It's Not About Me

I have a confession to make:  I have been chugging along, moving through life, and slowly, a lie has crept in.  That lie?  "I have sinned, therefor I am no longer blameless in God's eyes."  Yes, that lie really did try to find a place in me.  I wasn't aware of it; I just knew I had a vague discomfort and lack of trust.  It's only been through reading my Bible that that lie has become clear. 

Two verses really spoke to me, and are what made it clear to me that I've let an untruth start to take root.  1 Thessalonians 5:23-24 says,

God Himself - the God of peace - has sanctified me through and through.  My whole spirit, soul, and body will be kept blameless at the coming of my Lord Jesus Christ.  The one who calls me is faithful, and He will do it.

Did you catch that?  God Himself has sanctified me.  Not me.  It's not my works, it's His.  Don't let the devil sneak in and alienate you from God who loves you.  Don't be ashamed; be bold.  Know that HE will do it.

What If?

It seems like the longer I live, the more chances I get to ask myself "What if?"

What if June 1, 2006 had gone differently?  What if that ultrasound had shown a healthy, living fourteen week baby?  What if my deep-rooted fear and sinking feeling had been unfounded?

I'd have a child now; she'd be about five and a half.  I'd be thanking God for the time with her and mourning how quickly it had passed.  And she'd have had five and a half years of experiences to shape her into who she is. 

Instead, my baby went to heaven before I got to meet her.  Instead, my husband and I saw that still, silent ultrasound and spent the next day begging and praying and trying to hope that things weren't as they seemed.  Instead, we chose her name with tears and longing.  Instead, we watched her due date come and go and our arms stayed achingly empty.

What if on January 31, 2007 I had let my Gramma stay at my house to take care of me after my knee surgery?  What if she had not been in the van during that crash?  What if the van hadn't been there?  What if the driver of that milk truck hadn't chosen to use his cell phone?  What if the road crews had done a better job of spreading salt on that particular stretch?

Would that mean that today, I'd be able to ask my Gramma how to love my dying friend?  Would it mean that I'd have someone to give me the push I need to love without reservation?  Would it mean I'd have fewer nights filled with empty, silent tears?  Would my heart hurt a little less?

What if I had chosen to ignore the growing attachment and attraction I felt toward Derek nine years ago?

I'd have loved and perhaps married someone else.  And I'd have missed out on so much.  I'd have missed the laughter and the joy and the tender moments.  I'd have missed the frustration and fear and uncertainty.  I'd never have stood in disbelief as I watched my new relatives dance in a circle to weird Greek music.  I wouldn't have found myself having to choose between what I wanted and what was right as I responded to certain situations.  I wouldn't be laying on the couch with my leg in the air, knowing that tonight my husband will come home and I will be proud of how well he did today as he works a job that he is not "naturally gifted" to do.

What if in September of 1999, the person visiting me in the hospital had simply said "That is sad and I am sorry" when I told him I had to find a new home?  What if his wife had said she didn't want to start again with yet another teenager?  What if my dad hadn't been agreeable?  What if the doctors had said no?

I wouldn't have learned to love.  I wouldn't have learned to laugh, or to trust, or to be honest.  I wouldn't have experienced unconditional acceptance into a family that loved me just because they wanted to.  I wouldn't have had the foundation I needed to go out into the world and build a life.  And truthfully, I probably wouldn't have survived.

What if my childhood had been easier?  What if I'd never been betrayed, abandoned, or abused?  What if I hadn't survived things that are almost unspeakable?

I would have been closer to "normal."  I wouldn't have been living with PTSD for as long as I can remember.  I would have had less fear, less anger, less pain.  I wouldn't have had to be as strong or as brave.  I wouldn't have learned to lie about everything.  I could have "just been me."  But I wouldn't have had a reason to develop the compassion I have today.  I wouldn't have such a personal motivation to drive so much of what I do.  I wouldn't know how profoundly forgiveness changes a person.  I would never have seen the amazing transformation that happens when someone literally turns from evil and surrenders to Christ.  I probably wouldn't be as accepting of others and I am certain that I'd have less wisdom, less strength, and less hope. 

I could go on, and on, and on.  Because there are hundreds, no, thousands, of "what ifs" in my life.  In every life.  There are so many things that change the course of our lives from that moment on.  Sometimes, we get the better option.  Sometimes, we don't.  Always, we can choose to look back and ask "What if?"  Sometimes, doing so can help us.  It can give us insight, it can give us wisdom, help us make better choices in the future.  It can give us a chance to be grateful and an opportunity to embrace peace and acceptance.  But it can also hurt us.  It can make us regret things we cannot change.  It can make us grieve, it can make us angry and uncertain and afraid.  We can look back and feel slighted and compel us to make decisions that are hurtful to us now.

I have one final "what if" that I would like to ask.  One question that I think we all need to answer for ourselves, in our own hearts and minds.  One thing that needs to be settled permanently within each of us.

What if I choose to look back at my life from time to time, and ask myself how things could have been different, and then I take that perspective and use it to answer the 'what ifs' that face me every day, so that I can face tomorrow without regret?

Random Things

In the 23 days since I last wrote, it feels like everything has changed.  And also like nothing has changed.

Most of my writing and "sorting" has been done in my journal.  My paper and glue, use-a-pen journal.  Rather than try to recap all of it, I'd prefer to just... share.  A little bit of two of the entries.  Enough to show you what's been on my heart, enough to illuminate the struggle and the fight and to show you that even in those things, there is beauty.

---

God,
I need you.  I need you to consume me like a fire, burning away everything that can be destroyed.  I need you to change my heart and renew my mind according to Your will.  My own will is sinful and imperfect.  I love with hesitation and with impurity.  I speak lies with ease and I am afraid of the truth.  But part of me still wants to bend to your will.  My soul is weak and my body is dying, but my spirit is alive and cries out for You.  So fill me, change me, consume me.  Rewrite my script, and make yourself the primary role.

Save me, oh God, and I will be saved for all eternity.

"I Have Eternal Life"
Truly, truly, I say to you:  Whoever hears my Word and believes Him who sent Me has eternal life. 
~1John 5:24a

---

I need to go home.  To my family, to my Father, to my church.  I miss God.  I miss His Word.  I miss His love.  I miss His Presence.  And I miss my Pastor.  I miss his influence in my life.  I miss his protection.  God gives us so many people for so many things... but He only gives us one Pastor.  If something happens that makes it impossible for that Pastor to keep being our Pastor, God can give us another.  But it's not a matter of simple choice.  It's a matter of necessity and a gift born of love.

