False Advertising: Amazing Rules

He clutches his chest and gulps.  The pain is overtaking him.  It's coursed and wound its way to his legs, weakening his step.

 

He can see the front door, the red letters lit amidst the backdrop of a midnight expanse.

 

He's lived with the ache and put it off, put it down, tried to ignore it, but he can't pretend anymore. The pain is there and it's real, and it's killing him.

 

But is it too late?

 

He stumbles and drags, clutching for the door, his heart pounding--

 

The door swings wide, and in he steps.

 

The walls are clean and white, and it's quiet, save for the occasional buzz of a desk phone.  He hears the page turn of a nearby patient chart scraping to a halt when the door closes behind him.

 

The few doctors and nurses whip their heads around.

 

The man, his mouth dry as cotton, forces the two words he needs to describe his situation:

 

"Help me," he whispers before collapsing to the floor, taking a sterile table and its supplies with him.

 

"INCOMING!" shouts the scrub-attired group, springing quickly into action.  Two grab monitors and equipment, while another few hoist the man onto a nearby bed.  He comes to, paralyzed beneath the hubbub that engulfs the gurney.  The fluorescent lighting--severe enough to see every cut, every bruise, every imperfection or symptom of its patients--wrinkles his forehead and causes him to blink and squirm.

 

"What do we have?"

 

"Hook him up!"

 

"Get me some leads!"

 

"Get an IV, stat!"

 

Disoriented and afraid, the man soon hears an ominous, rhythmic beeping to his left.  It's his heart, and his caregivers seem troubled by what appears on the screen.

 

"It's a heart attack," a doctor mutters gravely.

 

At the drop of his words, the crew immediately stops and falls silent.

 

"Are you sure?" a blonde nurse finally asks.  "Maybe it's something a little less serious."

 

The man flits his eyes among the countenance of each nurse.  "I don't understand," he finally manages to ask.  "Can't you save me? Can't you give me some medicine?"

 

The nurses side-eye one another.

 

"I don't have to die from this, right?" he asks, the sweat pouring down his face.

 

They're quiet once more, and the man becomes panicked.

 

"Your hospital--ah--it says--ugh--out front--ackk--that you specialize in heart care," he says between throbs of increasing pain.

 

"We do," a doctor finally speaks up.

 

"THEN WHY WON'T YOU HELP ME???"

 

"Because, well, you're a little too sick for us."

 

"WHAT?!"  the man shouts, his face turning purple.

 

"Yeah," the blonde nurse chimes in.  "I mean, we have something we could use to treat your heart attack, but...you don't qualify just yet based on our protocol."

 

The man grabs harder at his chest.  "Well what on God's green earth do I have to do to get help?!"

 

They look at each other.

 

"Well," a young man begins, "you could power walk around the block first!"

 

"Yeah!" says another.  "What if you ate an entire plate of green vegetables? Then we might be able to help you!"

 

"Or perhaps you can lift some weights!" exclaims the doctor.

 

The man, unable to understand what he's hearing, becomes desperate.

 

"You want me to do what?! I can't do those right now! You've got to save my life first!"

 

"What should we do then?" the blonde whispers to the doctor.  "He doesn't deserve our help yet."

 

"Then I guess we'll just have to wait.  If he won't do what we want in order to get the medicine, he must not really want it.  He must not really want to live," the doctor responds matter-of-factly.

 

The man, ripe with anger and adrenaline, hurls himself off of the table and drags himself as quickly as he can out the door.  And before he drifts into the night, his head pounding with pain and his body weak with little fight, he turns to shake his head at the bewildered team.

 

"Where are you going?! We can help you! You just have to follow the rules!" they yell.

 

"You can't help me," he says breathlessly.  "So I'm going to find someone or something that will."

 

And off he wanders, reaching into the night for something--anything--that will take him in.

 

For the ones that could refused.

 

~~

 

Are we saved by grace, or are we saved by our ability to keep the rules?

 

Grace!  Amazing grace, you say!  By the blood of Jesus spilled for my sins am I given the option of eternal life!  It doesn't matter what I've done, His blood covered it all forever and ever!  Amen!

