Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

Please Be My Strength

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I was driving down a picturesque stretch of scenic road, by myself, listening to music. The sun was shining, vast green pastureland stretched out to either side, and in the distance large mountains looked down upon me. The words from the car radio caught my attention.

“Please be my strength.”

I lifted my right hand into the air; a charismatic Christian, worship regular, signaling my agreement and reaching for my Jesus. Then it struck me. He wasn’t somewhere up above, beyond my extended hand. He was here. In my car. I looked over at the seemingly empty passenger seat, and I imagined my Savior riding shotgun (even though He always has the wheel). I stretched out my hand into the side seat, rather than the air, and I closed my hand around His, our fingers intertwining.

Please be my strength.

I can categorically and emphatically say that the past year of my life, basically 2022 in its entirety, has been the most difficult of my life. Harder than bootcamp, tougher than an unexpected divorce in my late twenties, and even more stressful than being an ICU nurse in the height of a pandemic.

I’ll stop here to warn you. If you don’t know me personally, understand and be aware that I’m going to share very personal things. If you think you will possibly read my outpouring with judgement, perhaps you should just stop right here. This post has been on my mind for a few weeks, but it’s been difficult for me to share my inner turmoil with not only trolls hiding behind anonymous computer screens, but also, and sadly for the most part, because of the people close to me who judge me the harshest. Maybe you should stop reading here.

You can always think you will know how to react to a situation, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know little to nothing. As a young woman who only dreamed of children, I imagined how I would parent. Then I actually had children, and it all went out the window. Most of it, anyway. I got the epidural instead of a natural childbirth, and I co-slept rather than letting my baby cry it out in their crib. I never had the time for every night bedtime stories, and I’ve yet to start a single college fund. Sigh.

The enormity of what I don’t know about parenting, or life in general for that matter, crashed upon my head shortly after Christmas. My oldest, natural born child, my eleven year old started to change overnight. She gave her fidgets away, and she decided she hated the color pink. She started spending more time in her room, and stopped swimming in our pool, or even going outside to play with the neighborhood children. I had seen her height increase dramatically, her hips begin to take shape, while her waist thinned. Along came the budding breasts and hair in places they shouldn’t be for an eleven year old, in my humble, late-bloomer opinion. So, I blamed it all on hormones.

Sure enough, she started the dreaded red wave of womanhood shortly thereafter, and I thought, “maybe this will be a sweet release to the angst she has been feeling.” But that was only the beginning of the tsunami that was heading our way.

In the middle of pre-teen distress, our family, like most of yours, I’m sure, was experiencing a changing economy. It was getting harder to keep the pantry full for a family of five on a single income. I couldn’t help people like I had gotten used to doing, barely having enough extra to financially float my own family. I had taken a job away from bedside nursing to rest my Nightingale wings, but we decided as a family, I could get more bang for my buck by going back to the trenches. At the time, the best paying job was three hours away. No problem. It would only be for a short, three months, to get us back on our feet.

We all hated it! There is a big difference between coming home from your twelve hour shift to your family, and coming home to an empty, one bedroom tiny house. And while the quiet was blissful the first week, it quickly lost its shimmer. The driving back and forth on my off days was exhausting, and then there was the little issue of life upending hundreds of miles away.

We prayed and sought the Lord over the decision of that job, and despite the difficulty, I do believe it was God’s will for me to be alone in that little cabin. See, He was working on me too. I’m a fixer. That’s what I do. At work, and at home. But what do you do when you can’t fix it? I look back now understanding that the little rental house I stayed in three days a week, it was my green pasture. The place I had to lay in while I gave my lambs to the shepherd. If I would have been there, I know I’d have been trying to yield my rod and staff all over everything, forgetting where my strength came from.

Remember the pre-teen angst? Well, it was more than that. I knew it. There was new anxiety. I’m talking about hyperventilating, arms breaking out in hives, absolute panic in crowds, anxiety. Where did it come from?! Why was my formerly, social butterfly unable to walk in Aldi without having to stop and deep breathe?!

