He left the 99.

I hesitate to write about this, simply because as a follower of Jesus, I am called to be a peacemaker. This post may have folks on both sides hating me, and that's ok. It's to be expected when you feel led to seek the approval of God and not man. I hope that those that read this will read through eyes glazed with grace, but I understand if not. Still, I will press on.

I am normally not the kind of person to look for the shock value when I write. I have nervously typed out the word "whore" in my writings before and obsessed whether or not using that type of wordage would somehow blemish my witness. I guess that's why I am thankful that at the end of the day, it is not my desire to please man; rather God. But like I said, this may leave both Christians and un-Christians alike not too fond of me, and that's ok.

Let me drop the first bomb and just get it out of the way: I feel sympathetic to Judas Iscariot.

Judas is the epitome of betrayal. His mockery of the marginalized came in many forms, sometimes acting as if he cared if the hungry ate, only to secretly hide his own greediness as he stole the money that people collected to feed those in need. He was a truly despicable person. Yet somewhere at the end of his story as Jesus' trial and impending crucifixion draw closer, we see a panicked Judas. Rushing back to the religious leaders and realizing what the cost of his betrayal would mean, Judas begs them to take back the money that he was paid for selling out Jesus. Though the Bible doesn't describe it exactly this way, my translation of that conversation would sound something like a frantic man having the biggest realization of his life, and begging to give back the money. Then as he realizes that the harm has been done, in all of his panic and shame and regret, he throws the money at the feet of the leaders as he rushes off to hang himself.

Judas was indeed human and while there is no one else who can claim that their actions directly impacted future generations as he did with the betrayal of Jesus, we find him panicking at the thought of the weight of his consequences. And just like Jesus reminded the criminal hanging beside him at Calvary, His sacrifice won the victory that would have those who call Him Lord free from the bondages that hold on to us; a chance to claim that victory over our own lives. What is the difference between me and Judas? I could point out some things, but at the end of the day, I was once just as lost as he. Panicked about what my life had become, the mistakes I had made, the choices I was running from: I guess you could say that when you measure it like that, I was Judas. No, I didn't directly betray the son of God or anything, but when I was lost, my claim to know an unknown God would have been the same answer as Judas's. What would it have looked like for Judas to receive intervention from God?

Abortion. It has to be one of the most heatest debates in our nation right now, and everybody has an opinion. "Abortion is murder!" "My body, my right!" We have all seen the political posters and most of us can identify what side of the fence we stand on, yet there is one area that seems to be neglected in the midst of this battle between life and death, and these are the mothers.

Judgment is possibly the easiest thing any of us does, and we do it so easily, don't we? We see someone driving a nice car, we assume they are wealthy. We hear about someone shopping at the Salvation Army, we assume they are poor. We hear about a shooting and assume it is in a poor, or even worse, black, neighborhood. We are quick to label abortion as murder and thus labeling the person that has had the procedure a murderer. We forget that Jesus himself came to seek and save the lost, including one murderer who would become the voice of Christianity throughout the uprising of Christ's kingdom early on: Paul. A divine intervention with the voice of God on the road to Damascus changed the course of Paul's life and it was because of this conversion, many people now understand what it means to encounter Christ and have him change your life. Me included.

Church, my plea is not that you would compromise your beliefs, but that rather you would start to operate outside of the black and white, but look inside the gray. As a person who has watched someone whom I love very dearly go through an abortion, the weight that they carry over the precious life that once lived inside them is insurmountable. I have had countless conversations with women who felt like they were no longer welcome back into the graces of God, let alone a church because of their decision. The church is supposed to be a place of healing, and when we turn those away or treat them any different because of a decision that they made, we are losing the message of Jesus. He came and proclaimed to offer life and offer it in abundance. His offering of love and healing was a message for all, not just those who had led a blemish-free life. And without that message of hope, the legacy that Jesus created for all of us merely becomes a hypothetical point for which there is no need for the kind of reckless love that he would offer to those who chose to turn from their sin and be healed.

For the drunken ones, for the addicted ones, for the betrayers, for the murderers, for the thieves...

Or just for me.

The visit

My husband and I teach a Sunday school class at the church that we attend and one of the things we like to help  our children's pastor do is take roll each morning. It's a simple practice really, and I never really thought twice about it until one name appeared on that list that belonged to a very precious little niece of mine, whose name is Piper.

