Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

Can Christians Get Offended?

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I can remember when I first started travel nursing that the first thing people noticed about me was my thick, Southern drawl. Heck, even now it’s the way people will differentiate me from others. If I’m not known as the “singing nurse,” then I’m described as the one with a Southern accent. I’ve been called Reba, and if I had a dollar for every person that tried to do an impression of my country twang I could have retired last week.

Yeah, people are not as good at impersonations as they assume, but I’m sure many a Brit would raise an eyebrow at my Monty Python impressions, so I can’t say a word. The thing is, though, if I’m being totally honest, it’s not near as amusing as people assume. Repeating a word I’ve said in your own impression of my pronunciation as you laugh hysterically isn’t funny to me. In fact, it’s eye roll worthy as I fake laugh along. But even now, as I bristle at the harmless prodding at my expense, I don’t react like I used to.

I used to be terribly offended. See, I was born in San Diego, California by a world-traveling mom, and we only moved to Mississippi to settle down when I was about eight. I could have quickly adapted the accent of my local peers, but a part was always held back by my mother’s suggestion. She raised me to enunciate my words, to use a vast vocabulary, and to make a point to sound as educated as possible. She fought hard to ward off her own Southern drawl as it crept into everyday vernacular, as her experience had impressed one, huge thing upon her.

A Southern accent=stupidity

That was the majority assumption, anyway.

This was what she had experienced. It was what traveling the world had taught her. And as such, she raised me to understand the same. When I began my own world travels so many of the things I encountered nailed home her point. In Naval Bootcamp I achieved the highest scholastic scores among my peers, earning my parents a special seat next to the Chief Officer of the base during my graduation, and allowing me to march at that ceremony in a special company. As we practiced the drill we would execute at our graduation a senior enlisted gentleman commented on my upbringing.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Mississippi, Petty Officer,” I replied quickly.

“Well,” he commented in surprise and sarcasm, “I didn’t know they made smart people in Mississippi.”

While I served in the Navy in the Washington, D.C. area I was on the receiving end of reverse racism, with people assuming that since I was from the South, I was automatically a bigot. My mother had hated this aspect the most. She had told me once that people saw movies like Mississippi Burning, and they assumed everyone from that area wanted to wear white hoods and hang black people. In my experience, I even had someone report me to my boss. I had been singing a country love song that came into my head about a man who committed suicide when his girlfriend left him (hey, I didn’t say country songs were known for their great lyrics). The guy in the song hung himself in grief, and the secretary who heard me singing reported to our superior that she feared for her life when she was around me. Because of the accent, where I was from, she assumed my song was something about hanging black people, even though the lyrics never said something even close to that.

This is turning out to be a bit longer than I intended, but I guess I want you to understand why it offended me so much when people poked fun at my Southern accent. In a way, I felt discriminated against for my accent. In my experience, people assumed I was ignorant, racist, uneducated, and the like. My upbringing and my own negative experiences had caused me to be easily offended when my accent was brought to the forefront. I think we all have really good reasons we get offended about things.

As a nurse I’ve gotten offended when a patient is rude. I mean, do they know the responsibilities I handle with limited time and resources? Why are they being angry at me? It’s not my fault they’re sick! I’m just here to help! I don’t deserve such anger aimed at me like an arrow for trying to help!

As a customer I’ve gotten offended. They’re here to serve me. What’s with the attitude?! They must hate their job!

I get offended on the interstate when people cut me off in traffic. I’m going five miles above the speed limit here, buddy!

I can get offended when my husband doesn’t read my mind like a good spouse is supposed to. Doesn’t he know I don’t really mean I’m fine?!

I can especially get offended when people don’t agree with me. As a writer I put out a lot of opinion posts, and not everyone agrees. I’ve had people say some pretty heinous things to me via comments or email. I’ve had people tell me that they feel sorry for my children being raised by me, such an awful person. I’m leaving out the graphic language, mind you. Sometimes I’m so certain that what I’m speaking is truth; I’d bet my life on it! Yet people disagree, and they tell me so quite strongly.

I’ve had close friends and family say or do despicable things to me that have hurt me so badly. I mean, when someone cuts you to the bone, isn’t that a legitimate cause of offense?

See, I’m not saying I don’t have reason to be offended. I’m not saying you don’t. Can Christians be offended? Of course they can! I suppose the better question would be… should they get offended?

Matthew 5:38-40

38 “You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’[a] 39 But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. 40 And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well.

An interesting thing happened as I began to dive deeper into my walk with Jesus. As I began to read God’s Word more and more, I found myself taking on the pages. I mean, I began to act more like scriptures said I should. It wasn’t like I was trying to follow some religious teaching or law. It’s just that the more time I spent reading about Jesus, the more I loved Him. And the more I loved Him, the more I wanted to be like Him. I wanted to see with His eyes and love with His heart. I wanted to be a servant, not selfish. I wanted to encourage people, and help them to see their worth in Christ.

When a patient was undeservingly rude to me, I laid down offense, and instead I asked myself to imagine how hard it must be to be the sick person in that bed. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t my fault, or even if it was theirs. It didn’t matter that I was trying to help, or that I didn’t deserve a cussing. Why would it?

See, we get offended a lot because of bad treatment we don’t deserve. Check. I get it. It’s offensive. Jesus didn’t deserve to be crucified. Remember what He said?

“They know not what they do.”

As a follower of Christ I realized the best way I could show His love (a commandment He gave me, by the way) was to love like Him.