There was depression. Real depression. Sadness so deep that it was like a thick fog, and I could barely see my baby through the darkness of it. I recognized the mood. It was one I knew too well, on a personal level, but also a familial one.

This part of our journey was probably the most frustrating for me. When I reached out to trusted people I loved about my baby, I wasn’t met with the support I expected. I actually felt quite the opposite. It seems my child’s battle with anxiety and depression was simply a spiritual attack that I had the power to stop. All it took was some laying on hands. And don’t forget, the doorway to my daughter for Satan to harm her was my own doing. I was/must be allowing things into our home that opened the spiritual realm for my child to be attacked.

I love Jesus. I believe in forces of darkness and principalities of evil. I believe in prayer, I believe in deliverance, and I believe in healing. Truly. I also believe in science, a God-given knowledge of how our bodies work, sometimes against us, and how God gave mankind the tools both spiritually and physically to combat these issues. I was a suicide attempt survivor. I had a grandfather kill himself, and a mother who tried to end her life many times from my childhood up into my early thirties. That kind of family history will have you well versed on generational curses, but also heredity and chemical imbalances in the brain.

Had I not prayed countless hours every day for my child?! Had my husband and I not laid hands on our child, sought healing, but also wisdom for what (if anything) in our environment and home was causing a problem?! Of course we had. I had not stopped praying and crying daily in the shower for months. I thought of my own battle with anxiety and depression, and how I spent years trying to pray harder, read my Bible more, and call out the forces of darkness bringing me down. It was not until I sat in the bathtub on Christmas Eve, wishing I could go to sleep and never wake up, that I sought the help of a doctor. It shook me that a blessed woman, with an amazing husband and adored children would want to die on the happiest day of the year. It shook me to think that I had waited so long, and I vowed to do everything I could for my baby.

Against the advice of well-meaning guidance, I took my child to a therapist. Every week, out of pocket, since most insurances don’t consider mental health a needed health benefit, but that’s a topic for a whole other blog.

I’ll stop here to apologize, as this is getting longer than I anticipated, but I did tell you I haven’t shared in a while. So, let’s get to the message.

I get a message, at work, just before it was time to give report to the oncoming shift, and it was a message that rocked my world. I have been blessed with a relationship with my child where she tells me everything. So, it was killing her to keep her pain a secret, and that day she told me she had been hurting herself. She sent photos of cuts she had made into her arm. She asked me not to be mad! Mad?! I just wanted to hold her!

I drove 40 minutes to my little house, after my 3rd twelve hour shift, packed a quick bag and drove the three hours home. I cried to my sister on the phone (hands-free), while driving through a tropical storm, and later thanked God I didn’t mess up my car when I hit that median. The downpour had been so torrential, and the night so dark, but I had to get home.

I cried incredulous tears to my sister. Why was this happening to my baby?! Didn’t this sort of thing only happen to foster kids in a bad situation, or abused kids, or kids with bad relationships with their parents?! My child had not experienced any kind of trauma. I knew this to be true. Why was this happening?

As a side-note, I’ll add here, that I have since learned how common self harm is in teens. My child has even shared with me other girls, from good, “Christian,” happy homes, who have admitted to her they cut also. They had not told their mother, so I guess I had that going for me. Hey, you hang on to any little thing you can in these situations.

This wasn’t the end. More conversations revealed more issues. Suicidal ideation. We hid sharp objects, called doctors, had emergency sessions with the therapist. It had been spiraling to this out of control moment, but it wouldn’t stop spinning. It kept going.

There were bright moments. Her neurologist believing her puberty had changed how her seizure medicine affected her, causing the suicidal ideation and self harm. Us getting off the medicine, her brain scan being free of seizure activity (making a new medicine unnecessary), and the emergence out of that darkness that tried to take her. But still, there was more. I could see it.