Last August when her name showed up on the roll, Piper and her parents were already half a year into the treatments that she had to undergo in order to treat the cancer diagnosis. Her immunity would have to be heavily guarded and I found myself thanking God for giving Piper the kind of parents that were more intuned to her medical needs than any I had ever seen  before. As I scrolled through the list of kids that first promotion Sunday, realizing what it must have felt like for my brother and sister-in-law to not send their firstborn off to kindergarten hurt my heart. I remembered what it was like seeing my own boys off those days for the first time.

I looked back down on those list of children and instead of placing a checkmark next to Piper's name, I simply wrote,"God's will be done."

This morning, a beautifully dressed little girl with a long-flowing knit hat made to look like Belle from Beauty in the Beast walked into the children's department at Conway First church of the Nazarene. The other children, though careful about how to respond, rejoiced that the little girl that they have prayed for through her cancer journey, had arrived. A few commented that she had a cool mask on, and I could see her eyes smile beneath her medical mask as she realized that she was among her prayer warriors, and her friends.

The best part of the visit came when I bowed down next to my little niece and prayed during the altar time. I never would have thought that she was watching me or anything, but I realized that she had been when all of a sudden I felt the gentle wipe of a little hand across my face. It was Piper, and she was wiping away my tears. "Those are happy tears, Aunt Sarah, right? Happy tears, right?" she said.

Yes, my love. Those are the happiest tears I know.

Psalms 56:8 You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.

Thank you, Father. For sending your precious little messenger to bring healing to my heart today.

The man whose name I don't even know.

I don't even know his name, yet I can't get the image of his face out of my mind. Like most emergencies tend to be, we got hit twice within fifteen minutes of closing the center. The very-pregnant mama who had literally been walking the streets all day with her boyfriend showed up within seconds of the gentleman whose name I still don't know.

Doing everything in his power to support his pregnant girlfriend, the boyfriend never received his daily pay of $50 for working an eight hour day because the owner said he would have to pay him another day because not enough people had stopped by for business. Each day, the father-to-be would take his daily pay and rent a room at a cheap hotel because saving up for a rental deposit was beyond what he was able to do to keep her from sleeping on the sidewalk each night. But on this night, we received a blessing: we found her somewhere to be. Somewhere with a bed, a shower, a meal. At no cost, except for their separation for there was only one space available for her. It was a sacrifice the dad was willing to make.

We rushed to get a few things bagged up for them when the stranger appeared. With blood dripping off of his forehead, and obvious bruising on his arms and legs, he was quite a sight to behold. Requesting a bus ticket, we told him that we would have to work on it the next day, that it would take a little time to research. As he accepted the bandages we offered him for his wounds, he asked where the bus station was and then took off walking. He didn't want medical help, only a bus ticket to get out of town.

Once the pregnant mama situation was settled, I felt a stir in my heart for the bloodied man. I began to drive up and down Harkrider street looking to see if I could find him and somehow check to make sure he was okay.  Nowhere in sight. I pulled into the bus station and went inside to see if he was there, but he wasn't. I asked the attendant if she had seen anyone matching his description and she said that he had just left. Thank you Jesus, he had made it! But where was he now? The attendent told me that he had walked around the back of the store so I cautiously started searching. I found an area that I could tell had folks staying in it, but I dared not venture too far in alone. I was very careful to stay where cars in the parking lot could have a plain view of me and what was going on if things got hairy.

I began to yell out, and then cry. "It's me! Sarah from the Ministry center and I am here to help! Is anyone back there? I just need to make sure you are alright!" No one answered. No one came.

I left the parking lot with such an ache in my heart. Thankful to know that he had atleast arrived at the station, I wanted him to know that someone cared about his wellbeing, and not that he was "just another client."

I went on to church and listened to our children's pastor deliver a message about Jesus' response when he found out that his beloved John the Baptist had passed away. How easy it would have been for Jesus to shrink back and demand to have a little time to mourn for himself, yet how he instead selflessly began to take care of all the people who needed him for medical healings shortly thereafter. I tried to hold the tears back again as I struggled not to cry in front of the kids, but I am sure the one sitting next to me noticed my attempts to wipe my cheeks quickly (it was my son).

I pray to God that I did all I could do to show the man,whose name I don't know, that I love him and hope he is alright. I pray he comes back tomorrow. I pray that he remembers us for our kindness even though we didn't do a lot for him. And I pray that I never compare myself to the people from the Bible who didn't stop as they passed the beaten man lying in the road needing help, but rather as the Samaritan who did.

By His stripes...Not her own.