When people hurt my feelings, I laid down offense. Instead of thinking of my own hurt, I wondered what hurt they must be under to make them act that way.

When someone cut me off in traffic or a cashier was rude, I offered grace. I smile really big at them!

When my husband doesn’t read my feelings I remind myself that we are different.

When people don’t agree with me, I remind myself that everyone won’t. That doesn’t change my eternity.

And speaking of eternity? Have you ever stopped and realized that 99% of the things that offend us actually have no eternal impact? But, how we respond to the people who offend us, well, that can have an eternal consequence. We may push people away when they offend us, but we shouldn’t push them away from Jesus. If someone stumbles because of me, well, I don’t even want to think about it.

I am who God says I am. Thirty-four years ago, in His great wisdom, God placed me and my mom in Mississippi. He orchestrated my mom meeting my adoptive dad, and my subsequent adoption, the one that would positively impact my opinion of fathers and my life. God placed me in the South, and God loves my Southern drawl. After I laid down my offense I realized that most people love my accent as well. They weren’t all making fun of me or judging my intellect. My offense told me that, but it wasn’t true. I’ve discovered that my patients love the soothing sound of my slow, Southern drawl. It puts their souls at ease in a harried, uncertain environment. It implies caring and it easily earns trust. I cherish my accent, and I’ve found lately that in difficult situations at the bedside, like when I must break bad news, I draw out my syllables a little longer, and I dredge them in sugar a bit more. The patients like that.

I’ve learned that although many times I have every right to be offended, and that God won’t love me any less because I am, I am better able to fulfill my calling when I let go of offense. When I can turn the other cheek I am actually showing the face of Jesus. When I take off the red rage that veils my eyes under my own offense, I am better able to see where and who needs love most.

Will every situation we encounter require us to lay down our offense? No. I’m not saying to let yourself be filleted open for the masses. But I am saying that when we can let go of ourselves and see other’s pain, Jesus smiles. When we can love someone despite their hurting our feelings, they’ll see Jesus in us. When He calls us to lay down our life for a brother, He even means the ones who disagree with us. We can lay down offense, and we can pick up love in its place.

When Faith Feels Heavy

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“You know what?” I said to my husband. “I just want you to hold me.”

And there I sat, on the couch beside him, head against his chest as he ran his fingers through my hair. Sometimes you just needed to be held.

In the preceding minutes I had shared with him my feelings. So much was going on, and you know that old saying, “when it rains, it pours?” Well, it kinda felt like that. I had even chuckled at the irony that during my “storm” of circumstances we were also facing an impending Category 3 Hurricane. Something had to give!

I had told my husband, “my faith tells me it’s going to be okay, and I totally believe that too. But sometimes faith feels heavy.”

What I meant by that was, I believed God would take care of us. In the midst of looming unemployment, I knew He held us in His hands. With bills falling behind, I knew His plans were to prosper us. With so many darn things I had zero control over (a hurricane coming while my only shelter was an RV just being one of), I still knew God was in control. He had proven His faithfulness to me time and time again, miraculously so. In the Old Testament they used to erect altars made of stone where God had done something miraculous. They called them Stones of Remembrance, and I had so many stones leading down the path of my past that I never looked back in regret. I would only trip over the tried and true trail of rocks behind me. My point being, I believed in the deepest part of my heart and soul that God was good, and He would work all things for my good. Yet…

Why is it that you can have faith, yet still feel fallen? I mean, how can you hand it over to God, yet it still feels so heavy? You don’t want it to, but it does. It’s like it’s bone heavy, as if your body won’t listen to what your spirit is saying. My soul said, “I am rescued,” but my flesh felt worn out from all the back and forth that uncertain circumstances had slung around in my head like a game of air hockey.

“Lord,” my husband spoke, “I pray that Brie would feel the same peace in her mind and body that she feels in her spirit.”

And that was all he said. I lay against his chest, my head moving slowly up and down with each inhalation and following exhalation. I could hear the rhythmic sound of rain pitter-pattering against the metal roof of our RV. It sang a soothing song in harmony with the lub-dub, lub-dub of my husband’s heartbeat. His fingers raked softly through my hair, each stroke feeling like the best touch I had felt all day. My body relaxed, my muscles settled, my spirit called out to the Lord. It was going to be okay. My heart knew it; my body just needed reminding.

I needed reminding that yeah, sometimes faith does feel heavy, but my God still carries it for me. It made me think of a box of tissues. You grabbed a tissue in your hand, but over time, as your nervous fingers wrung the life from the thin paper, you had to pull out a fresh one. The only difference was, God’s tissue box of faithfulness was never-ending. You could pull out Kleenex, by Kleenex, and it never ran out. His mercy was unending. Even when I was worn thin, He held an abundance for me.

I was reminded of my humanness, and acutely aware of how much I need my Savior. Maybe faith gets so heavy sometimes so we’ll remember from where our strength is derived. Sometimes all you can say is “help,” and I guess that’s why the Spirit intercedes for us in the moments where we barely have the strength to pray. I fell asleep quickly, tired yet trusting, without the words to pray, but with my soul reaching out feeble, fatigued fingers for His faithful hand to grasp. It’s okay to buckle under the weight. He’s never asked us to carry it anyway.

When Everyone Thinks You Will Fail

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“I’m gonna be honest,” he said. “I thought this was a really bad idea when you first brought it up.”

