How Making a Bad Decision Helped Me See God's Grace

The last couple of years have been hard. Most of the time I have felt like a lot of the hard things were happening TO me and out of my control. Now I know that's usually not entirely true but it was often how I felt.

This last week, I made a bad decision. In a split second of time, I made the wrong decision. It was stupid. It had consequences. It was scary and painful and it's effects will weigh out into the future.

Two things happened in that moment. One, I knew I made the wrong decision. It was stupid and foolish. But even though I knew all those things to be true, I also knew I wasn't stupid or bad or foolish. I wasn't going to be defined by that one decision. I am so grateful for this truth and grateful that I actually believe it. This, is grace. 

The second, was that the consequences of my decision were far less than they could have been. It could have been so so so much worse. Did God prevent consequences entirely? No. Could He have? Sure. But I saw God's protection and grace in that moment more than I have in a long time. Protection and grace that have always been there, in every circumstance, but that I wasn't always able to see.  It caused me to think about all the other hard things I'd experienced recently; about how there are so many things I don't see and understand, about how others need grace as much as I do, about how so many things are working together mysteriously for good even when the ending isn't what we'd hoped for. This, is grace. 

Now all of this is still a mystery to me and I won't pretend it doesn't still hurt but there's comfort in the grace of God, there's comfort in the presence of God and a God who is faithful even when we are faithless.

I hope that when you look at your life, when you look in the mirror, you don't see one or even many bad choices you might have made but you see the grace and beauty of God, in whose image you are made. I hope you see that grace overcomes, grace overwhelms, grace heals and gives new life even among the ruins.

Love you friends,
Jen

They shall build up the ancient ruins; they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations. Isaiah 61:4

Why Hasn't She Left?

There have been a handful of occasions in my years on the street where I'm listening to the story of a woman and wishing I could record her words because she is saying EVERYTHING I want people to know about the realities of the Game and prostitution. Last weekend we met S and I found myself in the same position.

S recently left her pimp and has a three old daughter. She is still working to support herself and her child and many of us would wonder why? If she is free of her violent and controlling pimp why can't she get off the street? As her story unfolds it carries all of the potential roadblocks and triggers that lead someone into this life and keep them there.

Somewhere along the way she mentioned foster care, my heart sank. Not that I didn't suspect it, but sometimes I find myself hoping it won't be so consistent. The abandonment and rejection, the constantly being left and discarded. A child is given no tools to care for themselves and they have nowhere to turn, nowhere that they belong.

In a search for belonging she finds her pimp, who is often her boyfriend. He meets the need for belonging even if it's the worst kind. If she ever gains a moment of clarity and realizes that he has been using her for his own gain (just as surely as many of her foster families did) he has made it so that she has little to no chance to survive on her own.

He took her ID. That's ok, it's not hard to get a new one. She's been arrested. He kept her from her court dates. With warrants for her arrest that she couldn't avoid she cannot get a new drivers license, a job, a place to live...

He told her that she was worthless. He told her no one would believe her, they would put her in jail instead. He told her he would kill her. Others have disappeared before.

She left him because she has a daughter, a daughter who she grieves for and simultaneously dares to dream for. Grieving because of the years that have already been given over to something less than, grieving because what if she can't get out? What if she can't move on? What if she tries to and they take her daughter away? But dreaming, dreaming of a what it would be like to give her daughter a future that she herself never had a chance to know. Dreaming of being home when her daughter comes home from school, to tuck her in at a night and hold her when she has a bad dream.

The fear is almost paralyzing. The unknowns insurmountable. The road before her is long and hard and there is no way to make it easy. But she sees with more clarity than ever before, anything is better than this. Anything is better than wondering if you are going to survive another night, if you will be robbed or raped or killed. Anything is better than someone telling you they love you and turning around and selling you to anyone and everyone.

You can hear this story and feel overwhelmed and defeated, sometimes I do. But you can also hear this and with gratitude and hope in your heart, lean into the pain and dare to dream with her. It will cost you too. I don't know what, we're all called in different ways. It might cost you in empathy, or time. It might cost you financially or in dashed dreams, and the cost may not outweigh the results in this lifetime. You and she and I are in this together, whether we see it or not, my freedom and healing are wrapped up in hers and vice versa.

I don't know how you'll respond to this story, but I pray that you'll hear it. I pray that you will see the realities faced by men and women caught in this life are in no way simple or easy to overcome. That the pain and loss is beyond measure. At the same time I pray that you will hope with me for a restoration that only God can bring, for a miraculous redemption of what was lost, sold and given away, for a heart that willingly bears the burdens of others knowing that we are in this thing called humanity together and together with God, we find hope and healing.

"Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble, and He saved them out of their distresses. He brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death, and broke their chains in pieces." 