She cringed when she looked down and saw them. The scars had been with her for over twenty years, thus making their appearance less noticeable to her on most days. But today, she found herself staring at them intently. They represented the most painful time in her life--a time where she had once questioned if she would ever make it through. Yet, she somehow had, and had the scars to prove it. 

She noticed other people's scars, as well. Not everyone wore them the same, and their uniqueness carried a burden that only the individual who adorned them would understand for they were the  only one who had fought the battle. Maybe they had support, maybe not, but ultimately the trial that they faced at the time, they faced alone. Or so it usually felt.
Every scar-bearer had a unique story to tell, but her's wasn't one of courage, yet of fear. Fear of regret. Fear of rejection. Fear of life, or what it would hold. Fear of no longer feeling, or living in a world where she couldn't feel anything at all. And now she found herself thinking of the scars of some of her brave friends who had battle scars from double mastecto

mies, from colostomy bags, from ungrown hair patches that had never fully come back, and she was angered because of her own.

Each stripe on her wrist brought her back to the days where she felt more alone than she ever had. A time where she so desperately wanted some kind of control over her own life yet couldn't find it. A time where she questioned if anyone would notice if she simply wasn't around the next day.

And now, she bore the scars to remind her.

Then she smiled. She remembered. There was someone who bore scars, too. Only His scars were to give life to all who would accept them in place of their own. To the one with scars on their chest from a battle with breast cancer; to the little girl with a beautiful bald scalp from her chemo treatments; to the ones whose scars were often invisible. His would cover them all.

No matter if you are like me and look down and find yourself regretting the battle scars of your life, this is a reminder to look up. There you will find the perfect scars of the One who took yours upon Himself and breathed life into them.

"He Himself bore our sins in His body on the tree that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By His sins, you are healed." 1 Peter 2:24

Peace and love to you all, in the name of Yeshua.

Jesus.

Arkansas is such a beautiful state. It is truly a location worthy of every postcard that dons a picture of it's landscapes. From the hills north of us to the cobblestone streets that you can find in several of our touristy areas; to the springs that swell from the ground releasing: we are truly blessed to live here.

Conway isn't half bad either. Say what you will about our festive streets at Christmas time, the frog (sorry, toad)  that adorns the street of our city's main square, to the beautiful architecture found in many of our historic downtown buildings, it is no wonder why people who visit tend to fall in love and return (even if it's only one weekend in May, ribbit ribbit). 

I am proud to call Conway home. However, there are days where it is not the beauty that I see that God has graced the inhabitants of our town with, rather in the places where much of its forgotten townspeople reside. Now I don't say that to pour out guilt on anyone living in a nice part of town. Even my family is blessed to say that we live in a quaint subdivision where the wildest things that happen are when the trick-or-treaters arrive. Or the Wilson boys have their go-pro's out and their nerf darts  are whizzing by each others' head. Exciting times for sure. But what I am saying is that God has a way of opening our eyes to see things that we may not see without his lenses on.

I honestly think that before I answered the call of urban ministry (Conway is urban, right?) I, too, might have wondered what it was like beyond the picket fences and coffee shops. Would I be prepared to understand what it meant to lie down in a bed and wake up with a measle-like rash covering every inch of me that had slept on a bedbug infested mattress? Or what it might be like to have a roach fall on my shoulder because my living room had direct access to the outdoors because of how dilapidated the residence was? Or imagine a home that anyone could get inside of because the doors wouldn't stay shut, making every possession I owned public property the minute I left? 

I know what you are thinking. If you didn't like it, why not just leave? It's not that simple, and even for someone working two minimum wage jobs, the reason our country faces the issue of government -dependence is because of a lack of resources for the working class. And when your monthly budget is less while working than what you would receive from government subsidies, a home that costs $325 a month is all that makes sense, either way. So you are stuck and you either learn to adapt or go crazy. Or both. 

Now I know it seems like I am on a economic rant over here, but truly I'm not. Today I was reminded of something in one of the worst residences I have ever stepped foot in. Amidst the ruins, I saw a picture of Jesus hanging on the refrigerator. I snapped a pic and that is all I am going to show you because the rest of the pics I took are someone's home, and I am very protective of reserving the dignity of those I advocate for. But the picture of Jesus... That, I can't stop thinking about.  