 

Yes.  True.  Okay.

 

But your ad for Jesus here indicates that that may not always be true?

 

~~

 

I'm forbidden from being a deacon (and in some places singing in the choir) because I have a divorce in my past, even though I didn't want it and the grounds were biblical.  But it doesn't matter--I have a red mark that grace apparently can't fix when it comes to my ability to serve in the church.

Maybe you've had a baby out of wedlock, and the ladies of the church frown upon you.  It doesn't matter the circumstances.  Forever the living child--that you didn't abort!--is a red mark that colors who you are.  You were impure, and that makes you vile and dirty.  You may be forgiven in God's eyes, but you're treated differently because grace doesn't really cover that.

You had an abortion when you were much younger, and you keep it to yourself because if anyone in the church knew, they would turn their backs on you.   You feel shame for it, and you went through it alone because you knew those people wouldn't be there for you.  There's no grace for that decision at all, and maybe not even forgiveness.  Red mark.

Red marks everywhere.

 

If you've ever partied.  If you smoke.  If you drink at all.  If you've looked at porn.  If you've had an affair.  If you listen to popular music or--in some churches--even relish the beat of a drum (the devil's music!).  If you dance.  If you watch movies with cuss words.  If you don't tithe ten percent every single time.  If you don't go to Sunday school.  If you don't have your child sprinkled.  If you let your kids trick or treat on Halloween.  If you let your children believe in Santa Claus and the Easter bunny.  If you don't wear muumuus.  If you wear bikinis.  If you dye your hair and wear makeup. 

 

If you...breathe?

 

Because with every breath, we are incapable of being anything but sinners.

 

God's grace is so much more graceful than ours.

 

Christians make Christianity way more exhausting than it really is.  Consider all that God can forgive and cover over but we don't seem to want Him to. 

Why?

 

Why, when we've been given the gift of a lifetime--freedom from lifelong shame and pain, separation and unforgiveness--why are we selfish with that?  Shouldn't we be eager to shower others with it, too?

 

We stand at the door to the church blocking the ones who need him most--the ones who haven't met him yet--from getting in just as they are--like the nurses and doctors who wouldn't help the man having a heart attack.  We filter who can and can't be helped based on our idea of who deserves it.  Follow the rules first, then you can have the grace!

 

And in doing so, we put the cart before the horse.

 

We expect them to be clean before they've had a shower, to be learned before they've been taught, to be fed before they've gotten food.

To be healed before they've had the medicine. 

 

We expect them to look like Jesus and understand him before they've experienced him.

 

No!  Back away!  Put down your rules and conditions!

I long to woo them with my grace, he says.  Let them come as they are.  Bruised and battered.  Angry and cursing.  Desperate and grieving.  I can handle it all.  ALL.  From the minute to the major.  It is my business to forgive and yours to fall in line behind me.  The list of things that keep you all from me (including disobedience to parents! gossiping! greed!) was recorded in the Bible to show that no one is above needing me.  Not even you.  Not any of you.  It is not to be used as a tool to condemn and isolate.

 

And if they never see me, do not let the burden of that deeply painful thought fall upon your inability to put aside your pride.

 

Put away your swords, Peters of the faith.  This isn't a time to fight but a time to love, to woo, and to welcome the world to Jesus.

Grace. Grace for those who don't know Him yet. Grace for those who know Him and still get it wrong. Grace for those who can't see that they're wrong.

What would the world look like if we spent as much time telling people that Jesus loved them no matter what, instead of pinpointing the reasons they were doomed to be kept from him?

 

And if that seems impossible, once again I ask you:

 

Do you really believe we're saved by grace?

 

Because your ad says something else.

False Advertising: You're Wrong, I'm Loud

When people voice an opinion that is contrary to the beliefs of the Christian faith, should Christians loudly and publicly condemn them for it?

 

Why, we are to be at peace with our brethren! A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger! Like God, we should be slow to anger and abounding in love! The meek shall inherit the earth!

 

Okay.  Great.

 

But your ad for Jesus here indicates that that might not always be true?