I wasn’t surprised. A lot of people had felt that way. People I loved, people whose opinion I valued. People who had a huge impact on my life, and people I desired to please. These were the people who had thought we were making a mistake, but I guess when God is leading you to something different, you have no choice but to go with it. You just hope they’ll come around.

Almost two years later, the majority of our family and friends had. They were truly happy for us as we led an unconventional life that went against the grain of everything that society told us was normal. They saw it in our eyes, our smiles, our very countenance. They saw how joyous we were after letting go of all the things that were supposed to make us happy in this world.

I know onlookers had stood agasp as we emptied our two story home of all its contents, sold our possessions for less than half of their worth, and locked the doors, turning our backs on what had once been considered our dream home. As I walked through it yesterday, footsteps echoing across the empty floor and radiating down the bare hall, I felt nothing. Once upon a time it had been bittersweet to say goodbye to our house, but that was before I truly discovered what made a home. I had only left the large house looming in my rear view because I knew God had something else in store. But yesterday, I didn’t look back as we pulled out of the long, shaded drive. I just left it behind.

Sometimes what lies ahead of you is far better than you could ever fathom. I’m glad we had believed that when the rest of the world looked at us like we were crazy.

I can still remember what it was like. I was happy. I was. But I was also tired. I was stressed out, sometimes depressed for no particular reason at all. I missed my husband, and I longed for him to really smile again. Something happens when you build a family, when you grow up. You enter into a place of anxiety and dread mixed with tiny moments of wonderful. You spend 75% of your life working to achieve that 25% of happy. You assume, “this is just the way it is,” as if working long hours, running errands on two wheels, drowning in debt, and burning the midnight oil is a part of the life you have built. Long hours at the table hammering Singapore Math equations into your eight year old. Was it like this for our parents?

Why can’t there be more of the happy? Is a quarter of joy really all you can get? You assume so.

We rush, we bustle about. We run here and there. We work, work, work. Birthday parties get bigger, Easter becomes like Christmas. The closets overflow. Time for another purge! If we pull a few more overtime shifts we can take vacation in June.

Sunday is an afterthought. Church is a place where you’re supposed to go. Gotta train up the kids right! God don’t mind if you miss for football, though. Hard to get any good news in your spirit since Sunday School is the only place you can find time for your Bible. But Monday is creeping up on you, the weekend is over, and back to the grind we go.

Gotta get new shoes, a brand that won’t cause your kid to get bullied, a style that will make them the envy of the other kids, the ones that will make you look like a good mom for buying them.

People thought we were crazy when we said, “let’s just get rid of it all!”

They thought we just meant the minivan with automatic doors and the ruffle dresses. They didn’t realize we meant the multiple car payments and dreaded mound of never-ending laundry too. They thought we were just selling the house. They never knew we were also refunding the false idea that a large living room made life good. We found out the whole world could be our backyard!

When we said we were going to travel the country in an RV, folks thought we were chasing a pipe dream, like the idea of it was more magical than the reality would entail. Some people even thought we would fail.

I get it! It’s hard to leave your comfort zone. It’s not easy to leave the way you’ve always known and embark on a future without answers. We took off with a tow vehicle we couldn’t yet afford, to pull a fifth wheel we didn’t yet own, to work a job that gave no promises of stability. We reserved a hotel we couldn’t keep paying for long term, and we carted everything we owned in suitcases and a handful of rubber-made totes. Gosh, we were a little crazy. But we were tired. So very tired.

You grow up thinking you need to obtain that Great American Dream, but when you finally do, you wonder where the joy went. It’s fragmented, kind of like your time, broken apart and unfairly divided amongst your many, overflowing responsibilities. We fall right into Satan’s plan, in student loan debt, working over in a job we hate, for a family we never see, and a vacation that will leave us exhausted. Well, dang.

My husband let another driver go first the other day. My spouse had the right of way. The other driver was very confused by my husband’s kindness and patience, and it took him a moment to pull forward and drive off. People are numb to the fast pace. They’ve become accustomed to road rage, anger management, horns honking, driving ten miles above the speed limit, and passing someone to gain a precious microsecond. That’s the way of the world. Everyone is in a hurry. But we decided we wanted to teach our children that servants don’t have a problem going last.

So, we let go of the ideas that more is better or that things like public opinion matter one iota when it comes to eternity and love. We live in 500 square feet, tiny compared to our previous floor plan, but man oh man, how our hearts have grown. For one another and others. We work less, play more. Our closets aren’t as full, but it wasn’t just designer jeans and boots we threw in plastic bags to give away; we got rid of the stress. We let go of worry, and instead we held tight to time together. We homeschool, we roadschool, we unschool the ideas of the world. We teach kindness, patience, even a little washing feet.

I think some of our friends and family worried how we would handle traveling somewhere new, holding a new job, living in new neighborhoods, away from the comfort of routine, the way things had always been. But I reckon sometimes you have to shake loose the dust of comfortable when it makes you complacent to living the life God has in mind for us all. He wants us focused on loving one another, taking the time to savor a sunset, throwing our hands up in surrender, saying, “your will, not mine.”

I guess that’s what we really did when we sold our stuff, packed up our family, and took off to travel in an RV. We just threw up our hands. We let go of what the world had said would make us happy. All of that was too stressful, too hard to maintain, too silly to sacrifice for mere scraps of happy. Why do we assume life must be a roller coaster? When do we admit all the dips and jerks are of our own design? We realized God didn’t have stress, struggling, and striving for us. He had thriving, not just surviving. He just wanted our love. The rest He would give us as needed, and I have to say that’s the best thing I’ve learned this past year. I don’t have to struggle for happy. He just gives. So I just need to receive.