I have so much I am hiding.  So much shame.  But my Pastor loves me.  He really does.  He always will.  He loves me as a daughter.  And the pain of not being under his care, of not having a leader in my life, of choosing to walk away from that gift, is shredding my heart.

Today, I realized something.  If any of the kids in my class came to me, after being gone - regardless of how long they'd been gone or why they left or what they'd done while they were away - even if the things they'd said or done were so horrible that they hurt the deepest parts of me - I would run to them with open arms and hold them and tell them I never stopped loving them.  And my Pastor is better at love than I am.  So it is time to go home.

Lord, help me and give me the courage and strength that I need to do this.

It's Not Me - It's Him

It seems like most of the time, life involves trying to prove something to someone.  There are tests, requirements, standards which must be met or exceeded.  We go to first grade and our efforts begin to be graded - not based on our actual abilities, but on the way our performance adheres to certain standards. 

Truth is, it's exhausting.  And it contaminates our thinking and beliefs regarding our God.  At least, it contaminates mine, and I've seen the contamination in the words and actions of so many others that I've lost count.  Maybe it doesn't impact you.  Maybe it doesn't carry over into your faith, into the one thing that will matter for eternity.

It seems like we look at our lives, and see the short-comings, and think either one of two things:

 -"I have to try hard, do more, be better, or I will never make heaven and God will never accept me."
 -"I cannot possibly succeed, cannot possibly be good enough... I've already messed up so much, what is the point of even attempting to do any better?"

Okay.  I know what a lot of you are saying:  "No, it's not that black and white."

And you are right.  It isn't that clear-cut.  At least not on the surface.  We rationalize.  We tell ourselves we aren't being extreme so it must be right.  Do any of these thoughts sound familiar?

 -"I know He forgave me for lying yesterday, but today I did it again.  I'm out of chances."
 -"I am worthless."
 -"I won't actually make it to heaven."
 -"I cannot continue this way.  I am done."
 -"I can't do this.  What is the point of even trying?"
 -"I know this is wrong, but I am already condemned so why does it matter?"
 -"I give up."
 -"I will never win."
 -"I am captive."
 -"I am not really saved.  If I was, I wouldn't really (insert the thing you battle most)."
 -"I have to do (insert ideal that you hold in your mind and/or heart) so that I can be accepted by Him."

I don't know.  Maybe the emails, the questions, the comments that I have received represent a dramatic minority of those who trust Christ for their salvation.  I doubt it though. 

Read Colossians 2, verses 11-14 with me:

Entering into this fullness is not something you figure out or achieve.  It's not a matter of being circumcised or keeping a long list of laws.  No, you're already in - insiders - not through some secretive initiation right but rather through what Christ has already gone through for you, destroying the power of sin.  If it's an initiation ritual you're after, you've already been through it by being baptised.  Going under the water was a burial of your old life; coming up out of it was a resurrection, God raising you from the dead as He did Christ.  When you were stuck in your old sin-dead life, you were incapable of responding to God.  God brought you alive - right along with Christ!  Think of it!  All sins forgiven, the slate wiped clean, that old arrest warrant cancelled and nailed to Christ's cross.

Look at these words.  Just look.  Do you know what they mean?

They mean it isn't up to you to earn salvation.  You don't have to earn your way into favor with God.  There isn't a test or a set of standards that you have to conform to before He will love you, before you can become part of His kingdom.  It's already been taken care of.

It isn't you.  It's Him.

**Disclaimer: I am not suggesting, not even remotely, that sin in our lives does not need to be addressed.  Our actions and thoughts are to conform with the Word of God, and we are to try our hardest to make that happen.  What I am saying is that our failure to be perfect isn't what we're going to be judged or charged by.  The thing that will determine our guilt or innocence for eternity is Him and what He did.  Not us and what we did.**

But what about those things that consume us?  What about the sin that we vow every day to never repeat, and then the next day, it happens again?  What about the thoughts we can't seem to capture.  The intentions that are not pure, the fear, the anger, the hurt? 

What do we do with the things that our adversary, the devil, has stacked against us?

Colossians 2:15:
God disarmed the principalities and powers that were ranged against us and made a bold display and public example of them, in triumphing over them in Him and in the cross.

Did you catch that?  The devil, and his minions, those powers and principalities that are out to destroy us, have lost their ammunition.  They are disarmed.  No war can be won if one side is armed and the other is not. 

But wait.  Yes, this says the other side is disarmed but if we have no weapons, then how can we win?

Read Ephesians 6:17
Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God.

The principalities and powers get disarmed, and we get a sword.  Seems like we will win.  It may take us a while to figure out how to actually use the sword.  We might not remember we even have it sometimes.  But we do.  We are armed; they (it, he, etc.) are not.

We win. 

The fight is hard.  We take hits.  We fall down.  We fall short.  Our technique is flawed and our courage sometimes fails.  We may wave our white flags and we may fall to our knees, believing we are defeated.  It can hurt, it can be overwhelming, it can be terrible and frightening sometimes. 

But He (Jesus) said to me, "My grace, my favor and loving-kindness and mercy is enough for you; it is sufficient against any danger and enables you to bear the trouble manfully (successfully and with strength).  For my strength and power are made perfect, fulfilled, and completed, and show themselves most effective in your weakness.
(2 Corinthians 12:7a)

He can handle our weakness.  He planned for it.  He paid for it.  It's already been dealt with.  Those areas where we simply can not, He can.

It's not us.  It is Him.

So what do we have to do about it?  What's is expected of us in response?

Hebrews 4:14-16 answers that:

Now that we know what we have - Jesus, this great High Priest with ready access to God - let's not let it slip through our fingers.  We don't have a priest who is out of touch with our reality.  He's been through weakness and testing, experienced it all - all but the sin.  So let's walk right up to Him and get what He is so ready to give.  Take the mercy, accept the help.

I'm running out of steam for tonight.  So I leave you with this final statement:

Yes, I believe we are required to act upon what He did.  I believe our faith isn't truly faith without actions to back it up.  I believe we should live the best lives we can and strive to be free of sin.  But I also believe that when we stand before God Himself, the thing that matters most isn't going to be us, but Him.

Because it's not me.  It's Him.

Wow.

Sorry to have left you all hanging.

I stayed home from the hospital for ALMOST 36 hours.  Almost.