 

Christians are the first to comment on social media when they feel that something is wrong.  They thump their Bibles and yell out verses and scream that they are right.  So if you're really supposed to be meek and humble, why can't you all stop shouting?!

 

~~

That statement sums it up perfectly.  It was one of the many "Christian" commenters on a Facebook article about gay marriage, and it was surrounded by these comments from non-Christians:

For those of us rooting for everyone to go to heaven, you should read that with a resounding ouch.

 

What's going on here?  We are pushing people to the other side.  Away from God.  Hell fire and brimstone was once a tactic (albeit primitive and a bit barbaric) that pastors used to "scare" people into Christianity--and it worked!  Hell?!  People didn't want to go THERE!  They wanted to do whatever it took to get out of that!

 

And today?  We're scaring people away from heaven.  Hell is looking like the better option than spending eternity with a bunch of people they can't stand and a God they assume they can't stand either.

 

And it doesn't matter that not all Christians are bullies or hateful.  People who are the loudest tend to represent us.  The people who are loud tend to be angry and full of criticism and judgment.

And they don't sound like Jesus at all.

 

Let's take any one of the current controversies lingering on Facebook or Twitter: transgendered people, gay marriage, abortion, Planned Parenthood.

 

Someone posts an article in defense of one of them (aka not what you as a Christian feel able to support or condone).

 

You feel disturbed.  Angry even.  This is not how God intended things to be!  There's male and female!  Men should not lie with men!  Babies have a right to life!

 

And so, with a mouth full of protests and objections, you hit the comment button and offer your--no, no GOD'S!--take on the issue.  You cite Bible verses.  You refer to the horribly depraved state our country is in.  You tell the poster to repent or else!  YOU, SIR, ARE WRONG IN SUPPORTING THIS!

 

Maybe.

 

Maybe the issue is against God's will or the Bible.

 

Maybe they are completely wrong.

 

But your approach is wrong.

 

People who don't believe God don't want your Bible verses.  And they shouldn't be expected to be correct in the eyes of the church.  Your argument is entrenched in something they don't or can't understand, supported by something that is imaginary or archaic in their minds, making what you say completely invalid.  It's noise.  It doesn't make them feel loved or as if you would welcome them if they ever did drop in to visit your church.  You're using jargon that is foreign to them, and it can feel condescending, critical, and like you have sought out to pick on the original poster.

 

Your comment--even if it is biblically correct--is pointless.

 

All you've done is start an argument, which is something people have come to expect from us Christians.

 

And one more person becomes put off by the church--possibly for good.

 

But I have a right to my religious freedom!  I have a right to my opinion and to speak my mind!

 

Of course you do.  You have the right to do all kinds of things.

 

But it doesn't make those things right things to do.

 

It's like good ol' Dr. Phil says to the people on his show who are obsessed with being right at the expense of relationships:  "You can be right, or you can be happy."

 

And to that I put a different spin on it: "You can be right, or you can be a witness."

 

The best example I know of how to respond to people who are wrong was Jesus.

 

He was arrested for being a liar and a false teacher, of which he was neither.  He was sold for thirty pieces of silver by his disciple Judas and denied by good friend Peter.  All of these people were wrong.

 

And not once did he argue with them.

 

He let Judas kiss his cheek.

 

He healed one of the arresting guard's ears when Peter tried to defend Jesus.

 

When put on trial, he merely answered the questions the Sanhedrin asked him, in that yes, he was the Son of God.

 

He was silent when Peter denied him.

 

There's no screaming or condemnation.  There's no condescension or hatred.  There's no hope for karma or retribution.

 

There is only steadiness.

 

There is only grace.

 

There is only Jesus.

 

And when he drew his last breath, even the unbelieving proclaimed, "Surely, this was the Son of God."

 

Being the light, love, and grace of Jesus is the best and quietest argument and the most effective way to draw people to Jesus.

 

And if later on an opportunity presents itself to share Scripture that has been meaningful or helpful to you, do it.  If people really want to know your stance on something and why, present it with respect and kindness.

 

But overall, you should understand that your purpose on this earth is not to tell people that they are wrong.