People thought we were crazy, they thought we would fail, but we found that the really crazy part is how we used to live, tired and worn thin, hoping for a sliver of time together. We always felt we were failing at carving out a chunk of joy amidst all the chaos, but we realize now we only failed because we tried too hard at too much of nothing.

Maybe this all sounds like the musings of a crazy woman, but I’ve never felt more sane. We value time over treasure, we hold more highly the love we can bestow than the gifts we can get. What I mean is this. We just love Jesus and live life. We trust Him, we spend more time together than we spend money. We let go of fear and grabbed tightly to trust. We did this by selling all our stuff and moving into an RV, but I figure God can change hearts any which way He designs. For us, it took a drastic change to shift our mindset to what’s important in life, but maybe for someone else He can do it another way.

All I know is that most folks don’t think we’re crazy anymore. They think we’re onto something good. They see the experiences our children are having, seeing sights they never would before, meeting new people, and watching mom and dad trust the Lord for it all. They don’t think we’ll fall down or fail anymore. They realize that we’re actually living the dream. The legit dream. And it’s nothing like society has esteemed it to be. Nothing at all.

Giving Your Children Grace

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I’m all for discipline. In a world that’s gone soft on some issues (like telling kids “no”), but far too harsh on others (like the lack of patience at a red light), I am completely in favor of making children listen to reason. After all, we are raising the future generation. It’s up to us to instill morals, model compassion, and correct erroneous behavior for a productive future for them. I mean, if kids think they can always win, get their way every time, and throw a fit when they are opposed, then they’re going to be in a world of hurt one day. Yep, you have to create an environment where they understand they’re not number one, yet still let them know they matter. There are so many lessons to be learned, but sadly we often miss the most important one.

As a mother of young children, I think nothing tries your patience like trying to get out of the house on time with your kids in tow. They move like molasses, whine like a broken down washing machine, and couldn’t find their shoes if you were paying them to. Make it a Sunday morning and it’s even worse. Like, can we just make it to church on time once?!

This past Sunday morning I was doing my usual routine. I had gotten up before everyone else. I had picked out each child’s clothing and placed them in neat piles on the couch. All they had to do was comply with simple instruction, basically. As I assisted my youngest two daughters with getting dressed and untangling their long tresses, I noticed my eight year old had fallen back asleep on the couch. I called her name, asking her to get dressed. I even added a please. I deserve some extra credit for that.

Then she pulled out the whine, like nails on a chalkboard. She lamented, “I don’t wanna go to church!”

My first thought was all the mornings I rose before 5am, while my daughter snoozed on. They were homeschooled! It’s not like they had to get up earlier than they wanted every day of the week. It was just one day! Instructing my child of all of this sat on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to tell her how lucky she was to not have to get up as early as I did. I needed her to understand that one day she wouldn’t be so lucky, that she needed to get used to doing things she didn’t feel like doing! I wanted to tell her that she should have gone to bed earlier, that she was reaping the effects of her own stubborn refusal to go to sleep. This was my job as a parent, right.?! To prepare her for a cruel future!

So, with all this in mind I called her over to me.

“Come over here,” I instructed.

She plodded lazily in my direction, and as she got closer I reached for her lanky arm and pulled her quickly into my lap.

“My sweet baby,” I whispered, as I squeezed her gently, placing loving kisses on her forehead.

I held her for a few moments in silence, rocking back and forth. I could feel the frustration and attitude melt away from her. She eased naturally into my embrace, and the body that had at first felt heavy suddenly became light.

She giggled, “I’m your baby!”

I held her another minute, and then I questioned, “you ready to get dressed for Mom?”

She popped out of my lap with renewed motivation, “I sure am!

We have a huge responsibility as parents. There are so many lessons to be taught, but the one we most easily forget, especially in such a fast-paced world, is the lesson of grace. It’s given when we least deserve it, and it’s given in love. Out of the many life hacks I want to teach my daughters, the most important is how to lead a successful, emotionally and spiritually healthy life. One of my biggest ministry callings in life is the one I live out each day as a parent. So much of what they learn about Christ will be not just from my words, but also modeled in my actions. They see the love of God through me. I am the hands and feet of Jesus to the little ones, and they learn about saving grace when I bestow it.

I think back on all the ridiculous, unsavory choices I have made in life, and through it all, God loved me. Yes, He taught me lessons when I was less than my best, but above all His great grace called me back.

He said, “you are mine. I love you, child.”

I still have a tendency to be a brat. I can sometimes imagine my Father God shaking His head when I fear things like financial loss or hardship. He could rip the rug out from under me and show me that He is my provider, but instead He speaks to my heart with loving patience, He holds me in the comforting arms of His Holy Spirit and reminds me, I’ve got this, daughter. Do not fear, for I am with you.

When I doubt, He loves me still. When I blatantly sinned against Him, He waited for my return with open arms. When I am weary, bone tired, likely due to my own fault, He takes me in His arms. He bestows grace. And if there’s anything He gives me that I in turn can give to my children, it is that great grace, that loving patience, and that tender mercy, even when it’s not deserved.

When You Can’t See in Front of You

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As I walked outside to my cranked truck, its engine warming before our commute, I noticed tiny drops of water falling through the beams of the automatic headlights. My initial thought was to wonder if it was rain, but as I watched the tiny drops dance on the super-highway of light cutting through the darkness, I knew it wasn’t a spring shower. The moisture floated lazily, like a seed pod floating on the wind, but I was much too tired to give it another thought. Other than weird, perhaps.