When you are raised in an Evangelical Christian environment, you’re taught how to handle certain situations. You’re taught about sin, but there is also major focus on particular sins that are especially heinous. The ones that we stand on a firm foundation to fight for. Other sins can be pushed to the side. I mean, they’re still “bad,” but not worth making a social media post about. My husband and I are both divorced previously, but I cannot recall anyone telling me how disappointed God was in my actions not to reconcile with my ex. You think you know how to handle certain situations, that you have it all figured out, but then it gets personal, and that puts a wrench in everything.

One of my daughter’s disappointments in herself was that she didn’t feel like she belonged. She didn’t feel normal. All her friends and cousins spoke about dating and boys, but she wasn’t interested. “This is normal,” we said. “You’re just a kid.”

But to her it was more. It wasn’t just that she wasn’t interested at the present; the thought of ever being a woman romantically or sexually attracted to a man seemed inconceivable to her. It seemed off. It seemed “not her.” We had entered a period of her trying to understand why she felt so different, and honestly, this place of questioning and sharing is what brought my baby out of her dark place. I’d like to think my loving counsel was a help, and I’m sure the therapy and psychiatrist were a benefit, but I believe in my heart that her honest questions and seeking of her true self brought about the emergence.

In Christian circles you are taught how to approach the subject of LGBTQ. You “love the sinner but hate the sin!” But there’s a problem that surfaces when this happens to someone you love more than yourself.

You start to wonder, “how can I love them best? How can I say I love you in one breath, but tell them what they feel in their heart, mind, and soul is wrong, in the next breath? How can I show the love of Jesus best? How can I respond to this situation without crushing the spirit of this child I would literally die for?”

Tough questions. A tough year. In the end, you love the only way you know how. All in. In the middle, you question everything you’ve ever been told. You read scripture, study, pray, have long talks with your spouse, and come to a place of acceptance, of unconditional love for your child, no matter their gender identity or sexual preference.

I remember a conversation with my husband where we agreed we did not have all the answers. We didn’t know what was right or wrong. I’m gonna tell you… you can imagine you know how to handle issues, but after you’ve discovered your child is so confused and hurting that they would rather die, you start to rethink things. Everything turns upside down, inside out, and pouring from the seams. You question what’s of eternal significance. Is it being right about what is a sin and what is not? Or is it leaving some things to God and admitting your own failings instead? Is it focusing on the spirit nature of us all, regardless of slave, free, man, or woman, and understanding we are all one in Him? Yeah, we didn’t want to mess things up, but we knew our Father held it all in His hands. We knew our job was to love our child, to show them the heart of Jesus, and to leave what we didn’t understand to Him. I was back in that green pasture. And I am there still.

He is my strength. He is love. His love strengthens me, and His love pours out of me. That is good enough for me. To see your child on the edge of a cliff, and then watch them emerge bright, confident, and happy being themselves, is priceless. How could I not support that? I am so proud of my baby. Now and forever.

Where I’m At

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I oscillate between sharing my life and withdrawing into an underground storm shelter. Remember that movie with Brendan Fraser, Blast from the Past? Yes, that sounds nice sometimes. To just spirit away with my family and Jesus, playing board games and eating nonperishable goodies. But alas, that’s not what God calls us to. I wish the calling wasn’t always so painful.

I’ve gone back and forth between sharing my life, my insights, or Heaven forbid, my opinion, or simply remaining silent in my own comfortable mind. I have had so many people over the years email, comment on the blog, or message me on social media sharing how much my words have comforted them, helped them feel less alone, or heard the voice of the Holy Spirit speaking to them through my musings. That kind of feedback encourages me to keep going. But then…

Y’all, I have been really hurt. I say I don’t care what people think of me, but let’s be honest, it stings when friends and family judge you. I’m not talking about Facebook acquaintances. I mean friends. I have had women I have known for over twenty years, women in the church who I considered mentors, completely write me off. Women who kept up daily contact and encouragement with me, suddenly ghost me. And when I see those same women encouraging and communing with mutual friends, yeah, it hurts. It hurts to be brushed aside. It hurts that we have become a people, a society, a church, I dare say, that values platforms or something as inconsequential as the opinion on vaccinations over loving relationships. Didn’t vote Republican the last election?! Sorry, your cool kid, insider pass to the Women’s Bible Study clique has been revoked. Why does that still hurt me?