 

It is rare that telling someone they are wrong will result in converting them to your point of view.  When people are engaged in vicious debate--especially when it regards a sensitive issue or something they are passionate about--what do they do?  They dig in their heels and become further implanted in their position.

 

Be attractive.  Be a magnet in your ability to maintain peace when things aren't as you would have them.  Season your words with love and grace.

 

Don't let being "right" in an argument cause you to lose the war of representing Jesus properly.

 

And if abandoning the need to be right seems too ridiculous to you, then crack open that Bible you love to quote so much, and delve deep into the account of the ministry of Jesus.  Be reminded of who he is.

 

The one who sat quietly with the woman at the well.  The man who chose to sit with sinners and commune with heathens.  Who commanded us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us.  Who didn't ever say a word to Peter about his denial of him in his darkest time.  Who welcomed a prostitute to wash his feet with her hair.  Who called for peace and humility.  Who was only quick to be angry with the leaders of the church who knew better and used his name to push their own agenda.

 

He was always right.  But he never had to argue.

 

And people believed.

 

Perhaps the Jesus you think you're yelling for isn't a Jesus that existed at all.

An Ad in the Making

Every day, I'm bombarded when I'm scrolling through Facebook or Instagram or anywhere else on the web with ads for things I should buy. 

 

Wraps that magically make people skinny, creams that erase stretch marks and wrinkles, powders and shakes that make people lose half their body weight in three days. 

 

And lots of times, the ads for these include a dramatic side-by-side comparison--the first being the before product and the second being after X uses of the product.  Sometimes, I can't tell a difference between the two.  Sometimes, it's all attributed to lighting, filters, or clever makeup tricks. But what really tickles me is that many of them have obvious evidence of Photoshop--I can literally see where someone took his or her fingers and blurred away the imperfections.

 

And they're marketed as change.  Results!  Amazing!  Mind-blowing!

 

And while I respect the people who sell them and the fact that some of these products may have real results beneath the Photoshop finish, I keep scrolling and laugh.

 

Why?

 

Because I'm not buying THAT! Those results aren't real! They're manufactured!  They don't at all do what they say they will!  The product might in fact be good, but the advertising is false.

 

Now.  Redirect.

 

Let's apply this logic to Christians.  Yeah, that name that once bore a holy aura of kindness and generosity and purity.  That name that is now quickly becoming associated with bigotry, judgment, and hatred.

 

What happened? What happened that we are now some of the most loathed people in the country?  In the world?

 

Well, you say, the Gospel is offensive.  People don't want to repent or turn from their wicked ways.  They don't want to see the light.  People don't want to hear the truth.

 

You're absolutely right.  People don't want to hear the truth.  Including us.

 

Perhaps you're an evangelical bothered by the state our country is in currently.  You look for every opportunity to blog or tweet, "Jesus, come NOW!!!"  There's abortion!  Gays are getting married! There's porn everywhere! Drugs! Drunkenness!  The horror!  THE HORROR!!!  MAKE IT END OR AT LEAST LET ME BE ABLE TO SHOP IN TARGET WITHOUT FEAR OF MY BLADDER EXPLODING BECAUSE OF THEIR TRANSGENDER BATHROOMS!!

 

Deep breath.  Calm down.  And hear me out.

 

You are a walking ad for the kingdom.  At all times.  You are an "after" piece showing the world what Jesus can do with a sinner.

 

Now, we are as lucky as we can be because the product we are selling (Jesus) is flawless.

 

FLAWLESS!

 

He gives real, authentic results.  He's life-changing when we really let him in.

 

We have a perfect product.  And to top it off, it's FREE!  That's a recipe for something that should sell itself.

 

AND PEOPLE STILL DON'T WANT TO BUY IT BECAUSE OF THE WAY WE ADVERTISE IT.

 

Someone can't be changed by Jesus if they've never actually met him.

 

Could it be?  Maybe we're turning people away by introducing them to a Jesus that doesn't really exist?

 

Join me in a marketing meeting over the next six days, and we'll explore some of the biggest lies we're perpetuating (whether accidentally or on purpose, indirectly or directly) that are causing the world to run like mad in the other direction.