Coffee in hand, music on the radio, I pulled out of my sandy, grass drive. Into the darkness I drove away, but it seemed darker to me than usual. I adjusted the heater, turning on the defroster, and I hit the button that made my side beams come on. I still couldn’t see that well, I realized, while simultaneously turning up the defrost and turning on the wipers. Weird weather.

My window had mostly cleared as I exited my neighborhood, but still my view felt obstructed. I hit the windshield washer fluid, thinking perhaps if I cleared some dust and dead bugs I might have a better vantage through the glass that separated me from the outside.

It didn’t help, and as I pulled out onto the main road I realized why. Fog. Thick fog covered the roadway. My fog lights already on, I next tapped my high beams, even though I knew they’d make it worse. I released the button allowing the headlights to return to normal. The blast of bright light had only magnified the blanket of wet air that blocked my way, a barricade of water molecules standing firm in solidarity. It was like they formed a Red Rover chain, and their obstructing presence cried out, “you can’t come through.”

That’s what the dancing drops had been, I understood, and I knew they’d dissipate just over the next ridge. But as I crested the small hill I realized I couldn’t really see the road beyond. Slowly I drove forward. Just up there on the main road, it will clear. My optimism cheered me along.

But it didn’t clear after I pulled out on the highway. If anything, it only grew thicker. Like pea soup my truck trudged through the heavy fog. It curled up from the side of the road, as if a smoky set of hands tried to take me in its grasp. I stared squint-eyed towards the tiny piece of asphalt illuminated before me. Couldn’t see much beyond that.

The curves of the road jumped up out of nowhere. A yellow Bear Crossing sign cut through the mist as I passed it.

Now would not be the time for that, I thought. I’d smack it for sure.

The turnpike is just ahead. I repeated it like a mantra. Surely visibility would improve on higher ground. The exit for the turnpike came up suddenly to my left, and had my GPS not forewarned me, I might have driven on by in a pre-caffeinated fog of my own. So hidden was my go-to landmarks that foretold its location.

As I accelerated on the Florida stretch of smooth asphalt I realized the fog persisted. A 70 mph sign waved me on my way.

No chance of driving that fast today.

I mean, I could barely see a thing. It’s like the square of muted light in front of my truck shrunk as I drove faster, and I realized if I didn’t know this roadway I’d feel a bit unsettled by the lack of distant vision. It was only knowing from past experience what lay ahead of my vehicle that I drove with any confidence at all.

Life is like that, you know.

The wisdom of God spoke to my heart. Yes, I agreed. I stilled my heart for more.

So many times you cannot see what lies ahead.

That was true enough. I mean, how many times in the last year had I gone forward having no idea what lay ahead. Selling 95% of our stuff, trading in the minivan and smart car for a gas-guzzling diesel pickup. We had bought that truck to pull a fifth wheel we didn’t yet own, at the time. We had taken on a huge truck payment we didn’t have enough money to cover. We had loaded a suitcase apiece, a few rubbermade totes into the back of that truck, and we had taken off for the unknown. A new job, new city, not enough money in the bank account to continue staying more than a month where we had reservations. Crazy to some, I’m sure.

But it was the light. It lit up the way ahead of us, and though the certainty of God’s plan lit up the direction we needed to go, it only showed a small piece of the road we would travel. We certainly couldn’t see ahead. It was frightening, but still the light shined on.

Go this way, it whispered.

So we went.

It’s your past journey that tells you going forward is safe.

And that was true too. Just like my knowledge of a straight and true turnpike kept me driving forward that dark and foggy morning, so too did our knowledge of God’s sovereignty in our lives drive us forward a year prior.

He was faithful. He never left us. He wouldn’t forsake us. The plans He had for us were to prosper our future. So many times His provision and power had saved us. I had meditated on all the times He had worked miracles in our lives, and those remembrances had kept me moving forward bravely even when my flesh wanted to pull over in panic.

I drove along the dark road pondering these things when suddenly the path in front of me cleared. In an instant I could see miles of smooth interstate ahead. As if a veil had been lifted, I could finally see. Like passing through a curtain, the fog was left behind me. Ahead only lay clarity. Gratitude. The blessing of being able to see. The fog was gone. Clear skies before me. I once was blind, but now I see.

We had indeed passed through the fog this past year. We had come out on the other side of it strengthened, our faith deeper, our dependence purposeful. We had come out closer to the light. In the thick of uncertainty we had been forced to press in, lean forward and squint at the small square that lit the way ahead. For that, we were blessed. When we came through the thick mist we had known immediately who delivered us safely. We had praised Him in the fog. And we had praised Him in the after. We had praised Him when we could not see. And we had praised Him later when we could. Because then, we could see even clearer than before. Praise the Lord.

So I drove on to work with a smile on my lips. The clear roadway ahead. I knew that if the fog came again, here on the 429, or even in the fleshy, frightened places of my mind, that He would lead me forward in the way I needed to go. He was my light.

Be a Helper

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He had not gotten nearly as much done as I thought he should. I had just gotten back from waiting for lab work. So much waiting. I had sat in that waiting room forever, holding my breath for them to call my name. There were always tests that needed to be run to ensure a traveling nurse was healthy for an upcoming job, but this last minute, surprise one was simply a hindrance on my timetable. We needed to be packed up, ready to go, check-lists checked, and to-do’s done. So you can imagine my frustration when I returned from the thirty minute trek into town and saw so many things still left undone.