When I was readmitted, my temp had gone from 96.8 when I was discharged to 103.9 when I showed up back in the emergency room.  Seven degrees doesn't matter much in weather but inside a human body, it's a really big deal.  Hot stuff. 

Okay, that was across the lame line.  But it made you either smirk or groan, right?

Reality is, I first mentioned my hand to a nurse at the end of December.  I had the fertility doctor check it on January 5th.

I made my first trip to urgent care on January 12th.  No labs were drawn and the only advice was "use lots of heat.  If it weren't for your leg, I'd say this wasn't infected at all.  But it looks similar to how that did, so I'm going to prescribe this particular antibiotic for you for seven days."  I dutifully soaked my hand many times a day, making sure to move it and use it and get it good and toasty.

Nine days later, on the 21st, I was back in the ER with a temp of 100.9 (normally run 96.5-96.8) and my hand looked... rough.  Bad.  Not so good.  Swollen and red and pretty sore.  I had thought I was getting the flu Wednesday night (24 hours after the last dose of antibiotics), and it proceeded to worsen along with the appearance of my hand.  That doctor said that since the first course of antibiotics worked so well (It did?  Really?  How'd I miss that?) he thought I must be one of those "rare people where seven days isn't long enough" and he was going to prescribe the exact same medicine, at the exact same dose, but this time for ten days.  He said that if the heat helped, I should continue it but it didn't really matter.

My husband and I both felt very uncomfortable with the hasty exam (more just a glance than actual exam), the lack of blood work, and the lack of follow up.  Especially since at that point my hand was acting exactly the same as my leg did last year - and the doctor was acting exactly the same as the doctors did last year.  We kept insisting we were uncomfortable and the doctor got more and more irritated, until he finally offered a referral to the wound clinic.  We knew that the 48 hours until I'd be able to see them (if seen immediately) could see things go south really quickly, but at least we also knew that the wound clinic is home to a bunch of very smart, talented, experienced infectious disease doctors and surgeons.

Wound clinic called Monday morning, offering me an appointment less than 30 minutes later.  It's a 40 minute trip in this weather, minimum.  I asked for a later appointment and was put off until the next afternoon.  That night, I did not sleep.  I used heat, I tried ice, I tried compression, I took Advil, I took Zofran, I took Vicodin 7.5 (two of them).  I finally fell asleep at 7:30 A.M.  I slept until noon, and when I woke up I knew I would be admitted.  For what started out as a simple skin infection of the hand, and even Friday night, could have been handled on an outpatient basis if it had been done correctly.  But now my hand was so swollen that it looked fake.  The skin was shiny and tight and deep, dark red.  It was very hot to touch, and I could no longer move my pinkie, ring, or middle fingers.  The pinkie and outside edge of the ring finger were numb.  And I felt generally sick.  Achy, sweats, chills, fever jumping between 99 and 102.9, unable to keep anything down.  I packed some books and clean underwear and socks and a stocking cap along with my favorite pillow, and off I went to the wound clinic.  My appointment was at 2 PM, my blood was drawn and x-rays taken by 2:30, husband got there at 3:00 just in time to watch the orthopedics consult jab an insanely large, thick needle into my hand in an effort to "aspirate" the pus.  By 4:00 I was getting settled into my room and waiting for IV therapy to come get things started.  After five days of high-dose Rocephin and Vancomyacin, with a Fentanyl PCA pump and frequent IV Zofran, I was sent home with Bactrim, Vicodin, Zofran, and Neurontin for the pain in my now-damaged nerves.  I'd been seen by infectious disease, orthopedics, plain internal medicine, neurology, OT and PT, an intensivist, and about a million interns and 500,000 residents. 

I was thrilled to be going home.  Finally, healing and doing well.

I lasted from Saturday afternoon until Monday morning.

When I was readmitted, my hand was blowing back up, I now had no sensation or reflexes below the wrist in my ulnar nerve and limited sensation and reflexes in the others, and my temperature went from 101 when we left home to 103.9 when the admitting nurse took my temperature. 

More Vancomyacin and Rocephin, more Vicodin ans Neurontin, more days on the Fentanyl PCA pump, More Zofran, more doctors, and an operation to remove the abscessed vein (yes, apparently a not-quite-sterile blood draw can lead to the development of not only phlebitis and cellulitis, but also abscesses inside of your veins) and the necrotic (i.e. dead) tissue that was around it, and I was sent home.  After finding out that the infection I was fighting was directly linked with human saliva.  Eeeeewwww.  There is only one person who could have introduced the germs, and that is the technician who drew my blood in December when all of this started.  I was actually asked this past week, by one of the infectious disease doctors, if this infection was self-inflicted.  Um... no flipping way. Besides, how would I have done it?  "Excuse me, Ms. Lab Tech person, before you stab my hand with that needle, would you mind letting me lick it first?"  Seems unlikely.

Now here I am, halfway through February and two months out from the original offending blood draw, and I am struggling hard to stay out of the hospital.  Three admissions might just send me over the deep end.  Well, not so much the admissions... it's the need for the admissions and the fact that this can all be traced to one person and the fact that we aren't ever going to even be apologized to for any of it, plus the fact that I have long-term, likely permanent, damage and loss of function in a previously healthy hand.

I know, I'll let go of the anger and sadness, and I will learn ways of making my hand do what I need it to do, but right now, tonight, I am so very ticked.

Heal the Wound...

Every once in a while, I write a post wherein I expose to you the things that I usually keep carefully covered up.  The things that are uncomfortable, unpopular... without beauty and without grace.  This is going to be one of those.  If you want to continue to look at me the same way you always have - stop reading here.  I'll resume "regular" posting soon.

If you are okay with maybe changing what you think of me, of my life... if you're okay with reality being different than you might think, keep going.

If you were sitting here in the room with me, you wouldn't see my legs.  They'd be covered.  My right hand would probably be covering my left arm.  I'd talk to you, look you in the eyes.  You'd see me smile, see my brows pull together with concern.  I'd listen to your every word, tell you I cared.  And I would care.  I'd do whatever I could to show you His love.  But you wouldn't see my legs.

Unless you were truly broken.

If your hope was gone, if your heart was shattered, if tears were streaming down your face.  I'd take your hand, look into your eyes.  I wouldn't look away.  I might shake, and my voice would get quiet.  I'd pull up the leg of my pants.

You'd look down, wondering what I was doing.  The ugly, red hole in my leg... the lines across my skin... the evidence of old wounds would be there for you to see.  Your face would register surprise.  Maybe repulsion, maybe curiosity.  You'd stare, for a few seconds, maybe minutes.  Silence, until your eyes shifted back to my face.