I have had family laugh at me, ignore me, lessen my feelings. I feel the judgment in an almost palatable way. Am I seeing things that are not there, like whispers at the lunch table, assuming the worst is being said behind my back? Perhaps. Perhaps I am, but it doesn’t change the feeling of brokenness inside.

I have spent the last two years discovering a side of humanity I wish I had never seen. On the other side, pre-Covid, pre-Trump, sat a naive woman, who felt certain that people who loved Jesus, loved people. Sure, there were hypocrites, but overall the Christian community was one built on love. I was sure of it. Now, on this side of a pandemic, after the loss of a presidential election on the Right, I see an abrasive, hardened heart of a community I’ve been a part of for over half my life. I cannot comprehend the actions of the majority. I cannot find the connection between the actions of Jesus and the actions I see on social media. The Sermon on the Mount and the rant on Facebook or Instagram are not parallel. The church I have always known and loved has let me down, and I’m still coming to terms with that.

Here’s what I don’t want. I don’t want my picture of my Savior, or my relationship with Jesus to suffer. The loving King who died for me, who died for the immigrant at the border, who died for the atheist at my workplace, who died for the two married men that live next door. This loving Jesus has never left my side. When I’ve felt the hurt and betrayal from friends and family, He has never let me go. So, I think He and I are good. I just keep clinging to His character, so often imagining myself sitting at His feet like Mary, listening to His truth.

The church, however, has fallen from me. I have not returned to corporate worship or any religious gathering in a group. I want to, but I’m afraid. The hurt I have experienced has broke me, and I’m not sure I could take anymore. I want my babies to be around the church. I want to return. I have just been unable to cross that divide. I listen to a church sermon every Sunday, I read the Bible for hours a day, and I spent countless hours in prayer and conversation with my Father, but I’m still licking my wounds. I’m just being honest. You guys know I’m a sensitive soul. My hurt still rears its ugly head almost daily, and I spend just as long laying it back down at the feet of Jesus.

Please pray for me, my friends. Pray that I will find healing, that I will be able to see that Jesus is the balm that covers my hurt. This I do know. I will never be the same. I will never again be the woman I was in 2019. And while that hurts, I am grateful that my eyes were opened to the insincerity of my fellow man.

It’s hard for me to even write this, as I know there are people who will judge me for it, assuming I’m “woke,” progressive, or even worse (LOL), liberal. They’ll pray for me that God open my eyes to the evil of this world, never seeing the evil in their own hearts and actions.

I do find solace (of this world) in the fact that I am not alone in my feelings. There are other Christian, lovers of Jesus, who want to love like Him, not just like the church club says. It helps to hear their hearts that mirror my own. Beth Moore, Skye Jethani, Greg Boyd, Phil Vischer, David French, Russell Moore. Organizations like Women of Welcome, Faith and Prejudice, The Lincoln Project. Personal friends (that I will leave unnamed) who I reach out to with my frustrations and hurt. Thank you. And most importantly, the amazing spouse the Lord has given me. I was raised initially in an atheist household. He was raised quite the opposite, not allowed to watch the (demonic) Smurfs or He-Man growing up. Together we have found this loving Jesus who healed our brokenness, forgave our sinfulness, carried us through addiction, and leads us even now. Because of Him, we are forever changed. Because of Him, we are encouraged to love like He does. Sadly, I’ve discovered that radical love like Jesus doesn’t always sit well with the religious. It didn’t in His day, and it doesn’t in ours either.