Psalm 107:13,14

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Invisible Losses and Grieving Together

Last week was National Infertility Week. It's so incredibly heartbreaking that this week exists. But what is perhaps more heartbreaking is that very few people know that it does. Infertility and childlessness are what I call invisible losses. They are losses like any other, like the death of a loved one, but they are catastrophically unseen. One of my best friends received a diagnosis of infertility this last year and it has been devastating. But what is perhaps more difficult is that her pain is often unseen and misunderstood.

My friend's loss has opened my eyes to the grief of others in new ways and it's also helped me enter into my own necessary grieving for the losses I have faced, losses which are also invisible. We try so hard to avoid grief that sometimes we aren't willing to admit our losses. For me, similar to my friend, but at the same time very different, I am grieving a loss felt by being well into my 30's, unmarried and childless. This loss too is largely unseen and misunderstood. And while it may or may not be temporary, at this time, it is a loss.

If I or my friend share our sense of loss with others we might hear well-meaning people say horrible things like "You can share my kids" or "at least you still have a great figure" or "I wish I had all the freedom that you have". I and many other grieving women would gladly bear stretch marks and give up our "freedoms" to have children. And while we who desire motherhood often love other people's children with our whole hearts (like my precious nieces and nephews) and we're so grateful to be a part of so many families, it is not the same as having our own and it doesn't take away the pain we feel.

People say horrible things, not because they are horrible or don't care (in fact, often they are the people who care for you most) but because they don't understand. It's ok not to understand, how could you unless you've been there? But we need you to care. We need you to acknowledge our losses. And we don't need you to say the right thing, there is no right thing to say. We just need you to hear us, to see us and to sit with us in the pain while we grieve.

We need you to understand that bridal showers, weddings, baby showers, mother's day and father's day... are all reminders to us of what we are lacking and they are difficult days for us to endure. It needs to be ok if we don't show up for your shower. That may sound selfish, but for a season and maybe for a few seasons, we need time to grieve and we may not be emotionally capable of publicly celebrating others in that capacity. It doesn't mean we don't want to celebrate you or we aren't rejoicing with you, it might just be healthier for us to find another, less public way to do that.

We need you to grieve with us. I cannot tell you how hard it is to grieve alone, but I know many of you will understand. Even if your loss is visible, as a culture we do not grieve well. If your loss is visible, at best, we will grieve with you for a short period of time immediately following your loss but then we will move on, while for months and years you carry your grief on your own, feeling as though if you were to share it you would somehow be a burden. We are taught to be independent and strong and we often mask our pain, "keep our chins up" with a "stiff upper lip" and grieve alone or not at all.

But losses grieved well, losses grieved corporately, can bring a healing and wholeness that could not be brought any other way. If we want to achieve this we must first be willing to grieve and invite others into that space with us, it's vulnerable and scary but it's worth it. Second we must show up, not just on day one or week one but on month two and month six and year five. Grief changes and ebs and flows but it follows no pattern or system and when we feel most alone we need others to show up for us. And I know you feel like you showed up when you liked their facebook status or sent them a text and I don't doubt they felt supported but sometimes, as often as you can, you need to actually show up in the flesh; even a phone call or a handwritten note can ease the ache of grief and remind us that we are not alone or forgotten in our pain.

I pray that we'll have eyes to see the hurts of others and that we'll overcome our fears and we'll show up. I pray that we'll make ourselves vulnerable and invite others into our pain so that they can grieve with us, so that we can grow in love for one another, so that we can see the faithfulness of God together as He carries us through.


Note: Please know that I know the potential for me to have a family is still there, I haven't given up and there is plenty of time! I know that God is ultimately in control and capable of wonderful things, but that doesn't change the pain and ache as I wait with no assurance that I will have those things...also, it's not really the point of this blog post. I'm not writing this because I'm bitter or angry or have given up hope, if anything I'm more hopeful than I've been in a long time. I'm writing this because I've been made aware of losses in the lives of others that are often unseen and ignored, of grief that has been buried, of the terrible loneliness that can come from such heartaches and I so desperately want to care for others in those spaces. I so desperately want others to care for me too and I'm inviting you in.

Unpredictable Grief

"But He knows the way that I take..." Job 23:10

"Not that I'm over it but little by little its getting easier to pretend it's easier which means easier must be around the corner...". so often that's our temptation, if we can't make ourselves better maybe we can at least pretend that we are better? Of course that won't actually make us feel better but it will take off some of the pressure we feel from those around us that we feel we've exhausted with our seemingly endless grief. We might resort to small talk or maybe just isolation so we don't have to face the impending waves of grief, sure to topple us over if we face them.
We want to control it, to confine it to terms and stages, we don't want to believe that we're at its mercy. As I've observed grief in the last year, in my own life and those I love, I have learned that it is anything but predictable. We may determine to pick ourselves up and be well but the wave of grief is often stronger than our determination. We may shove our grief into categories but we'll find ourselves disappointed when we go "backwards" and wind up at the beginning. But the reality is, grief is unpredictable, it follows no pattern and no set of philosophies can pull us out of it.
I have longed to learn how to grieve well, in a way that brings hope and healing and hopefully a growth of character. The temptation is to cover it, hide from it and do anything but feel it and let it bring us to our knees.
There is no magic formula, no five or twelve step process, no words or phrases that if repeated enough times will pull you out. Even saying that grief is a "process" is in some ways our attempt to exercise some control. If it's a process, it must have a determined end. If I take all the steps in the process I'll get there. But the truth is, grief is messy and inconvenient and certainly untimely. 