And then, I would tell you why the song that is playing right now means anything at all to me. 

I would tell you that my hope has been gone.  My heart shattered.  I've cried until I had no more tears.  I've stared silently at the darkness, afraid of the light.  I would take a deep breath.  I would tell you that time and again, the pain and the blood have flowed out of me.  That my own hands have been instruments of destruction.

I would look down, and you would too.  Together, we'd look at the scars.

And I would tell you why I have stopped wishing for God to take them away.  Each one is a silent witness, proclaiming this truth: He is enough.  He is there.  He is faithful.

I do not show them off.  I do not want the world to see them if I don't have a chance to explain.  I am ashamed of what I've done.  But I am not ashamed of Him.  I am not ashamed to say that out of the ashes left by burnt out hope, He is creating a masterpiece.  I cannot see it - it is not finished, and I am on the inside looking out. 

I am breathing.  My heart is beating.  My hands are warm, there is fire in my eyes, my back is strong.  And it is not because of anything I am or have or can do.  It is Him.

He has preserved me.  He will present me blameless.  He lifts my head, He washes the shame from my face.  In Him, there is freedom.  Life.  Liberty.  There is no condemnation.  No fear.

He is your hope.  He is the only thing that can hold the pieces of your heart together.  He is the One who never leaves, never fails, never ends.  His shoulders are broad - they can carry the weight of the world.  And He loves you.  He has redeemed you.  He knew you before you were born, and He knows every minute tomorrow holds. 

The hurt, the loss, the destruction I have known, are not visible.  You can't see them.  If you were here in this room, there wouldn't be any way for you to know about them.  Except for the scars.

They speak.

They might make you cry.  They might make you cringe.  They might make you wonder if I've ever known the pain that you're feeling now. 

They will show you dependence. 

If you were here, I would squeeze your hands, ask you to look at me.

I would tell you that you will fall, again and again.  That your heart might be broken anew.  That you will feel more pain.  And I would tell you that He will pick you up.  That He will hold you, and wash you, and purify you.  I would remind you that in Him, there is healing and fullness of joy. 

And after you left, I would be thankful for the scars.  Not for the pain.  Not for the wounds.  Not for the sorrow.  But for the healing.  For the truth.  For Him.  For you.

If you were here.

I'm Alive.

It wasn't all that long ago that I wondered how long that would be true. The alive part, that is. I remember the surgeon coming, telling me that the VRE infection I had developed in January was still rampant. It grew both in my wound and blood cultures. For those of you unfamiliar with the abreviation, the VR portion stands for vancomyacin resistant. That means that they literally don't have anything left to treat it with. They were pumping me full of three kinds of antibiotics, plus the antihistamines and steroids required when giving me levaquin (I am allergic). Those would take care of some of the bacteria - the other kinds. But the VRE? The doctor said it was up to my own body.

God was merciful. I initially caught the infection along with four other kinds of bacteria. Most likely from someone who didn't wash his or her hands adequately before applying gloves and doing a dressing change while I was hospitalized. They told me then that there was nothing they could do about the infection. We all thought it had abated, until nearly three months later when my shin literally started rotting off.

God was merciful. In spite of the fact that the original wound was self inflicted, and in spite of the fact that I was falling apart in so very many ways, He saved my leg. And He saved my life.

I was thinking about this tonight in church, and Psalm 143 came to mind. I've got it below for you to read. It just seems... fitting.

O Lord, hear my prayer, listen to my cry for mercy;
in your faithfulness and righteousness come to my relief.
Do not bring your servant (me) into judgment,
for no one living is righteous before You.
The enemey pursues me, he crushes me to the ground;
he makes me dwell in darkness like those long dead.
So my spirit grows faint within me;
my heart within me is dismayed.
I remember the days of long ago;
I meditate on all your works and consider what your hands have done.
I spread out my hands to you;
my soul thirsts for you like a parched land.
Selah. (Which means meditate on this.)
Answer me quickly, O Lord;
my spirit fails.
Do not hide your face from me or I will be like those who go down to the pit.
Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love,
for I have put my trust in you.
Show me the way I should go,
for to you I lift up my soul.
Rescue me from my enemies, O Lord, for I hid myself in You.
Teach me to do your will, for you are my God;
may your Spirit lead me on level ground.
For your name's sake, O Lord, preserve my life;
in your righteousness, bring me out of trouble.
In your unfailing love, silence my enemies;
destroy all my foes, for I am your servant.

But That's So Selfish (Plus a Leg Update)

Forgive me if I include a very brief leg update for the curious: Still scheduled to be admitted the morning of May 11th, will go home 5-7 days later. The psuedomonas turned out to be susceptible to Cipro, so I'm taking very high doses of that and Augmentin up until that morning. A "colony" of bacteria was removed by the nurse today, which will be cultured and verified as something that either Cipro or Augmentin will kill. Slurpy's working well. Pain is decreasing. There are several small eschars (areas of hard, dead tissue) and several obvious colonies of bacteria, but over all, the wound is looking better than it has since the original surgery. Talked to the doctor about some concerns I have related to the PTSD. The result? He understood. I will have a private room. I will not be catheterized and I will not be required to use a bedpan. Over all, a very productive day.

Okay. Now that that's over with, the meat of this post.

Selfishness. Defined by Webster's as either "concerned excessively or exclusively with oneself: seeking or concentrating on one's own advantage, pleasure, or well-being without regard for others" or "arising from concern with one's own welfare or advantage in disregard of others." Certainly not a trait most of us want attributed to ourselves. In fact, I don't know that I've ever met someone who said to me, "I wish I could be just a little more selfish."

I have noticed that many people, myself included, seem to say "yes" to almost any request made of them. I want to give. I want to help. I want to be selfless. If it benefits someone else, I am all for it. Even if it hurts me. I have always used Galatians 5:13 & 14 to justify myself in this attitude. I've convinced myself that i have to "do it all" because... well, because that's the unselfish thing to do. Look at those verses with me for just a moment, will you?

It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life. Just make sure that you don't use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want to do and destroy your freedom. Rather, use your freedom to serve one another in love; that's how freedom grows. For everything we know about God's Word is summed up in a single sentence: Love others as you love yourself. That's an act of true freedom. (taken from the Message Bible)

I could use this passage to try to convince you that we should do everything others ask. After all it says "serve one another in love." Right? We should serve others. In love. Because that's what we're told to do.

