I will not look away

I am. Cold. I am. Amazed. I am. Bewildered. I am. Dizzy. I am. Small. I am. Thirsty. I am.

Drowning

In

Something I don’t have words for.

But I am not blind and I will not looking away.

I will not look away.

These past few years have been an adventure to say the least. But I come back and back and more back to the same spot. To the same place in the dirt. Looking over the shoulder of the drawings of the Savior and as He pondered before He spoke to the stone-holding crowd that surrounded Him. As He drew. And as He thought. And as he wondered before He

Spoke.

And I am wondering and pondering and drawing in my own dirt. My mind goes back to a little girl I saw in Fido yesterday morning. She was around three. She was a beautiful Asian little girl. Her frame was tiny. Her hair was messy. She was looking up at her daddy in the middle of the doorway.

“Can you see me now” Smiling. Giggling. She was in the middle of everyone in the middle of the door way. For all to see. You could not miss her. Taking one step back…

“Can you see me now, daddy?”

“Yes, I can see you.” He smiles. Of course he could see her. How could he not see her. She takes one tiny step back again.

“Now, daddy? Can you see me now? Can you see me?”

“Yes, honey. I can see you.”

I soak in moments like those. I often take a picture of them with my heart. Seeing past them. Seeing into them. Seeing through them. Into something bigger.

Just coming from an opportunity to walk with the Resolve staff and advocates in Washington DC. Speaking up for the tens of thousands of child soliders and handing off hand written letters to President Obama. Some said many words. Some said few. Some drew pictures. Some stayed up until 2:30 in the morning drawing hearts and flowers. Many created handmade envelopes to go with them. Sealed with scriptures hand picked for “His Excellency President Barak Obama”. Some asking him to pay their school fees : ) All coming together to truly ask one thing. Through all of their words, they were asking….

“Do you see me? Do you President Obama? Do you see?”

“We are here and we are orphans. We have been suffering as children of Northern Uganda. The LRA came and killed our parents. Some of us have died. We have been in much aloneness” - Barbara

“Do you? See me?”

No, it wasn’t their words. It didn’t have to be. But that’s what they were asking.

Dear His Excellency President Barak Obama….. Do You. See Me? And do you care?

I am on this airplane hovering over what seems to be milliions of miles of empty, unknowing, untouched, blind water. And I am going to the City of Peace. The Hague. The place of Justice.

And I will bring with me these children’s hearts. And I will bring with me these children’s scars. And I will bring with me these children’s stories. And I will stand before them. And I will look them in the eyes and I will ask

You. You ladies and gentlemen…..

Do you?

See them?

El-Roi

There are so many names to God. So many beautiful, powerful, strong, courageous, fearful, honoring, awing, lovely words for The Creator of the Universe.

But there is one that is my favorite. One that captures my heart and my soul.

El-Roi

THE GOD WHO SEES ME

The one. The Alpha. The Omega. The Spirit of the Soul of Living. The Author of Life and Love and all things good and perfect. The Giver. The Taker. The Breath of Love. The Creator of Kindness. The Judge of Justice.

He sees you. And me. And them. And He hears their stories and he holds them as they cry and he peeks into their future and He. He will not, ever look away. He refuses. He cannot look away. And He cannot stop crying for them. He cannot and He will not.

And I, my God, and my breath. Will not either. I will not look away. Because I see them.

I see them. I see.

Then there were two...

There is something funny about watching a sunset. It’s like you’re at the movies. Scenes change. Colors blend. And you watch. And it changes. And every day it’s different. I am at my computer at this table by myself waiting for my chicken burrtito. Watching the sunset over to my left and the family of seven to my right. One of the little girls comes walking up to me. She is around 4. Staring at me. With my computer and my glasses on. She is singing. But she doesn’t know what she is singing. She probably doesn’t even know that she is singing at all. She is in her own world. The lights comes on that are twisted around the tree next to her, and it scares her. She stops singing just for a moment. And then starts back again. And stares. I smile at her and wink. Her mom looks at me

“Is she ok?”

“Oh yeah, I’m just enjoying her singing. She’s great.”

Their kids (5 girls) go off to play in the sprinklers and just mom and dad remain. A once vibrant table full of little girl laughter and tattle telling all of a sudden becomes empty and then there are two. Him and Her. Mom and Dad. Husband and Wife. And they become quiet.

“Do you think when she’s five she’ll grow out of that?”

“I don’t know. I hope so.” He laughs.