I sat in the camp host’s office, settling our bill, and efficiently checking out so we could simply hook up and pull away the following morning. In my mind I tabulated the tasks I must complete.

“Is your husband over there?”

The man who ran our RV Park interrupted my thoughts with his urgent questioning.

“He is,” I commented with a smile.

I signed my receipt and carried on a conversation with the man’s wife.

“Dick sure is gonna miss Ben,” she said forlorn. “Ben’s his go-to guy!”

I smiled and replied, “Ben enjoys picking his brain too.”

At that moment the male duo appeared in the doorway.

“We’ll be back shortly,” Dick exclaimed!

I knew “shortly” was a relative term for this particular handyman. My husband eyed me eagerly, his countenance saying, “I’m sorry, babe. I gotta.”

I knew this.

I smiled. A genuine smile.

“Y’all go on!” I said.

My eyes spoke to my husband, “I know.”

Later that evening, after our work was done, we discussed it.

“I had to help him,” my husband commented.

I answered easily, “oh, I know. I knew you would, and I didn’t think anything about it. It went without saying that you’d go. That’s what you do.”

He was a helper.

My husband could start up a Bible study in our RV Park, I suppose, and perhaps some folks might even attend, but that wasn’t really how he did things. He was a helper. He was a talker. But more than that he was a doer. When we had first met the couple who managed our park my husband had told the man, “if you ever need anything, just let me know!”

He had followed his offer with a firm handshake and a solid gaze, but more than that, he had followed it with commitment. Every time Dick needed a helper, well, Ben helped. He was that way to everyone. He struck up conversations with all our neighbors, drew the old hermit out of his shell. He made the sourpuss smile, carried the groceries for the older lady, or helped the young, single woman turn a wrench.

The folks around here knew we were Christians; that certainly wasn’t a secret. If they didn’t catch it in the shirts we wore, the Bible my husband toted everywhere, or the praise and worship music emanating from our RV, then they picked it up from our young children who were always eager to talk about God’s love. The point is, they know we proclaim ourselves to be “Christians,” but they also see what our actions proclaim. They say, “hey, those folks are always smiling, always happy, and always eager to help a fella out when he needs it.”

We were helpers.

In a fast-paced world it’s easy to just keep on driving. You go past the broke-down car on the side of the road, you look away from the beggar, you convince yourself the addict will just use the money for drugs rather than a pillow to lay their head. The world says, “I ain’t got time for that!” But then again, I think Jesus told us not to conform to this old world.

It’s easy to be busy, run about, and get what’s ours. We gotta put on our own oxygen mask first, I guess you could say. But sadly, after it’s on, we pretty much forget the other guy. We think we can teach a Sunday School class or go on that week-long mission trip in the Summer to save some souls for Jesus. That’ll do it! We’ll give our 10%! Check the box. Done. Yet Jesus calls us for more. He calls us to be a servant, to be a helper, to be great lovers of His people. All His people. It’s not that hard. We can actually do it everyday. Everyday people are looking for a hand, and it’s up to us to lend it. It’s up to us to be the hands and feet, to show the world His love in our willingness to give our time and attention.

Jesus doesn’t call us to fly across the world and feed the starving children. He does some. But He also calls us to feed the children right in our own neighborhood. We feed them with the turn of a screwdriver, or the holding open of a heavy screen door. We feed them with a smile, a compliment, a helping hand. We feed them when we notice a need, and fill it. We feed more than stomachs. We feed hearts. We feed needs. We feed spirits. We feed the fulfillment of God’s will. We feed selflessness. We are helpers. And that’s something the world needs more of.

The Only Thing That Needs to Be Said

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I once took care of a patient with what’s called a “difficult” family member. It was the kind of family member that when they arrived the staff would make themselves scarce. All the nurses would roll their eyes or sigh in exasperation, myself included. Because this family member was that bad. I would imagine this person encountered that type of reception wherever they went. But, I mean, wasn’t he kinda asking for it?

You see, this guy was a typical drunk, a longtime alcoholic, with yellow eyes and a sunken-in face. His clothes hung loosely on his malnourished frame, and the smell of stale cigarette smoke mixed with urine and body odor permeated from his dirty, wrinkled clothing. He’d been known to pass out at the hospital room bedside, after vomiting all over the floor. As if the staff didn’t have enough to do for their patients without caring for visitors too.

One day when I encountered him, his hair stood up on his head, and snot ran down his nose after he had taken a long public transportation ride through winter weather to come to the hospital to visit. His breath reeked of alcohol, and he struggled to keep his words from slurring as he questioned me about his spouse. He repeated the same questions he had asked the day before, and his eyes jumped back and forth as he stuttered and spoke.

I answered his questions the best I could, and as I left the room I thought of the fact that it could just as easily be me in his shoes. With a history of alcoholism in my family, and a history of my own, I knew had I not stopped drinking, it could be me there slurring my words. I couldn’t judge this man, but I figured I could feed him. So I gathered up a chicken salad sandwich and some juice. Then I took it to the room.

Of course, he was grateful, and he thanked me. I answered that it wasn’t a problem, but it was what he said after that really got me.

He spoke very clearly this,

My Momma always told me I talked too much. She said that a child of God didn’t have to speak a word, that their light would just shine whatever needed to be said. I’ve always remembered her saying that.

Well, I want you to know that your light says all that needs to be said.