 

This campaign we currently have going--it's not working for us.

 

Let's get back to the drawing board.

A Perfect Fit

The puzzle is almost complete.

I am down to my last few pieces, triumphantly connecting them in record time.

The picture is coming into view.  But then, as my eyes flit back and forth between the empty spaces I have left and the remaining puzzle pieces, irritation takes root in my brain.

It doesn't look like there are enough pieces left.

Shaking my head, I'm sure it's got to be an optical illusion.  But as each one finds its home, it begins to look as though I was right the first time.

And as the last puzzle piece I have fills its void, I give a heavy sigh and groan with great annoyance.

I'm missing a piece.

Just one.

The gaping hole in the center of the picture is glaringly obvious, and despite the fact that I've expertly placed 999 other pieces, it's that one--that one--that's missing that stands out.

I do a thorough scan of the table, the chairs, the floor, thinking surely it has fallen somewhere conspicuous.  But my quest proves futile--I come up empty-handed.

Sigh.

I suppose I could leave it be.

But the hole narrows its stare, and I immediately throw my hands up, knowing that it's completely out of the question.

I have to do something about that empty space.

Maybe I could just cover it up.  Hide it, so that no one will know the difference.

There's a five dollar bill in my pocket, and I snap it, making it crisp, and I inhale the intoxicating aroma of material worth.

I slide it atop the open space, but instantly, it is obvious how ridiculous it looks.

Sure the dollar bill is worth something.  And it did cover the hole, so that it's invisible to the naked eye.  But I still knew that the emptiness was there.

I clutch the currency in my hand before returning it to my pocket.

I need something smaller, I think.  Something that will fit in the empty space instead of just over it.  I reach for the ring on my right hand and nestle it snugly in place of the rogue puzzle piece.

But no, that's silly as well.  Now there's something in the space, but it isn't the right size; emptiness still speckles the spot.  Sure it's pretty.  But it doesn't fit here.

What could possibly fill every nook and cranny in place of the puzzle piece?

Water could.  I run to the kitchen and grab a cupful and return to sprinkle it into the empty space.  

But no, it's wrong, too.  Physically something is filling the void, but it's transparent and fickle.  It still highlights the emptiness and quickly seeps away through the jigsaw riverbeds.

I look at the mess I've made and groan once more.  Again, I think of just letting the space be, since nothing else seems to do the trick.

But without the last piece, the picture will never be complete, and the work of placing all of those 999 pieces is in vain without the final one.

And really, there is only one thing that can fill that void.

God created each of us as sorts of unique jigsaw puzzles, if you will.  Who we are is composed of many pieces specifically cut and crafted to contribute to the final picture that is you or that is me.

And the Creator fashioned each of us with a specific void that can only be filled by one thing.

It can't be filled with money or things or success or relationships.

Nothing.  Nothing.  NOTHING will fit except the Lord.

And silly us, we often seem to think that we can outsmart Him.  Of course it feels wonderful to be blessed financially or career-wise and the like.  But if that emptiness hasn't been sealed with His presence, you can try and have excessive amounts of everything else, and the void will still be there.

It won't work because He designed it not to.

Try if you wish (and we all will at some point), but you will make a mess and miss out on the beautiful picture He meant for you to be.

And the beauty of it is, He isn't hard to find.  But the first step is recognizing that there is no substitute for the hole He has intentioned Himself to fill.

Perhaps your life won't seem quite like a mess without Him, but it will never be whole.

And if you have filled that void with the Lord already, the rest of your puzzle pieces will fall right where they need to be in a matter of time.

The picture is coming into view--can you see it?

But is there something missing?  There's only One Piece that is fashioned with those edges...those colors...that size...

and He longs to complete you, if only you'll allow Him in.

A Series of Unfortunate Events. And Ugly Sweaters.

If I had a dollar for every instance this past week where I'd either muttered or pensively thought-bubbled the phrase, "This isn't fair!!", I might have never needed to try my hand at Powerball.

It wasn't just a bad day, it was a bad week.  One that left me feeling afraid to walk to my car at the end of it all, fearing God was snickering with a land-mine hidden behind my rear driver's wheel.