They are quiet again. And quiet. And more quiet. And I realize. It’s That. And more than That. But it’s That. The quiet. The unknowing. The who are you when it’s just me and you. It’s that part of us that used to be best friends and laugh and dance and have cookie dough fights. Who are we now. Who are we without them and the beautiful (and sometimes ugly) chaos that comes along with it. And why are we afraid to ask…

“Who are we now and how do we become who we were?”

Talking with one of my mentors the other day I was told this, “You have to stop doing couples therapy. You will never ever open up your heart if you don’t. You have seen too much and experienced too much. You need to be around Kindred Coupleship.”

Kindred Coupleship. What beautiful wording. It stirs a drawing in my soul. And a craving for a best friend to walk, run, dance, cry, argue, love, stumble, climb, and fall through life with. But it’s the fear of doing all of THAT with someone who used to be your best friend, your kindred spirit, your Someone – and then they just become Some One. They become Mom rather than Wife. They become Business Partner rather than Best Friend. They become Housemate rather than Lover.

Evolution is real. You either evolve more into each other and into the Kindred Coupleship and less into the Self or you blend into Separate Lives. It’s a Choice. It’s a Push. It’s a Pull. It’s an Intentional Dance of Learning how to Love Well and Nurturing Kindred Coupleship. It’s a Fear.

I had a revelation the other day about that.

Being brave only becomes courageous if you look Fear dead in the eye and meet it face to face. It’s not brave if you aren’t afraid of it – regardless of how dangerous it is.

What is your greatest fear? Rejection? Vulnerability? Flying over a big body of water? Taking chances? Settling?

I am not afraid to go to Congo. I am not afraid to go to war zones. I don’t know why I’m not – but I’m not. I am not afraid of what adopting a little girl from Congo might look like as a single women one day. I am not afraid of judgements or opinions of others. What I realized is that I’m not afraid of the easy things to me - but maybe I am afraid to let go of my heart and let someone take care of me. maybe i am afraid if i do, it wont be valued or treasured, and as long as I am afraid, I am in bondage to my fears.

I am writing underneath the moon now by the ocean. It’s waves are singing to me and I am calm. I am at peace. I am where I never thought I would ever be in life: happy. Not because life has looked like I thought it would. Not because everything I thought would happen has fallen into place. Nothing I dreamed would happen in my life has. Very little of my childhood dreams have come true. But happiness has come from the joy of simply realizing it’s not about me. It’s about Him. It’s about walking in the humility of the cross and drinking in the drops of servanthood and sacrifice for a Love greater than any unmet need or fallen dream I might have had. And maybe that’s what it comes back to…… The girls are back now and life is normal again. They are telling stories of their dancing in the fountains and playing in the sprinklers. Mom and Dad look at each other and smile. And I my heart is hit.

Going through life protecting your heart so much that you risk never truly loving is no life at all. Refusing to give up the Self and become settled in order to give yourself completely to one person is, in the end, Loneliness Personified. And refusing to look at the person that is your Kindred Companion and just ask that question because we are afraid to ask that question is just feeding Existance rather thanLoving. You know – THAT question,

“Who are we now and how do we become who we were?”

Because you can. Become who you were. And even better. I tell all couples the same thing when they come into therapy the first session. The question is not if you should stay together or not stay together. The question is not can I make it in this loveless marriage? It’s not even – can I really ever learn to forgive them? To let go of the resentment? That part is up to you….

The question starts here: “How do we become best friends again? How do I find my Kindred Spirit?” Kindred Spirits don’t change. They are not lost. They fade. Kinda like a sunset. It fades away….. until Dawn. Then it rises.

It always rises.

He Said No

"If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world" - C.S. Lewis

When I was around 11 years old I remember being in gym class. Johnny Gingles gym class at North Elementary School. I said something or did something. I don't really remember what. But I do remember what she said. I remember a girl looking at me and saying

"You're weird"

And at that moment I thought "She's right. I am. I'm not normal" But it's like I didn't care. Or I didn't know I was supposed to care. I mean, I wasn't a social outcast. I liked everyone and everyone like me. But my cloth seemed to be cut a little different. Not much has changed. Except it's been amplified times a thousand. It feels like the more I pray for spiritual eyes, the more He changes my lens and the more uncomfortable normal becomes. It is a peaceful wrestling. There is a deep richness that comes with seeing life from the lens of your heart. His heart. It is a mixture of the pains of empathy tainted with the anger of reality, and drenched in a longing for more of the very thing that puts you in that place discomfort. Feelings of disconnection can run deep.

"I feel most understood when I am by myself" I said. "Really?!" he said. Wait - what did I just say? That's weird. That doesn't even make sense. But nothing was more true. I did. And I do. Like now.....