Let me ask you something though. Have you ever been SO busy that you cannot remember what it is you are supposed to do next? Maybe not. Have you promised someone that you'd be there for them, only to walk away with the sinking realization that you have another equally important commitment? I think that sometimes in our efforts to serve God, to love our neighbors, we fall terribly short. Not for lack of willingness. Not for lack of "yes" answers. But because we don't say no. We get so wrapped up in doing, going, and helping, that our own lives start to fall apart.

Look at Luke 6:41 & 42

"Why do you notice the little piece of dust in your friend's eye, but you don't notice the big piece of wood in your own eye? How can you say to your friend, 'Friend, let me take that little piece of dust out of your eye' when you cannot see that big piece of wood in your own eye?! You hypocrite! First, take the wood out of your own eye. Then you will see clearly to take the dust out of your friend's eye.

I always looked at that passage as sort of applying to them. You know, those other people who sit in church with you. But you know what? It's talking to me. The reason I didn't think it was? Well... I am pretty sure I would notice if I got a big piece of wood in my eye. Even if it was metaphorical, like getting entrenched in sin. Or failing to meet my commitments. Or failing to manage my finances. Becoming unsubmissive to my husband. Wouldn't I?

Maybe. If I had time to pay attention to that sort of thing. You know, in between all of the loving my neighbor that I have to do.

Face it. We cannot obey the commandment set forth in Galatians if we don't take heed to what's written here in Luke. Maybe that's why Luke comes first in the Bible? We absolutely, positively must take heed to ourselves. We have to take care of ourselves before we can take care of anything or anyone else. There is no way we can be of any earthly use if we are falling apart.

I am a very good example of this one. I got so caught up in wanting to "be better" and help people that I didn't even notice myself slipping back into the very dangerous, very scary habit of self mutilation. The mess I made is still being cleaned up (see the note at the top of this entry). And right now? I just need to let myself take care of me. I can't take care of others, can't see past my own mountain to help them. And that hurts. But truth doesn't always feel good going down - sometimes, it's bitter, like medicine. Right now, my truth is that I can't really do much for anybody else. I hate it. Loathe it. Want to deny or ignore it. Or both. But I can't. I have to heed it, or I'll wind up with not just a big stick in my eye, but an entire log jamb. And that would certainly help my neighbor, right? Well... maybe not so much.

A little bit further in Luke, it we see what exactly it was that Christ came to do. We are called to be Christians, or Christ-Like. So maybe we ought to read what He did, so we know what we ought to be doing. Read Luke 19:10 with me:

The Son of Man (Christ Jesus) came to find lost people and save them.

Well, that's simple. If we're to love people, and be like Christ, we should be out finding lost people and saving them.

I will be honest. Right now, I feel selfish. I am not out finding lost people and saving them. I am barely getting through my days, battling a systemic infection, fighting to keep my leg, looking at my 3rd urgent surgery in so many weeks. Praying that this one the last - the surgeon isn't sure it will be.

Am I a bad Christian for this? Am I failing? I've stepped back from some of the "helps" things that I usually do. I spend less time now "reaching out." I am asking others to help me. I am trying to force myself to let them. Everything in me is screaming out "THIS IS SO SELFISH."

But then I read this in Matthew. Matthew comes before Luke the way we arrange our Bibles, but this account is after the commandment to love, and after we see what Jesus came to do.

Read Matthew 14, verses 22 and 23:

As soon as the meal was finished, He (Jesus) insisted that the disciples get in the boat and go on ahead to the other side while He dismissed the people. When the crowd dispersed, He climbed the mountainside so He could be by Himself and pray. He stayed there alone, late into the night.

So. There you have it. Jesus, who was perfect, drew away for a time. He spent time alone. He prayed, and He didn't do it for just a little while. He did it late into the night. He didn't just happen to find Himself alone, either. He sent everyone away. He took care of Himself. I don't believe that He would have been able to do what He did if He didn't take this time, alone. This time to be restored and refreshed and rebuilt.

And so, while my flesh screams "SELFISH SELFISH WOMAN" my Spirit whispers, "Wisdom. This is wisdom."

Think about it... can you find a way to apply any of this to your own life? If so, please leave me a comment. I'd love to hear from you.

It's What I Do

Sometimes people ask me what, exactly, I do all day. Truth is, right now, what I do all day can be best described by pictures. I go through this process "as often as possible," according to my surgeon's instructions.

First, I take something to take the edge off the pain of the coming procedure... (usually only a half tablet).

Next, I use some sterile saline to wet the dressing that is currently on my leg. This makes it a little less painful when I rip it off. I had been gently peeling things off, trying to reduce or eliminate pain. But yesterday, the surgeon informed me that I need to literally rip the dressing off, so that I am also ripping away the tissue that's stuck to it. Appealing, eh? I still cheat a little though, and at least get it good and wet first.

Once the old dressing is off, I put Bacitracin on any exposed living tissue, so I don't rip that off with the dressing.

It takes a lot of gauze to cover the wound right now - it's about the size of my fist and goes down to the muscle and bone.

I put in a few layers just to "pack" things, and then a couple layers to cover everything up.

And then a couple more layers of packing material.

We go through a lot of this stuff right now... because all actual dressing materials are removed and thrown away three times a day, minimum.

I try to make this the worst that my loved ones have to see - a scarred up leg with gauze wrapped around it.

Once the wound is covered, I take this gel and rub it into my leg below the dressing, all the way down to my toes. It is an anti-inflammatory/pain reliever, and I am SO grateful for it.

It really helps with the swelling. Controlling the swelling is key to avoiding even more tissue death.

Next, I begin wrapping my leg from the foot upward, using an Ace bandage. It starts somewhat tight around my foot, and loosens as it goes up. This is also to help with the swelling, and to hopefully prevent further tissue death.

The trouble with Ace bandages is that they tend to wrinkle as you wear them, and the tension tends to even out. I want to avoid that - I need tension on my foot, and absolutely can not have tension on my shin. So I go over the bandage with Vet Wrap (the animal equivalent to Coban - identical in every way except for price).

Once my leg is wrapped up to the bottom of the dressing, I cut the Vet Wrap. I then use a second piece of Vet Wrap to continue up and over the dressing. This makes it easier to do middle-of-the-day changes and means I don't have to remove everything every time I do a dressing change.

Now I'd like to introduce you to Boot. Boot has been my companion since January, and I'm really not sure when Boot will be leaving. I was on my way to being Boot free when this setback happened.