I’m not sure what this post is supposed to be about. It seems like I simply vomited my feelings into words, but trust me, you have no idea how much of my gorge I’m holding back and swallowing down. Perhaps for another day. Or, perhaps I will take my baby chicks under my wings and disappear from the grid of public opinion. I suppose only time will tell.

I Cried in the Shower Today

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Have you ever cried so hard it hurts? I’m talking about that deep burn in your throat that reaches all the way to your heart and back, only finding escape from the flames via hot, molten tears. That was me, sitting in my shower, somehow enjoying the emotion, yet begging it to simmer down before I hyperventilated. The last thing I needed was my husband to run into the bathroom, following an echoing thump, and find me slumped naked in the billowing steam. So, I tried to qualm my cries, yet the overflow of emotion erupted again, a fresh cascade of tears across my already wet face.

We had recently gone to a child’s birthday party, and I guess that’s where the story of tears started. My daughters were excited to see an old friend, and even opted to miss dance and voice lessons for the occasion. We had shopped excitedly for a present, each child contributing to the basket before making a final selection. They had chosen the outfits they would wear, and had asked me each and every day leading up to the event, “how much longer until the party?”

So, what happened?!

We had arrived to the gathering a little after its commencement, and already swarms of girls and boys bolted along the sandy beachfront. The birthday girl came running towards my oldest, screeching her name with excitement, enveloping her in a hug.

And my girl stood there awkwardly stiff, having trouble accepting the embrace. I heard Stephanie Tanner in my head proclaim, “how rude!”

Our awkward entrance continued. I looked around at my girls standing on the periphery of the group, looking shy, uncertain, and uncomfortable.

I encouraged them to “go and play.”

Yet, they kept coming back, and sitting on the outskirts, as if unsure of exactly how to go play. It didn’t make sense. These were their friends, and sure there were lots of other children they didn’t know, but my childhood wallflower self silently screamed, “go, be a part of the group!”

Yep, I had been that awkward kid in school, unsure how to act in social settings, sitting on the outside looking in. I had always done better one on one, a single bestie, and that trend had followed me my whole life.

“It’s Covid,” I thought.

Over a year of telling your children to stay away from other kids had surely stunted their social growth I hypothesized, and while I’m sure that’s true, it didn’t explain the fact that my tween had refused to bring her swimsuit, refused to wear shorts, and I had to buy her a baseball cap just to keep her from wearing a winter boggin pulled down over her head. Was that just a phase? Y’all, parenting is hard.

She had headphones in her ears, so she wouldn’t have to listen to the voices of others, and sunglasses because the sun hurt her vampire eyes. I’m sure it had nothing to do with being holed up in her dark room most of the time (insert tired mommy sigh).

I texted my spouse, “our kids have no idea how to act in a large group.”

I was questioning my own parenting skills, imagining all the ways I was messing up my kiddos, and trying not to worry I might be creating an ax murderer. Just kidding. Kinda.

My husband quickly replied, “uhhh, neither do their parents.”

Oh Lord, my husband and I were closet introverts. We loved people, and even flourished in one on one relationships, but put us in a group setting, and our left eye started to twitch. We hated crowds and avoided going places on weekends like the plague. We were happy to sit at home, and neither of us had the desire to go out with friends to blow off steam. We liked the bed, dinner and a movie, quiet time, and no expectations. His words made sense.

But still, I worried about my babies.

And that’s what I talked to God about in the shower. I handed Him my worries and my babies, listening to the counsel of the Holy Spirit. At some point in our conversation He brought me a vision of a flower in a field. Like the sunflowers we had grown last year, this flower tilted its head towards the light, and the light shown on its face, giving it new life.

The sun set and darkness surrounded the solitary plant. From above came a thermal blanket, like the kind a gardener would use to protect his prize winning roses from a spring frost. I knew at that moment, that was how God covered me and my family.

Each flower in His garden was unique, each created and cultivated to be its own creation, for His glory and kingdom purposes. His light illuminated and fed each one as it turned its face to Him, and He protected them from dark and cold places.