To me, it is symbolic. To be completely transparent, I was very uncomfortable being in that house today. I found myself wanting to leave as quick as possible because I questioned what all I was coming into contact with. I wondered what the poor soul must feel like having to chose between the streets or this home. I asked myself what I would do. And then I channeled my own personal Jesus. There he was, in the mess of it all, proudly being displayed from a focal point of the house. How many times had this Jesus, (whom I fondly refer to as Yeshua more often these days because that is what his mama would have called him), met me when I was living in the rubble? When I had tough decisions to make about life and had chosen to remain in the muck and mire? When the grace that he offered me had been extended for the umpteenth time and yet he still called me beloved when I blew it again? 

Dear Jesus, let me be like you. 

And that's what he does. Scripture reminds us time and time again that he went to the people. Sure, he spent ample time in the church as well, but even Jesus realized that he had to go where the hurting was. Where the need was. Where people desperately needed someone to show up and say I don't care what you are living like now, I care about what it looks like with HIM leading the way.  

That's what he did for me. And that is what has made all of the difference in my life. 

Piper and Lincoln.

First let me begin this post with a heartfelt thanks for the many people that I know are keeping up with my niece's story and continue to pray for her and the family as she battles something that no parent should ever watch their kids go through. I sometimes wonder if they realize just how real their strength and faith through all this is to those of us looking in; how when we ask ourselves what we would do if put in the same position. I feel like even on the days where they don't even know how to express what this feels like, their underlying faith is testimony enough. It truly is nudging people to look inside and ask themselves,  "What does my faith look like?"

This weekend I was able to spend some time with Piper and Lincoln. We had a pretty good schedule going there for a few weeks of Friday visits, but due to life circumstances, I hadn't been to see her in a couple of weeks. I was expecting to see a new port so I was trying to prepare for what that might look like, understanding that she may have a couple of tubes sticking out of her neck. I must admit I was grateful to see that she hadn't had that procedure yet and pondered the thought of how many times her mom and dad had mentally prepared themselves for one thing or another in the last eight months. I asked myself if undergoing yet another surgery would ever be something that would be considered mundane in the grand scheme of all that her 45 pound body had already endured. I imagined that as a parent, accepting this as a new norm would never be really normal.  I sent up a prayer  asking God that he would never allow me to get complacent in thanking Him for each day that my own kids were healthy, as well as quoted the scripture that I have clung for Danny and Arellia throughout this ordeal, which says, "Because they trust in the Lord, they will renew their strength. Piper will soar on wings like eagles. She will run and not grow weary. She will walk and not be faint." (Isaiah 40:31) I believe this scripture with all of my heart and someday when Piper gets older, I am going to have someone monogram this scripture onto something for her to wear during her first marathon. And maybe her  wedding dress somehow, too. They can do that, right?

Back to my visit this weekend. Piper wantedt to watch Beauty and the Beast so we cuddled up on the couch and watched for a while until the kids got restless and we built a tent and chased each other through the tent entrance and exit. Lincoln confused the word tent with parachute and he kept trying to jump on top of it like it was going to bounce him into the sky or something, but were having fun and that is all that mattered. Once the kids showed signs of tiring, we cuddled back down just in time to see the end of the movie where that big jerk Gaston shoots the beast with an arrow while Belle looks on. Apparently during some part of this, and even though the kids have seen the movie before and I have seen it enough to perform it live on Broadway if ever I needed to, my face showed some signs of worry. I didn't realize it until I looked over at Piper whose face was crinkled up with concern. I asked her if she was ok and she said, "Aunt Sarah, just watch. He's going to be okay," confessing a response evoked because she saw the expression of fear laying across her Aunt's face. I immediately smiled at her and said, "I know he is going to be ok. I must have just forgotten for a second." Truth is, the emotion of the moment had gotten the best of me and there was no hiding it apparently. As soon as I smiled, the kid's faces lit up and we all returned to what we knew was the truth: that the beast would be transformed into a handsome young ruler who would marry Belle. And live happily ever after. I am blessed to have captured the moment with the kids when the beast became a man and you see that happily ever after is actually a reality for the story of Belle and her beast.


Several moments stand out in my mind from the past several months of Piper's journey, but the one that I can't tell without getting excited was when my brother stood before our church during a very-specific night designed to cry out to God on behalf of Piper. That night, my baby brother stood before every member present  and told them that when they prayed for his daughter's life, not to whimper in silence or beg for her life to be spared, but to boldly come to our Heavenly Father and thank Him for the life he was going to restore in Piper by the name of Jesus. The Healer. The Restorer. The Redeemer. The Shepherd. The Almighty. The One whose suffering can take the place of our own. Somehow.