I am lying here by myself on this beach chair on my stomach by a pool on the 9th floor of a building in the middle of downtown Nashville reading a book. Surrounded by chatter about the latest parties, celebrity gossip, and fashion. How to make more money and climb more ladders. A cute hat on my head and black sunglasses covering my eyes. And I am crying. Crying after reading these words from Shane Claiborne on a trip to Iraq:

"I grew especially close to one of the 'shoeshine boys' - a homeless boy around 10 years old named. Mussel (in Baghdad) ...Day after day...we grew on each other. We went on walks, turned somersaults and yelled at airplanes "Salaam" (Peace!).... Mussel began internalizing what was happening..Nothing I could do made him smile.. he mimicked with his hands the falling of bombs and made the sound of explosions, as tears welled up in his eyes. suddenly he turned and latched onto my neck. He began to weep and his body shook as he grasped for each breath of air. I begin to cry... we wept as friends, as brothers, not as a peacemaker and a victim."

And I wept with them. Lying in my chair a world away. Longing to be in the dirt with Mussel. Craving to be in the street with him. Dirty. There. in Iraq. Who is with him now? He is not a name in a book. I know that now. He is somewhere. He is somebody.

There are some words that should not go together.

Children. Bombs. Guns. War. Slave. Just to name a few.

I close my eyes. Yes, I am tired. By choice, I am transparent. Too many years behind masks and hiding behind locked doors. Life is to be lived together and out loud. Not in the shadows and with hidden tears. I talk often about the fear of the pedestal. I talk openly about past struggles and am candid about poor choices that God has patiently taught me from. He has taught me much and there is no place I would rather be than at the foot of the Rabbi. Living. Learning. Loving. Until it hurts.......

I look down. I read more of Shane's time in Iraq. I read this:

"One day we had a birthday party for a girl names Amal... As we were playing a little game of balloon volleyball, bombs began to explode in the background.... One explosion hit very close. A couple of us huddled down with the little children. I looked at the young teenager who had courage I could only dream of, she looked deep into my timid eyes and said "It's okay. Don't be scared" .. Later when we asked her what she wanted for her birthday. She said "Peace"'

My heart begins to break again. Yes, I am tired. I am tired of coming home to an empty home to cuddle in an empty papazon. I am tired of people thinking I am special when I am not. I am tired of the tug of war that comes with raising monetary funds to meet spiritual needs. I am tired. But

I

Am

Not

Tired

... of this place. I am not tired of this space I am in and this heart that overflows. I am weary of many things. But I am not weary of Love. I am not weary of the heartache that comes from loving until it hurts. The deeper I go into His heart the more I find the broken. The more I find the beautiful. Around every corner. Around every letter I find from a child. Around every drawing of a body. Around every story heard on my sofa in my office. Around every insight of wisdom I hear from the suffering.

Imagining I am walking through the heart of the Savior. I do not see pretty. I do not see neat. I do not see married, 2.5 kids, and a picket fence. I do not see pretty faces and plastic smiles. What do I see? I see the lonely. I see the deserted. I see the depressed. I feel the pains of the homeless who are dying alone. I hear the heartbeat of the homeless child who is shaken at night by bombs. I feel the softness of the mother's hand who longs to hold her baby she has aborted. I taste the salt in the tears of the father who was forced to say goodbye too soon to his son. I do not see the pretty nor the perfect nor the nice nor the neat.

Not in the broken heart of Jesus.

I see the ugly. I see the lost. I see Mary Magdeline. Many men had known her body - but only one man knew her soul. She was abused and turned aside and given up on. And He said - no. No. I do not see you as they do. I do not see you as you do. You will not find that here. Not in my heart.

You are not who you were or what was done to you or what you have seen or what you have done. That is not what I see when I look at you.

I see Me. In you.

I am there. In the street. In the shadows. In the nights of silent tears. In the mirror and the feelings of inadequacy. In the bombs. In the thinking you can't go on. In the hoping you won't. In the fear. In the silence. In the dirt. In the loneliness. In the hiding. I am there. And I See you. And I love you. Scars and all.

I

Love

You.

Father God, there are times that words actually leave me. Times like these. All I know to do is to thank you for breaking my heart. And in a weird way, I ask you to keep breaking it. And for Mussel and Amal and all of those of us who have been, will be, or are being broken. Thank you for seeing us. Thank you for loving us. Thank you for seeing past who we see ourselves to be. Thank you for seeing you in us.

I am, gratefully and forever -

Yours, b