I felt the Lord speak to me, “nothing is by accident. I created each of your children according to my giftings. Nothing can take away from that. Nor does it need to be.”

I recognized that perhaps my children were different than the average child. Each one had nuances, sensitivities, or gifts that made them unique. I had grown up feeling like a square peg, longing to fit into a world I couldn’t seem to become comfortable being a part of. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized God created me square, with a square hole in mind for me. After all, squares make the best block for building God’s Kingdom. I wanted my girls to feel alive and beautiful in their uniqueness, and I realized that started with me not expecting them to fit into standard social norms. They were created for more than that. I didn’t need to worry so much as trust. And while there was nothing wrong with noticing peculiarities, or even learning more about those particular social styles, making a diagnosis or treatment plan if necessary, the bottom line was they were beautiful flowers in God’s garden, perfect in their specific design. Even if that made group events a little cringe worthy.

So, why did I cry? Gratitude, I suppose. What the world calls wounded, God calls blessed. What society would view as imperfect, He sets apart. And best of all, His light and love never fail. His covering persists, through every season, even the ones of drought and doubt. I’m still growing. My girls are too. I suppose, sometimes it’s the tears of gratefulness and joy that water the soil best.

The Offense of Being Offended as a Christian

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Have you ever been forced to be around someone you don’t like? If you’re a responsible adult, in a work setting, then the answer is probably yes. You can break off an abusive, long term relationship, ignore your in-laws, or cut ties with a toxic friend, but leaving a great job because of an annoying coworker isn’t always economically feasible, and I’ve found myself in this situation lately.

Have you ever been so irked by an itchy personality that you imagine yourself throttling that person? I know, not very Christ-like, but let’s be honest; we’ve all been there once or twice. Some people can just be so different from us, and it’s like they know all the wrong buttons to push! This was what happened to me.

This lady was so prideful. I remember Southern ladies describing it as, “she thinks her sh*t don’t stink.” And that seemed like a pretty good description of this situation. The woman I’m referring to thought she was always right, everyone else was always wrong, and her way of doing things was the only way. It doesn’t make for a conducive workspace.

One morning, I had just sat down booting up my computer with another scheduled, early-arriving coworker, when she walked in. She wasn’t supposed to arrive for another hour! I thought I had time to drink my coffee and get my heart and mind in the right place for her abrasive personality, yet there she was.

“What are you doing here so early?” I asked, even as my mind wondered if she was just checking to make sure we came to work on time in an environment without a time clock to keep us honest.

And so it began. She started droning on about the changes she was instituting for the workplace (as the most senior person in our office), and about all the things we were all doing wrong that she could improve upon.

Y’all, it flew all over me. I had spent the past couple of days she’d been off cleaning up her messes and mistakes! My work-plate had been overflowing thanks to her missed steps, and it made my blood want to boil at her audacity to suggest anyone else was the problem!

The thing was, I wasn’t the only one! Everyone in the office felt the same as me. They were fed up with her constant slacking of job duties, but even more so with her attitude that suggested otherwise. Grrr. It made us all crazy. In fact, when she wasn’t around we talked about how insane she made us all feel. We laughed at her expense, and made jokes about her holier-than-though attitude. It somehow made me feel better, you know?

After a full day of hard work, also filled with plenty of gossip about my troublesome coworker, I drove home and started feeling conviction. I knew it wasn’t right. Not any of it. Not my anger, not my judgement. I shouldn’t be making jokes at her expense, ridiculing her behavior with others, or gossiping period. I confessed of my behavior and asked the Lord to change my heart. Man, it is so easy to fall into sin, and fall away from the heart of God! I asked Him to give me His heart towards this problematic coworker, to help me see her with His eyes. That’s a tough sale, guys, cause when you do that, you no longer want to dislike a person for their erroneous behavior; you want to embrace them in their brokenness. Have you ever realized we’re all the same in that we’re not yet whole?