His wise words, first spoken by his mother, stopped my heart for a moment. I was humbled and grateful that God could use me in such a small way to shine His light of love to one of His children.

I guess we all have a choice each and every day. It’s not always the easiest choice, given the circumstances, but it’s a choice nonetheless. Each day we are afforded the opportunity to love on folks. We can just love the ones that are easy to love, like our children, and that will still please the Lord. But we are also given the opportunity to love the ones who might be more difficult to love, for whatever reason. Subsequently, these are usually the ones who happen to need love the most. It’s our choice if we’ll see the chance, and then make the decision to step out in love and grab the opportunity by the horns to be the hands and feet of Jesus.

I’m quite certain I fall short of this opportunity often, sadly, but I was so blessed to be able to choose love and let it shine on this particular day.

May we all try and open our eyes a little wider, our hearts a bit bigger, and may we say to the world all that really needs to be said, simply by shining His light.

A Letter to the Friend Who’s Been Cheated On

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My Friend,

People ask you if you’re doing okay. You shrug it off, make a joke, lighten the situation anyway you can. You say that you’re fine, and maybe you are. But I thought I would say the things swimming inside my brain anyhow. You never know.

I can recall a devastating season in my past, but it coincided with the first time I had heard God’s voice clearly in a long time. Normally a short commute to work, this day I was traveling out of town for my job. So as I drove a quiet stretch of road I was faced with time to truly have to think about what was going on in my life.

I had not cried out to God in what seemed ages, but in that moment of brokenness I wailed to my Heavenly Father, “help me, God!”

My comfortable life had been shaken. The night before my husband of six years had broken the news that he did not want to be with me anymore. Shell shocked I prayed for answers, I prayed for comfort.

Do you know what God told me?

He told me what I already knew. He told me my husband wasn’t happy. But He also told me it wasn’t my fault.

I want you to know it’s not your fault. Hey, maybe you already know that, but considering how fragile human hearts can be, especially when broken, it seemed prudent to offer this advice.

You see, I reckon human beings are made with a hole in our hearts. It’s one that was put there by sin, and the only way to stop it up and fill it right is with Jesus. But what happens is the whole dang world goes on a shopping spree searching for a quick fix to that deep sadness inside them. They fill their hearts up with all sorts of things, but none of it sticks. So when a partner goes wandering, looking for love other than the one right beside them, it’s cause they’re trying to fix a leak. It’s not your fault.

We’re a broken lot, and most of us don’t even know how to love ourselves. So when a spouse can’t even love themselves, they go searching for someone to love them. They need someone to make them feel special, or beautiful, or handsome, or talented, or needed, or whatever. They rely on another human to make them feel loved. There’s a lot of things I don’t know in this life, but I do know one thing for sure. Only the Lord can love us like we need to be loved. It’s how we’re wired. The problem is a lot of folks don’t realize that, so they have to keep searching for that feeling. First they think they found it in you, but you know how that turns out. You can’t save someone!

I remember coming to that realization all those years back, driving down that lonesome road to work. My husband (at the time) wasn’t happy. He wasn’t happy with life in general. He changed everything, and I guess he thought changing wives would fix him. I could be wrong, but that’s what I felt like God told me at the time. And I took comfort in knowing it wasn’t all on me. Yes, there were things I could have done better, but in the end I couldn’t carry all that weight. And neither can you.

I guess it comes down to all of us needing more Jesus inside us. We’d love ourselves more, appreciate the people we’re with better, and cultivate relationships with Him at the center. I’ve learned a lot since then. I guess we’re all just a work in progress.

So keep working on you, for sure, but don’t place all the blame on your shoulders either. You’ll never be everything to someone. Sometimes women cheat cause they’re struggling to find that love that humans can’t give alone, and sometimes husbands leave cause they’re searching far and wide for a bucket of happiness to fill that void in their heart. It hurts for now, I know, even if you try and act like it doesn’t. But take heart in knowing you can’t be a savior. That job’s already taken. It’s just not everyone realizes that when they’re holding out a frantic hand, looking for someone to throw them a rope in this life.

Your job now is to fill your bucket with the right stuff, and pray for them that maybe one day they’ll do the same. You gotta forgive em, cause being mad just puts more holes in your own bucket. Been there, done that. Take it one day at a time, and when you get to feeling really empty (because you’re human, and you will), I pray God fills you to overflowing.

I’ve found this world will for sure give you a heap more than you can handle, but then the good Lord comes in and gives you the strength you need to get through.

Hold on to His strength.

Always,

Your Friend

Dear God

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Dear God,

Thank you that you love me so much that you gave your son for me, that you wrote our specific love story even before I was born.

Thank you that you are with me always, every day, never leaving me, guiding my steps, directing my paths, even when I don’t listen. Especially then.

Thank you that nothing is unknown to you. Again, I’m thankful that you wrote my story out perfectly as I grew, raising a small, wet thumb to my suckling mouth within my mother’s womb. Even there you knew the plans you had for me.

Thank you that your plans for me cannot be altered by men, not by my enemies, nor even by myself. For even if I change directions, even if I run from you, you always lead me back with gentle, loving hands, into your arms, and back to our story. Though sometimes your hand is hard upon me, your embrace is always kind, your love unconditional.

Thank you that you never stop loving me. Even in my mistakes or missteps you love me. Like a kind father you call me home, you soothe my hurts, you heal my wounds. Your mercy is forever.