I put my foot into Boot, like so...

...and then I close it up and secure the straps.

Lastly, I turn this little knob and then use the light colored "pump bump" to inflate the air bladders inside Boot. These help to reduce swelling, which helps to reduce... well, yeah, you get the picture. And then, several hours later, I do it again.

A Funny Story With Serious Implications

Yesterday, I started running low on the narcotic I was prescribed for the pain caused by the large chunk of flesh that was removed from my shin. So I stopped taking it, and I realized that without it, the pain was... nearly unbearable. It wasn't too bad, as long as I didn't walk. Or sneeze. Or move. In between heartbeats, it was fine. But with all of those, the minor increase in pressure was almost enough to send me through the roof. I called the doctor, said I wanted to be seen because something was awry. I'll write more on that tomorrow, though, because today's post is about the picture above.

I'd like to introduce you to Lucy. That's what I call her. The cardinal, that is. Lucy has a problem. You see, she has worked hard with Mr. Cardinal to build a nest in a branch that overhangs our two dysfunctional cars. But at some point this morning - I'm guessing right around sunrise, which is when I first heard her complain, she discovered two intruders. As you may know, cardinals are territorial.

Lucy will do anything to keep any cardinal other than Mr. Cardinal out of her territory, away from her nest. She wants to protect it. She would lay down her life to give her eggs a chance. Well, these two intruders weren't like any she'd ever discovered before. I first discovered that she had this problem at about 9:00 AM, on my way to my car so I could go to the doctor. I could hear her complaining, Mr. Cardinal calling plaintively, and this repetitive smack, smack, smack sound. It was almost like someone was hitting one of our cars with a stick.

My first thought was that a child from an area daycare had escaped and was indeed hitting our car with a stick. But no... it was she. Lucy. She was using every last ounce of her tiny body and every bit of energy generated by her fierce desire to protect to attack an intruder. Unfortunately, she was unsuccessful. The intruder? Trapped within the mirror of our car. After about 30 seconds, she seemed exhausted - hopped on top of the mirror, ruffled her feathers, and looked around. Then she spotted the other mirror. On the other car. And she was right back at it.

I spent nearly two hours at the doctor's, and she was still at it when I came home. Several hours later, she was still attacking the "intruders" trapped within our mirrors. I laughed hysterically, and stood to watch a while.

I noticed that every now and then, Mr. Cardinal's voice would break through her obsessive, slightly crazy drive to defend, and she would follow him back to reality and "normal life." She'd stay as long as he occupied her, but sooner or later - usually sooner - she came back. I laughed some more.

And then I froze. I realized that I was laughing at myself.

I'm like that. There are things I am battling right now, very real, very intense, potentially dangerous things. Things that I want out of my life for good, that keep coming back. But there are other things - things that can't hurt me any more than those reflections could hurt Lucy's eggs - that I fight just as hard. I will beat myself senseless in so many figurative ways, giving all I have to defeat these reflections.

I am blessed.

I have a Mr. Cardinal. He pulls me back when I'm doing that. And just like the real Mr. Cardinal, he shows no sign of judgment when I return. He receives me with joy and gladness, eager to show me the joy and wonder of the world we live in. He points out the good things. Loves me. Shows his love. There is no shame, no condemnation. Just... love. Even though he knows I've been fighting against reflections, against shadows - things without substance - he helps me fight and holds me close when I'm done.

Mr. Cardinal and my husband have a lot in common. I am so amazingly thankful for this vivid picture that was painted for me today. And even more thankful for my very own Mr. Cardinal. I usually call him Derek or Sir though. I think he'd look at me oddly if I were to address him as Mr. Cardinal.

But most of all, I am thankful for my God. Do you know that some of what we battle is nothing more than shadow or reflection? I know, it's hard, and seems so real. It is so real. It's just that so often, it's not as bad as we think. And He gives us strength for these battles we wage. And when we finally notice Him calling us, and we run after Him.... He welcomes us back. Romans 8:1 - there is no condemnation for us. He doesn't judge us. No name calling - we are not addressed as silly or foolish or wasteful or stupid. He welcomes us, with just love. Unfailing, unyielding, unchanging, unshakable love.

That's all for today - a funny story, with some serious parallels. By the way, did I mention that cardinals have an extremely special meaning to me, and that I have been praying for God to show me one for a while now? Once again, He's done exceedingly above and beyond that which I have asked or even imagined.

No Pictures.

Sometimes, I use pictures to tell stories.

But not today.

Today, I'm just going to be real, raw, honest... and tell a story with words only.

Back in January, I cut myself, badly. Deliberately. I know that's a frightening concept, and not something that I would have shared even a few short months ago. But it's t rue, and I did it. I regret it. And life goes on. It got massively infected, was treated with heavy-duty antibiotics, and eventually healed. However...

There has been an issue with fluid building up between the skin and muscle tissue below that cut ever since. I've been successfully draining it here at home, and there was no sign whatsoever of infection. Until Wednesday. Wednesday, I couldn't get it to drain. The fluid kept increasing, pressure building... it looked like I had balloons under my skin. By midnight, it was hot. Red. Had a fever. I emailed my doctor with all pertinent information, and my husband called first thing in the morning for an appointment.

Got to the clinic, the doctor came in and told me he had already called the surgeon and we were basically just waiting on him to come over and take a look. The surgeon informed me that with the damage I had done, the blood supply to my lower leg had been diminished to only one supplying artery. Told me that if I ever damaged that remaining artery, I would lose my leg. Two hours later, I was on my back in the OR breathing through a mask, waiting for them to knock me out. The surgeon removed all of the infected/dead tissue and a large, football-shaped section of skin. Instead of skin, in that spot I now have a wad of yellow gauzy-type stuff which will be removed Tuesday and replaced (I suspect this will be very painful). I really have no idea how long all of this will take to heal - but I'm guessing more than a month.

So why would I share this with you? It doesn't make me look good. Isn't fun. Is actually kind of gross.

But, I share this with you for one reason:

I want you to see God at work. You see, I still have my leg. There are NO circulation issues in my foot, even though it's getting less than half of the blood supply it normally would. I can walk (painful, but doable). God has preserved my leg. And I am thankful, to say the least. My fever has finally cracked, and I'm actually starting to feel "Better" than I have in weeks. To HIIM be all glory and praise for that - the surgeon said not to expect to notice any immediate difference.

