the realization was a process of logic, really. I believed Jesus came to save me. But save me from what? If Jesus brought “Good News,” what was it? Having to hide things? Pretending to be perfect? Being judgmental and closed off from the rest of the world in fear it might taint or impede my own pursuit for perfection?

No wonder people are leaving the church by the thousands. They’re searching for Good News…not an empty set of rules or rituals…or a pursuit of perfection they know they can never attain.

Why did God send Jesus again? To show us the law could be fulfilled? Or to fulfill the law for us?

HA! There’s the catch. You cannot do it better than God.

Sorry to break the news to the religious crowd, but He already fulfilled the law FOR us because He knew we were incapable of living up to His ideals.

The problem is that many Christians acknowledge grace, but forget that Grace came to earth as a loving human being and left footprints in the dirt. They forget that Grace loved so intensely that it lived perfectly just to die and pay for all of humanity’s imperfections. They forget that Grace showed its power and resilience when it returned to be our advocate and make imperfection irrelevant. They forget that Grace tells us there is no condemnation in Love.

Now, that’s Good News.

Grace…the freely given, unmerited favor and love of God.

Stew on that for a while. Free means there is no exchange. Free means nothing you have to earn. Free means nothing you have to pay for. Ever. Ever. Ever.

Grace is not religion. In fact, Grace stomped on the face of religion. Religion (and pursuit of perfection) makes you selfish. Grace (and acceptance of who you are) empowers you to be selfless.

Grace constantly transforms me.

Grace allows me to stop worrying about myself so I can focus on letting God’s love overflow from my life into the lives of others.

Grace shows me humility…because there is nothing I can do to make God love me more…and there is nothing I can do that can make God love me less.

Grace teaches me that the point of everything is Jesus…is Love…and everything else is ancillary.

Grace excites.

Grace inspires.

Grace accepts.

Grace loves.

Grace brings hope.

Grace overwhelms me with gratitude.

Grace is so big, so kind and so generous that I cannot fully understand or rationalize it.

Grace erases imperfections. Forever.

Grace changes the game. Forever.

Grace lives. Forever. And nothing can separate me from it or take it away.

Big realization.

I can now be fully alive…unafraid…and eternally connected to Unfailing Love.

Dump religion. Dump perfection. Dump approval. None of it matters.

Let Grace embrace you…God will take it from there.