Thank you that you’re still writing my story, taking my hand, straightening my paths, covering me with your banner of love.

What do I have to fear? Nothing! You fight my battles, you right the wrongs, you protect me from harm. You are my tower of refuge and strength. You are the place I run. There is no fear in your perfect love.

Thank you that your face shines upon me now. That you smile on me. You are a good, good father. You never leave me, and in you I find rest for my soul. Your peace is with me forever, and I am never alone.

Thank you for your unending love that is never far from me. Even when I feel alone, if I turn to your face, there you are.

Always,

Your daughter

I’m Becoming an Atypical Missionary

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I was standing at the hospital bedside scanning some medicines for my elderly patient. Her daughter sat there as well, much as she had the day before, because Mom was experiencing the typical confusion present in the hospital among the older population. She was finally coming back around to her usual self, and I was enjoying watching her personality emerge. She reminded me of my Nanny, who had passed away years ago, so I was happy for this particular assignment. Despite her recent confusion, anxiety, and restlessness, we had gotten along swimmingly somehow. As her daughter had called me a “Godsend,” I had told her matter-a-fact, “we just get along like peas and carrots.”

“Did you say you’re a missionary?” My elderly patient suddenly asked.

I chuckled to myself. I had said no such thing. I mean, it wasn’t unheard of, as I had been a missionary twenty years ago. Despite the passage of time I still remembered it like yesterday. I could recall all the miraculous things I witnessed, the people I encountered, the souls brought to know Jesus, and especially the ones who didn’t. I could also remember when my time on this particular journey came to a close. Over half of the people I had met and worked with in this organization were continuing in the traditional mission field. Some more going to Africa, a place I’d always wanted to go. They felt the call to a life of mission work, but the call I was feeling wasn’t the same.

As much as my young, twenty-one year old mind wanted to serve on the foreign mission field, my heart wasn’t in it. I felt the Lord urging me to return to the United States, to finish my nursing degree, and to serve Him there.

Years went by, lots of ups and downs, periods of being a prodigal daughter, and periods of returning to Him. All of this flashed through my mind as I stood there at the hospital bedside, and I considered my life now as a Travel Nurse.

I answered back to her, “I guess you could say I’m an Atypical Missionary.”

I then explained how when I sought a new assignment across the country to work as a nurse that God would open doors and close doors. I trusted His hand, and I went wherever He said to go. It wasn’t like He boomed in a deep voice from the clouds, “I need you in South Carolina, Brie,” but rather that I prayed for Him to get me where He needed me most, then I trusted where the chips fell when it came time to choose an assignment. If San Antonio, Texas didn’t call for an interview, I didn’t take it personal. I took it as a closed door.

When it came time to go on the job, each and every day, I prayed. I said, “Lord, go before me and make the way. Give me good patients and a good day.”

When I prayed “good patients, good day” I didn’t just mean an easy assignment where nothing crazy happened. I also meant good, as in His will. I trusted I would receive the patient assignment I was meant to have. Sometimes that meant the angry, noncompliant and chronically ill twenty year old man. Maybe it meant the dying mother, or perhaps other times it was the mentally altered elderly lady. I followed His lead, and I served each patient like I was serving Jesus.

Well, that’s probably more how I try to be. I know for sure that I get flustered, frustrated, and tired. I get angry and fed-up. But my goal is to treat each patient like the Lord would want, so when I see myself getting frazzled I try and remind myself that I am where I am for a reason, and with purpose.

I’m an Atypical Missionary.

And I reckon as Christians we all are.

It’s easy to think your life doesn’t matter in the grand scheme. A stay-at-home mom can feel useless in God’s kingdom purposes, missing the fact that she’s an Atypical Missionary too. She’s serving on the mission field of parenting. She’s raising up a new generation of Christ Followers, teaching them to love as He loves.

A bank clerk may feel fruitless in the mundane, day-to-day tasks, not realizing a smile and cheerful greeting may be the only kindness a customer has seen in a long time. That teller is an Atypical Missionary.

It’s a profound blessing to be an Atypical Missionary on a mission field that’s easily ignored. We assume it’s the unreached people groups who need to hear most about the Lord, and we miss out on the service we can provide to hardened hearts that think God has forsaken them. Those hurt by religion may not know about the unconditional love of Jesus until they see it through you. A man whose image of God is distorted by the poor example of an earthly father, may only learn the true Father Heart of God by his buddy’s Godly example of fatherhood on a daily basis. You leading a life for Christ is mission work.

A tired teacher worn out by state testing requirements and the lack of discipline given to children at home might miss the fact that she is in essence the only shining light of love a child may experience. She’s an Atypical Missionary helping save a life and mold a future.

How many of us save a friend from committing suicide by giving them a hug when they needed it the most? How many of us by handing a five dollar bill to the homeless man on the corner inspired him to reach out for help? How many of our small acts of everyday kindness can be multiplied in a pay-it-forward, ripple effect? How many of us are the hands and feet of Jesus without even realizing it?

You can be a missionary without traveling outside the country.

You can serve the church without being a deacon.

You don’t have to hold a particular title to be of service to the Lord.

You don’t have to be a preacher, pastor, or minister to share the word of God with others.

You can be an Atypical Missionary right where you are. You don’t have to wait for God to put you in the right place. Perhaps He already has. Perhaps you’re serving His kingdom purposes right this very moment, and you don’t even realize it.

We don’t have to wait, saying, “God, send me and I’ll go.” Instead we can say, “I’m here. Use me now.”