How often do we ourselves forget what we know is going to happen in the end? Have we lived through hard times before, only to temporarily forget the ending like I did when the beast lives on? And when we do, how much do we affect those who may be going through their first storm yet see the fear on our faces instead of the goofy grins that delight in knowing that God already knows because He is already there? He gives us a reason to smile, even if it is for indescribable peace. We know that the world will give us trouble, but we stand on the cornerstone that is Jesus whom is able to see us through. What a reason to rejoice!

So tonight I am going to be a little bold myself. I realize that there are those of you who are keeping up with Piper's story and how Danny and Arellia's faith is strengthening your own. I am so thankful for that. But my question to you, beloved reader, is what do you believe? Maybe you are on the "Praying for Piper" FB page and find yourself questioning how people can handle something like this. Or maybe you casually comment "praying" every time Arellia posts something new. Maybe you really do, or maybe you just say that because it is politically correct to reply in that manner. I get it, believe me, I do. When I first felt the conviction of the Holy Spirit in my life, I searched for an outward expression to declare a change that I had experienced even though I may not have truly known what it meant. But there is real power there. My pastor reminded me today that the same power that rose Jesus from the grave lives in us. In you. No longer are the days where you have to wonder where to cast your anchor in the storm, because he is on the boat waiting for you to glance back and see him
. And when you do, and you release all of the luggage that you are carrying, the hurts that you have experienced, the disappointments in life, the times that you felt alone, please know that someone who suffered way worse is waiting for you to take a deep breath and whisper his name.

You may cry a little, or smile a lot, but whatever your response is to THE response that you make today is, it will be beautiful.

Please let someone know. I would love for it to be me. But mostly, I am glad it is HIM.

The power of a word.

I make people cry. A lot.

Now before anyone jumps to conclusions and assumes that I am some sort of cruel person who goes around making folks cry all day, let me stop you there. Truth be told, I struggle with assertiveness and any time I see someone in need of anything, my natural inclination is to try to find a way to provide what is needed. I am very much a "see a problem and identify a solution" type of gal. I see someone who is hungry, I look for food. I see someone who seems lonely, I sit down beside them. Whatever the solution is to my fixer-upper situation, I am all ears.  Just call me Sarah, the resolutionist. I feel like every problem has a solution and I am determined to find it. Even when it doesn't look like what I might have imagined.

Here's comes where I make people cry a lot. Well, technically I don't. I just get to be a middle man, I guess. God has blessed me by allowing me to be used as a vessel. Nothing that I do makes people cry, because the tears that I see streak down people's cheeks come from a source much higher than me. Honestly, I like to think that I have positioned myself as low to the ground as possible, and definitely on my knees in constant conversation with the One who sends me. He is the Alpha and the Omega and His resolution in people's lives is miraculously better than mine could ever be. He is my source and without His guidance, any of my fixer upper efforts would be in vain.

So maybe I need to restate the thesis of this writing...

I don't make people cry: that would be the intervention of the Holy Spirit doing that.  He works in the lives of hurting people who simply need to hear that the journey that they are has not left them alone wandering in the wilderness; instead, they are being carried by the One who sees their struggle and tells them to take up His yoke, for it is lighter. This isn't necessarily easy for me to do either. Remember, this fixer-upper would like to be able to bring the resolution in a moment's time so that when "A" is presented, "B" can be added, to produce the solution of "C" which is how I have learned to process over the years. But the "C" is representative of something else not of myself, rather of the Big C which is Christ and He is the truest answer to life's questions. Sure, I can try to provide a real tangible answer in the form of a food donation or a change of clothes, or anyone number of things that my human mind can think to provide, but the real action comes when I bow my head and begin to pray.

It is then that the beauty of the Creator fills a messy situation and calls the weary traveler into  a place to rest. Where He reminds them that He sees them. Not like some universal entity looking down from the cosmos with a vague perception of what human kind is up to, but more like a mom or dad who is calling them home because it is dinner time. He is calling their name in the direction that he knows that they are and is ready to serve up their favorite meal. Sounds silly, I know. But that's how I envision my personal daddy who is waiting for me to come running home and leap into His arms.

So, yeah. The tears will probably continue as I get to pour into folks the good news about a Savior, who already knows what the beginning and end look like. It is His faithfulness through each of their journeys that He is so good to remind them that even when they can't see it, He is there and He is the answer.

So go. And be a messenger. The world needs more of them.