Can I say that here without any judgment?

Is it ever appropriate to blame God?  Can we blame God when things go unfairly?

I know, I know.  Trials are supposed to be gifts in disguise, blah blah blah blah blah.

But at this point, all I can picture is God sitting across from me, biting His nails in anticipation (if He has them), waiting for me to unwrap some plain-looking box He's placed on my lap.

Of COURSE this is exciting because--OOH!! Who wouldn't want a gift from the King?!  Surely HE knows how to pick out a present.

But I unwrap it, and it's ugly.  I mean reeeaaallllly really ugly--like JNCO jeans ugly--and He erupts in joy, no longer able to keep quiet, yelling: "SURPRISE!!! Do you just love it?! I call it 'patience!'"

And I'm all, "Ohhhhhhh, it's greeeeaaaaat," all the while wondering what in His green earth He was thinking when He picked this out for me.  And also thinking if there is some Holy Customer Service counter where I can politely exchange it for something else--you know, like a perfect body, no sickness in the world, world peace...or whatever's on sale.

"Go ahead!" He squeals in delight.  "Try it on!"

Cheeks hurting from the fake smile stretched painfully across my face, I yank it over my head and sneak my arms through each side.

The fabric is HORRIBLE.  It's itchy and annoying, and instantly, it's like my nerves are bare and being grated upon.  What the heck is this made of anyway?!

I check the tag:

-25% bumper-to-bumper traffic when needing to be somewhere quickly

-15% the power going out on a night before having to wake up early for work

-35% a fridge door that's been left slightly ajar for 9 hours in order to spoil a week's worth of food

and 

-5% whatever Donald Trump's hair is made of.

Dry clean only.

Yikes.

I scratch violently behind my left shoulder blade.  My gosh, why would He get this for me?  It's like He wants me to be uncomfortable!

"It's uh, it's nice, but uh, to be honest, God? I'm not sure it's really my style..."

"You look PERFECT!" He says, missing the last half of my last sentence.  "And can you believe this hasn't sold out yet?! Think of the trend you'll start!"

But I frown, overcome with frustration and disappointment.

"God, I don't like this at all.  Can't I have something instead?  I saw a girl walking by with some soft-looking silky thing on earlier today--I hear it's made of 100% convenience!"

He laughs.  "That style certainly looks soft, but it's a knock-off.  People get suckered into buying it because it looks nice, but once they wear it around, they end up becoming dissatisfied with it and returning it."

I snarl and turn my face downward, prompting Him to pull me up and over into His lap.

"It's just...this isn't what I asked for at all.  I mean, I'm a pretty good kid of Yours, right? I don't get into trouble, I try to do what You tell me...mostly...but sometimes it feels like You're on a mission to make me uncomfortable.  Why?  Why me?  Why so often?  I don't want to say this because I know You love me and all, but...sometimes it feels like You must love me less.  Even hate me.  Because You can make things so hard."

He smiles.  "I understand how you're feeling.  But I also understand what you can't.  This patience is a gift, not a punishment.  I know it isn't your style.  It isn't most people's style when they first try it on.  And while it may be uncomfortable, it's incredibly becoming on you--on whomever the wearer may be. I know that right now you couldn't possibly dream of appreciating this gift, but the more you wear it and go with it, the less uncomfortable it will become and the more you will look like Me.  I promise you, all of my gifts are good--the best! And there will be plenty of times when I will gift you with something much softer, but today, this is your gift.  And I hope you'll begin to see it as just that."

And so on a week filled with a series of events fit for a Lemony Snicket story, I have to hit the pause button on how I feel and consider the lesson--the gift--that lurks behind my current understanding.

I couldn't say it better than Morgan Freeman and Lauren Graham do in a scene in the movie Evan Almighty.  Graham is unknowingly sitting with God in human form, picking at her second plate of fried food, which is meant to numb the pain of her seemingly psychotic husband building an ark like Noah.  She explains that prior to his evident "mental breakdown," all she wanted was more family time, and that this was certainly not what she had in mind.