I also want to address something I asked my Pastor about. If a wound is self inflicted... can I really ask God to heal me? Do I have any right to expect Him, Creator of the Universe, to do anything about something I've brought completely onto myself?

Short answer - yes. He is a merciful God. It's hard to "stand in faith" for healing in this realm. But it's easy to ask for mercy. Blind Bartameus didn't cry out "Lord, Heal me!" He cried out "Lord, have mercy!" Over and over he cried out, despite a lot of people trying to quiet him down. And Jesus had mercy.

Whatever it is in your life - alcohol, drugs, selfishness, pride, fear, doubt, hate, unforgiveness, bitterness, self injury, or any other thing that you have brought on yourself - you can bring it to Him. You can ask for mercy. Ask for healing . Restoration. Help. and He will. Because He never changes. He knew you'd do whatever it is you've done, before He went to the cross. He knew each mistake you'd make, each willful sin, each shortcoming. And He did it anyway.

So go. Go to the King. Ask for mercy. Ask for forgiveness. Ask for healing and restoration. There is NO condemnation for those of us who are in Christ (see Romans 8:1). We are not condemned to a life of misery. Nobody has to stay in the shape they are now. He is there, anxiously waiting for you to merely ask. So will you?

Forgiveness.

I have wrestled with this post for quite a while. I’ve prayed. I’ve studied. And I’ve prayed more. And then I’ve chickened out, not posted it. I’ve argued with God, using the logic that I’m not a teacher. Not a preacher. And truthfully, I’m not. As long as I’m being truthful… I don’t always pray over what I post. Actually, I rarely do. I should – after all, I have no idea who will be reading, or how much it will impact them. And so I should be carefully guarding what is said here.

But that’s not the point I’m getting at.

I’m addressing forgiveness.

As a believer, I am called to forgive. It doesn’t matter what I do, I can’t get around that fact. I’m going to start with Galatians 6, verse one.

“Live creatively, friends. If someone falls into sin, forgivingly restore him, saving your critical comments for yourself. You might be needing forgiveness before the day’s out. Stoop down and reach out to those who are oppressed. Share their burdens, and so complete Christ’s law. If you think you are too good for that, you are badly deceived.”

It’s time for transparency. I’ve seen people slip into sin. I’ve watched it happen, and thought to myself, “How could they? How does a person get so far off track?” I’ve watched people get snared and done nothing to help. I’ve smugly stood by and let them fall, while being grateful that I would never fall for that. The truth is, I may not ever fall for the same thing. If I don’t, it isn’t by my own might or power, but by the grace and power of God working in me.

Even so, for the most part, I don’t really have a hard time forgiving people if they sin – especially when it doesn’t really have anything to do with me.

Ephesians 4:31-32: Get rid of all bitterness, rage, anger, harsh words, and slander, as well as all types of evil behavior. Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.

Just as Christ has forgiven me. I am to forgive just as He has forgiven. Do you know what that means? There are things I have done that only God and myself know about. Things that I shudder to think could ever be discovered by another human. Christ forgave me for those things. The worst I have ever done, and the worst I will ever do, He has forgiven. And that is how I am to forgive others.

Okay. So when that person cuts me off in traffic, I am supposed to forgive them. Got it. I’m good with that. In fact, it’s rather easy. When else? When someone says they’ll be there, and they never show, I’m supposed to forgive them. Okay… not as easy as the traffic thing, but I can do it. No problem. Someone lies to me, steals from me, hurts me physically? Yep, you guessed – I am supposed to forgive them. It’s getting harder and harder, but I can still do it.

But why?

Colossians 3:13 – Bear with each other, and forgive each other. If someone does wrong to you, forgive that person because the Lord forgave you.

Okay. That’s right… He forgave me. He knew that not only would I sin before I “got saved” – I’d sin afterwards, too. And He knew that there would be days when I’d neglect to even say a quick “thank you.” He knew all that, and He forgave me anyway. Because of that, I am supposed to forgive others when they do wrong to me.

Okay.

Speaking of not even taking the time to say “thank you”… have you ever prayed the Lord’s prayer? I have. I couldn’t even tell you how many times I’ve prayed that section of scripture.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.”

Um… has that phrase ever arrested your attention? Because it’s sure got mine. Jesus Himself told me to pray that. To ask God to forgive me as I forgive others who sin against me. I’ve done it, too. I’ve prayed those words more times than I can count. It’s the next verses that get to me though…

Okay, not the “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for Thine is the Kingdom, power, and glory forever” part. That’s in verse 13 of Matthew 6. Do you know what verses 14 and 15 say? I do. I can’t get away from them; can’t get them out of my head.

“For if you forgive people their reckless and willful sins, leaving them, letting them go, and giving up resentment, your Heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their reckless and willful sins, leaving them, letting them go, and giving up resentment, neither will the Father forgive you.”

Think about that.

Does it do the same thing to you that it does to me? Does it make you stop and really think? Does it make you cringe? Are there things that come to mind that you just can’t fathom forgiving?

I’m going to be very honest right now. There is one particular person who hurt me. Not a little and not just one time. The pain inflicted was physical and emotional, and in many ways is still with me today. I’m not going to say who, or how, or when. I will say this, though… I have been wrestling and struggling with Matthew 6:14 and 15 for years because of it.

It’s hard to forgive someone the first time they hurt you. Harder still the next time. But what about when you can no longer keep track of how many times they’ve done the same exact thing? What do you do when what they did invades your life – impacting your thoughts, your dreams, your relationships with other people, and even your walk with God? Then how do you forgive?

Can I keep being honest?

You can’t. Or at least, I can’t. Not without God’s help. But what if you already have that? What if you’ve prayed, you’ve asked God to help you, and you truly want to forgive?

The rest of this post is going to come straight from my heart. I am going to share what I have done, what I have learned, and what forgiveness actually looks like in my life. As you read, I pray that God would speak to your heart – and that you’d be willing to listen.

I’ve been wrestling. Struggling. I’ve stayed up late at night, risen early in the morning. I’ve gotten help from other people – people who are older, wiser, and have walked with God a lot longer than I.

There is someone I needed to forgive. Someone I didn’t want to forgive. But no matter how many Bibles I opened, I couldn’t find one that didn’t say I needed to forgive. I couldn’t imagine how I was to do this, and really, I didn’t even know what, exactly, it was that I was trying to do. As I’ve sought God, as I’ve been helped by others and spoken to through His Word, there are some very important things I’ve learned about forgiveness.