The next time I worked with this person, it was great! I told my husband it had to be the Holy Spirit. I usually grew angry at her pride and easily offended when her comments suggested I was less of a good worker than she. Because really, isn’t that what these situations really come down to most of the time? Personal offense? But on this day, I took no offense, and we got along swimmingly. I left the office lighter, in a better mood, because instead of feeling angry, I felt peace.

Have you ever noticed how off your behavior is when you’re angry? It’s the opposite of the fruits of the spirit. Instead of peace, we feel unease. Instead of joy, we feel rage. Instead of patience, we feel frustration. Instead of kindness, we feel vengeance. And most importantly, instead of love, we feel the opposite! If God is love, what is the opposite of love? Well, I can tell you, it’s not of God.

The thing is, many times when we feel offended, it’s selfishness. Instead of service, like Jesus modeled, we have placed ourselves to be served. By assuming our desires, opinions, or even our life, are more important than a brother/sister, we are elevating ourselves, which never pans out well in the Kingdom of God. In the Kingdom way, we are asked by Jesus to lay down our lives, to take up His cross, and to put on His yoke. Cause, you see, any other yoke is one of slavery. Slavery to anger, pride, selfish action, and again, the opposite of God’s essence, love. It turns out, His yoke, His way, is easy. That’s why after being a slave to offense, we feel terrible, but after being a slave (servant) to love, we feel amazing. I don’t think we always realize why we’re feeling so bad. We think it’s because of other people’s actions, but I would suggest, perhaps it’s our own hearts causing us harm.

When that person passes you in traffic haphazardly or cuts you in line! Arghh!

Remember justice is His. He will lift you up. Ask yourself these heart questions. What makes our time more valuable than that of another? What ranking does this particular offense hold in light of eternity? Does our response negatively affect our heart, and does it display the light of the One we claim to love? Are we reflecting Jesus to a lost and hurting world? This is something I desire more than anything.

When someone disagrees with something that is very important to us, it’s hard. When someone maliciously hurts us, it’s even harder. It’s crazy hard to lay down the desire to be right, the desire to be vindicated, and the desire to be esteemed, but as a Christian, that is what we are called to. We are asked to humble ourselves, to lay down our swords, and to serve in love. I still find myself in this crazy world, getting offended, but I try to not let that offense rule me, define me, or steer my actions. I’ve found that the true offense to being offended isn’t against the one I perceive as the offender, but rather it ends up being an offense to my own heart and the spirit God has given me. And who wants that!

Is Your Christianity a Slogan or a Lifestyle?

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This morning on the way to work a beautiful worship song came on. The lyrics were simple, yet the weight of the words on my heart was anything but. Tears came to my eyes, overcome, I prayed in the Spirit. As I prayed, I saw a vision.

A faceless person in a riverbed, the water rising and rushing past. The current raised above the person’s head, until they bobbled along, treading water, while lifting their mouth and nose to the sky to suck in much needed breath. Just when it seemed to be too much, the waters receded, and what was left was a person glimmering. Little sparkles of light emanating from their body.

I felt the Lord speak to my heart, “my Spirit is like a rushing river, flooding your soul. Much like my consuming fire, my living water engulfs those who thirst for it. The engulfing process isn’t easy; it feels like you will drown. But in the end, you can shine my glory to the world.”

I thought of my own life. Now, I’m certainly not gleaming! I don’t sparkle like a character from the Twilight series. But I do desire my life to shine the light of God’s love, for His glory to be evident in my life. And over the past few years, drawing closer to the Lord, asking for His Spirit and Truth, I had felt the distress of going under. When the thoughts you’ve always held are challenged, it’s kinda painful. I mean, it’s much easier to stay put on comfortable dry land, secure in the mindset you’ve always known. But is that what God has for us?