Freeman then explains:

Let me ask you something.  If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience?  Or does he give them the opportunity to be patient?  If he prayed for courage, does God give him courage, or does he give him opportunities to be courageous?  If someone prayed for the family to be closer, do you think God zaps them with warm fuzzy feelings, or does he give them opportunities to love each other?

Some of the most important gifts He gives us aren't handed to us.  He won't grant us the immediate muscle, but He'll stock us with the weights and instructions for how to use them.

Six months ago, I met with a personal trainer after months of not being able to lose some stubborn weight.  She didn't put me on a 3-, 10-, or 21-day fast or cleanse or fad diet. (I had tried those anyway.  They didn't work.)  She told me it would take hard work and self control and a lot of time before I would see the results I wanted.  The weight came off slowly, but once it came off, if I fudged on my diet or exercise every now and then, I saw that the weight didn't return.  The results were lasting, but only because the work had been legitimate.

And when it comes to something like patience, the truth is no different.  It takes recognizing the groundwork, the tools we've been given, and putting them together to enjoy the gift that lies beyond them.

So try not to fret (and I'll try not to either) when things just don't seem fair or don't go the way you planned.  It isn't a punishment, so I'm told.  It's an opportunity.  A gift waiting to be brought to life.

Go ahead and try on your ugly patience sweater, your courage sweater, your endurance sweater--whatever fashion line He's entrusted to you for such a time as this.  Embrace whatever it's made of and make it your style.  Make it a part of who you are.

After all, it becomes you. 

"Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience." ~Colossians 3:12

"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." ~Galatians 6:9

Dear Chelsea, You Have One More Day.

It's October, and it's almost here again.  I know I shouldn't mark the date because it's of no use to me.

But I do.  I remember.  And I remember it so well, as if it were two days ago, rather than two years ago.

It's in the way the sun sets at a disagreeable hour.

It's in the smell of pumpkin spice in a nearby coffee cup.

It's in the warm days and the cool nights, in the incomprehensibly perfect light that is cast in the mid morning on the cornfields--a light that God clearly mastered and set aside for just two perfect weeks of October.

It's in the crimson leaves that crunch beneath my sneakers.

It's in the sweaters I retrieve from their summer hibernation.

It's just...there.  Everywhere.  I fail at trying to miss it.

And the memories flood at the most inappropriate times...

When my mother wishes to show me how she's redone my old bedroom, and all I can picture is my suitcase undone in the corner.

When I'm driving down Briley Parkway, and my only thoughts are of that early morning drive to the airport so I could be with my sister.

When I look for something to make for dinner, and I stare at the chicken crepe recipe--the recipe that sat fresh in my stomach while he told me he was done with me.

Today, I pause and ruminate those memories.

I had one more day, I think.  One more day before it would all fall apart.

I close my eyes, sobered by the present knowledge of what was standing on the doorstep to my life.

And I wonder to myself--why does my soul wander back to those days, those hours that I had leading up to it?  They're horrible images and feelings...

Nothing a person should willingly recollect, if for nothing more than self preservation.

Perhaps it's because, like the bazillions of times I've watched Leonardo DiCaprio's version of Romeo and Juliet, I think that my ability to know how the story will end can somehow impact the turn of events.  That things might be less catastrophic, less painful. 

And today, I had a thought--if I could go back in time two years ago and say anything to myself, what would I say?

So, with pen to paper, here is a letter I wrote to the me that was.

****

Dear Chelsea,

It's October 22, 2013, and you have one more day before your whole life will change.

Thursday, you'll have a perfect fall day.  It'll be sunny and cool, so make sure Harlow wears her little cardigan with the grey and white stripes.  You'll play and watch Sofia with her.  You'll go with her to visit your parents.  Your mom will give Harlow her first bite of banana pudding, and she'll love it!  Your dad will get out his guitar and sing songs while Harlow bounces to the beat.

You'll drive home and clean, snuggle a little bit with your toddler.  Feed her a little macaroni for dinner and let her watch Tinkerbell before you put her down.

Savor it.  Embrace the simplicity.