First, I need to forgive the person. The focus here is on the person who hurt me. It’s not on the hurt me, but on the person. A human being. Someone with flesh and blood. Someone who, in spite of whatever it is that they’ve done (or not done), is loved by God. Someone with a heart that beats within his or her chest. Someone who laughs, who cries. Someone who has known the depths of despair and the heights of love. Someone who will live, forever. When you strip away everything temporary, this person is no different from any of the rest of us. He or she knows fear, anger, betrayal… every pain that they have given to others, they’ve received themselves. For all I know, they’ve endured things I can’t even begin to imagine. Even if they haven’t… I need to forgive. The person.

The next thing to really speak to me was the notion that this person, like any other person, had the potential to spend eternity in Hell. The realities of hell are too horrific for me to comprehend. Absolute agony, more intense than anything anyone here on earth can even begin to imagine. Total and utter darkness. Complete separation from God, with no hope of reunion. An absolute absence of hope, of love, of peace, of joy. Being more alone than is possible here on earth. Forever. No end. This is what we all deserve. It is what we have earned. But I’m not going there, and you don’t have to either. Jesus has paid the price. And really, truthfully… if the love of God really is in me – if I really have chosen to follow Him – then I can’t wish that for anybody.

Once that sank in, I started to pray for this person. To pray that if they haven’t made that choice – if their eternal destiny right now is hell – that they’d repent. That somehow, someone or something would get through to them. It’s urgent. Important. Infinitely important. Honestly, I’d prefer that this person had never been a part of my life. But they were. And they are. So when I think of them, I pray. Because whether I would have chosen to know him or her, life has dictated that I do.

Once those two things had really solidified for me, I was stuck. I didn’t wish any ill for this individual. I didn’t intend to do anything untoward to them. I was even praying for his or her salvation. But it wasn’t quite enough, and I knew it. There was still one question burning in my mind: what is forgiveness? How do I know if I’ve done it? I think I have, but… what if I haven’t?

One thing that made me wonder was the fact that I still find myself feeling angry, hurt, and several other “negative” emotions that are directed toward this person. I asked myself, “If I had really forgiven him or her, would I still feel this way?”

Turns out, the answer is yes. Stay with me – I promise to explain further. But for now, I’m going to keep going.

I also wondered, what if I do sometimes find myself tempted to act… ahem, ungodly, toward this person? Then what?

It turns out that I’m actually still human, and still susceptible to those things that afflict us humans. It also turns out that the love of God constrains me… and as time goes by, the temptation is lessening. I don’t know if it will ever be gone completely – but I have learned that it doesn’t have anything to do with whether I’ve forgiven.

The next thing I found myself wondering, I actually took to my Pastor. I kept thinking about someone else that I struggled to forgive – and succeeded. I have since developed a desire to be with that person. I enjoy his or her company, and I even seek it out. But this other person? I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to talk to them. I really would be okay with going the rest of my life and never having any contact again. How does that line up with forgiveness?

Let me give you the example my Pastor gave to me. Suppose someone were to threaten him (my Pastor) at gunpoint? What if they told him they were going to kill him and his family? Then, suppose they went to prison. Thirty years later, Pastor has forgiven them, but they still haven’t repented. If Pastor never wants to see them again, does this mean he hasn’t forgiven them? No. It means he doesn’t want to be shot and killed. It means he wants to protect himself. And he wants to protect his family.

Then we talked about what forgiveness is.

Forgive… from the words “fore” and “give.” To give. Prior to, in advance of, or in the absence of. Forgiveness, while associated with repentance, is given independently of that repentance.

It isn’t between me and the individual – it is between me and God. It is an attitude of the heart, and the reason I do it is because of what God did for me – not because of anything this individual has or could do.

Forgiveness doesn’t have anything at all to do with my emotions. If I am still wrestling with anger, hurt, fear… that doesn’t mean I haven’t forgiven. It just means that I’m human.
Forgiveness also has nothing to do with trust. Pastor gave another example here.

Suppose you have a man who is a convicted child molester, who has been “clean” for twenty years. He has repented of his way, and given his life to the Lord. He comes into our church. Will we let him? Absolutely. He can come to church. He can serve – in some areas. He can worship with us, sit in services, and come to the altar whenever he wants. But that man will not be allowed to serve anywhere in our children’s ministry. If a child goes into the bathroom, and the man then gets up and goes in as well – someone will follow. He will be watched. Does this mean we don’t forgive him? Of course not. It just means we don’t trust him.

Lastly, forgiveness doesn’t mean that what was done is okay. It doesn’t mean that what happened is forgotten, and it doesn’t mean that it would be acceptable for the individual to repeat previous actions. It does mean that I am releasing that person from whatever they owe me. Or whatever I think they owe me. It means that I don’t expect them to give me anything.

It means that I can say, “Yes. That was wrong. No, I don’t trust you. No, I don’t particularly care to be with you. But, you don’t owe me anything. I am moving forward, and as far as I am concerned, any debt you have is between you and God.”

Today, I took another step down this road called forgiveness. I prayed, and asked God to help me do it.

And then I wrote. I wrote down the things that I felt this person had taken away from me. And the things I felt this person had given me wrongly. And I wrote that today, I absolve this person of all he or she owes – both what I would have kept, and what I would prefer to never have received. I am letting it go of it all, and I will not pick it back up.

I signed it. Dated it.

And then, I ripped the sheet into three pieces. One piece with what this person “took” from me. One piece with what this person “gave” me. And one with that statement of forgiveness.

The piece with what he or she had taken away? I prayed over it, listing each item. “Lord… this person took away these things. I am releasing his or her obligation to give them back. I know it is a debt that cannot be repaid, but even if it could, I would not require it. I forgive him or her.” And then I ripped that paper up until all that was left was a pile of tiny pieces.

Then I moved on. “Lord, these things that have been left with me? I release him or her from any responsibility to remove them. I trust that You will do whatever needs to be done with what is left, and I forgive him or her.” I made another pile of tiny pieces of paper.

After taking a minute to contemplate what this really meant, I pushed the pieces into one pile. I took one last piece of paper – a scrap that had ended up being empty. I wrote “I forgive” on the piece of paper.

I put it on top of the pile.

And now? Now, there is nothing more than little scraps. I can’t make out any of the things that were taken, and I can’t make out any of the things that were “given” to me. All I can make out is forgiveness.

Yes, the pain is still there. And no, I don’t trust the person. No, I don’t even like the person. And this person may very well have to face consequences for what was done. But he or she owes me nothing. Nothing. Because I forgive.

Will you?