We're afraid that we'll never come up again. Afraid that we can't pull ourselves out. And the truth is, we can't. We would give anything to let go of the doubts, fears, anxieties, what if's, the crushing sadness...to find peace, to trust and hope in the unknown. And there are moments where we have all that, but then, without warning, the wave of grief can topple us over and we find ourselves on our knees again. 

And we feel guilty that we're still sitting in it. Like we should have done something to pull ourselves out and it's our own fault that we're still here. And maybe in some cases there is some truth to that, we can certainly make things harder on ourselves and slow our process but often times it's just the unpredictability of grief. It's three steps forward and two back, it's a lack of control and a realization that we are not all powerful and life doesn't follow a set of rules and despite what our culture tells us we can't have everything instantly.

Grief is hard and unkind and very very unpredictable. We respond with our fight or flight reflexes because anything is better than admitting that we are at our end, that we don't understand, that the pain is unbearable and we have folded under the weight of it. We want to be strong, to move on like everyone expects us to, to feel joy more than pain. And we will. We will feel joy, and freedom and a lightness that is currently foreign but there's no telling when or how we'll get there. And there's no proof that getting there faster will actually be good for us. Sometimes we need to sit in it. We need to stop masking it, replacing it, denying it and we need to sit and let the waves wash over us, until gradually, without us even realizing it, they begin to recede and we find ourselves able to breathe, able to see, able to stand with sure feet on solid ground.

In the meantime, though it may not feel like it, we can be sure that God has us. That while our grip is loose, His is strong. That while our vision is clouded, His is clear and He sees us. That while there are no easy answers, no formulas to heal our hearts and take away the pain there are answers. God is with you. God is working. As much as you'll be unpredictably taken out by grief, you will eventually find a surprising relief. It will come. He is faithful to deliver you, whether through or out of your trials, He will deliver you. In some ways I think we'll always grieve our losses but hope will find a way through the grief, over and over again, hope will find a way. 

It's ok that you can't hear him, that you can't see him. He's still there. It's ok that you don't know how to pull yourself out of the fog, you don't have to. Sometimes our most powerful prayer is simply, "God, help!" We need His help and we need to be willing to wait so that He can work out His purposes, he will not be late and He will come. Grief is unpredictable but our God is trustworthy, unchangeable and as much as we can count on the surprising blows of grief we can count on our God to meet us in our weakest moment and to bring us through. 

"But he knows the way that I take; when he has tried me, I shall come out as gold...he is unchangeable, and who can turn him back? What he desires, that he does. For he will complete what he appoints for me, and many such things are in his mind." Job 23:10-14
"But the Lord was my support. He brought me into a broad place; He delivered me because He delighted in me." Psalm 18:18,19

Never Enough

I loved with expectation. Not of the return of that love or praise of that love, well, not solely for that. I loved believing that my love was enough. Enough to heal, enough to replace decades of losses, enough to soften a heart.


A few weeks ago I wrote about deep rooted idols. Things and people we allow to take the space in our hearts meant only for the one who created them. There is perhaps a greater temptation... Our belief that we can take that place in someone else's heart. That we are the answer for them.


After months of praying, and "dying to myself" I was devastated when I wasn't enough. My love didn't heal past hurts, didn't sweeten the bitterness or melt the hardness. My love wasn't enough.


Frustrated. Hurt. Bewildered. How foolish we are when we think we are the answer, how devastatingly crushing it would be if we were. The weight of another human heart is not something we can carry. We can't heal, restore and redeem. There is but One.


Perhaps our attempts to carry only increase the load for the burden bearer. Perhaps we have but to step back, palms up and empty, knees bent, head bowed and allow our Savior, Redeemer to carry both of us.


Pride and foolishness drive us, we want to be wanted, needed. We can never be enough and what ruin would find us if we were expected to be so.


And so, we let go. We look to the One. We point others to Him. We trust, we wait, we hope. He is more than enough, more than able and delights to deliver us, us and those we love.


"He sent from on high, he took me; he drew me out of many waters. He rescued me from my strong enemy and from those who hated me, for they were too mighty for me. They confronted me in the day of my calamity, but the Lord was my support. He brought me into a broad place; he rescued me, because he delighted in me." Psalm 18:16-19