Because Thursday night will be hard.  You'll get a phone call you would have never thought you would have gotten.  He'll say he wants a divorce, and it will crush you.  You won't sleep all night, but you'll live to see Friday.  I promise.  Oh, and there's a prescription for Ambien waiting across the street for you when the Kroger pharmacy opens.  Go fill it first thing in the morning.

The next month will be a whirlwind.  You'll make an unexpected trip with Harlow to Dallas to see Steph and the kids (Rub Steph's pregnant belly!  By the way, it's another girl!).  You'll come home with the best intentions for reconciliation, but he will move out within an hour of you getting home.  You'll spend a month living in the house with Harlow by yourself.

Your stomach will hurt a lot.  You won't feel like eating, but I promise, you will want to eat again.  Food will taste good again.  You won't sleep much for the next two or three months, but hang in there.  You will sleep again, and it will be a sound sleep.

I know this will be hard to hear, but you'll have to move out of your house to live with your parents in early December.  I know.  I know it's home right now.  But it's for the best, trust me.  You'll find a good home for Coda and Zoey right before Christmas, but you will miss them very much.

You'll feel like you're wasting away.  Like your soul is dying bit by bit.  But hang tough!  You will find you have so much more endurance than you thought you ever had.  You're going to live your worst nightmare and walk out alive.  Even better than you were before.

You'll never find that you're so alive as you are when you start digging into your relationship with the Lord.  Say goodbye to The Bachelor and Facebook--you're going to be doing a lot of reading the next seven months.  You'll grow in wisdom as you draw near to Jesus.  You'll learn to love when you thought it was impossible. 

You'll journal and blog, and because of your courage to share about the journey you're on, you'll touch many lives who are going through similar situations.

You'll give it the best fight you could possibly give it, and then God will give you a clear moment when it's time for you to lay it all down to Him and move on.

And then, this is where it gets really good.

You'll meet Brooks.  He'll teach you to laugh again, to smile, to be carefree.  You'll learn that a man can love you with a post-baby body and a post-divorce heart.  And yes, I know what you're thinking--and no, you won't ever feel like checking his phone to see if he's cheating.  You'll be able to trust again.

He'll ask for your hand in marriage, and you won't be afraid to say yes.  "Husband" won't be a dirty word to you anymore.  He'll love your daughter as if she were his, and she'll love him as if he were her dad.

Your loss will be restored.

And thousands--yes, THOUSANDS!--will flock to read about your song of redemption.

You'll be so amazed--at God, at yourself.

And although this next patch is going to be the hardest time of your life, it's going to get so good.

Hang in there.  The Lord is with you--on the bathroom floor, in a lonely car in a Target parking lot, when you're served with divorce papers two days after Christmas.

When you're in the deepest part of the pit.  When you're on the highest peak of the mountain.  He will not leave you.

He hasn't forgotten you, Chelsea.  He has your beautiful future tucked away behind filthy wrapping, and it's worth every bit of the pain for every bit of the joy that will come.

Oh, and look for pink roses, and save every one you get.  You'll understand later.

Love,

Me

******

Is there a time from your past that, knowing what you know now, you wish you could go back and change?  Or at least give yourself some preparation, some warning, some context?

I've certainly wished I could go back and change some of my decisions--moments where I wish I had never been married that first time, where I wish I would have agreed to the divorce much sooner, spoken differently, acted differently.

If you're stuck in a place of misery, perhaps it helps to think ahead.  To take heart.  My perspective was often that things were never going to get better--that my life was over and would never again contain happiness.

But really, don't we know from having lived as much as we have that a pit doesn't last forever?  There is a mountaintop at the end of the valley.

Have courage!  Have faith!  Your world doesn't end here.  And consider what encouragement you could be giving yourself two years from now.

I have come to understand that maybe remembering where I was isn't such a curse after all.

It forces me to relive the timeline, where God never let me down and redeemed the ruins of a life lost.

And so, on a chilly October day of the future, I smile at the me of the past.

Because I know how the story will go--and why would I want to change it?  It couldn't have been written more perfectly.

She has no idea what lies ahead of her.  She has one more day left before her life changes.

And she has no idea how wonderful that life is going to get.