I’ll never presume to tell someone how their relationship with Jesus should go, but for myself, I wanted more! He says, “my thoughts are not your thoughts,” but I didn’t want to completely throw my hands up for knowing His heart. I dove into scripture, and I encountered a Savior who started to make me question the status quo. I looked at the behavior of Jesus, and then I held that up to the behavior of us all as followers of His way. It’s not to say I expected anyone (especially me) to reach this level Christ had, but I did recall Him saying “we could be perfect since He is perfect.” And right before these words, He had been speaking of His love. Therefore, I set out to emulate His teachings. Kinda like the old, WWJD, but a lifestyle rather than a marketed slogan.

Now, let me tell you, when you start questioning behavior of the church in relation to Christ’s teachings, you really piss people off. And nothing made the situation more convoluted than American politics. Did anyone ever wonder if the politicians were playing us?!

Your faith is called into question if you can’t actively support immoral behavior in leadership, a heretic for suggesting we separate our political leanings from our serving Jesus (since conservative candidates don’t automatically equal Christ-like), and a liberal for caring about the lives of immigrants or LGBTQIA. It hurts my heart that our Christianity is important enough to impact our political leanings, but not important enough that we demand moral behavior of our leaders. Or that we demand moral behaviors of those outside of the church, but not of ourselves. It’s as if suggesting God loves the sinner, the citizens of countries other than America, or justice and real equality for all is needed, it makes you a trader to Christianity.

The problem was, the disconnect between the average American Christian’s belief system versus the life of Jesus. I mean, we all agreed He was our Savior, but when it came to how we should treat other people, it grew more gray. Even though He tells us the most important commandment. To love the Lord your God with all your heart, and to love others as yourself. To even love our enemy!

You can hold a Bible in the air for a camera all you want, but if you’re going to put the name “Christ,” in your label of belief (Christian), shouldn’t you maybe try and do what He said? And didn’t Jesus say we’d know God by knowing Him? And didn’t He also say, by your fruit they will know you are mine? So, isn’t a huge part of our faith knowing His character and then displaying that for others so they can know it too?!

It’s like, shortly after the formation of the original church (set forth by Jesus), we started inserting our own ideas of how it should go. Many of the letters from Paul to the early church address this. This desire to keep following the law when Christ had abolished our chains to this harsh system we could never achieve. Yet even today, we expect certain boxes to be checked, certain sins to be avoided (while others are ignored), certain sides to stay firmly on in regards to particular platforms, and certain candidates to vote for cause they’re standing on that particular sideline. Whether they’re wearing sheep’s clothing doesn’t matter when you place more weight on culture than Christ.

To question these things isn’t looked upon well, but should we not always be evaluating our heart motives to God’s heart? If we want to claim a religion that follows Jesus, shouldn’t we love as He loves? Shouldn’t we walk in empathy for others? Should we not care for those who need us? There are so many scriptures on this, so why aren’t we giving up “our cloak as well?”

Why do we focus on things of this world, when the Lord calls us to focus on Heavenly things? Why do we worry about what we will eat, or put our surplus in stores for it to rust?

When did we forget salt and light means showing the love of Jesus, not placing ourselves on a pedestal?

When did we mistake the call of Christians to serve others as a decision to only look out for our own?

I could go on and on. Remember when I said I definitely don’t gleam? It’s true. I’m just a work in progress, much like we all are, but I desire to shine with His glory! Not because I must do it to gain His love, but I want to do it because of His love freely given. This love that He asks us to freely give also. It’s hard, y’all. It’s hard to lay down pride, to lay down judgment, and to lay down offense. It’s a daily surrender, but I would encourage anyone, who wants to be engulfed by His Spirit, to seek Him. Read the words in red, the words of Jesus, and ask yourself in all humility if your Christianity is simply a slogan, or is it a lifestyle.

How to Survive Raising Tweens

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I was driving home from work when suddenly my message notifications chimed, and stamped across the screen I saw the words, “I wish I had Wifi so you could come get me.”

At the stoplight I read the messages that followed:

“Mom I feel uncomfortable here I want to go home”

“I’m scared of all these people.”

My heart did that Momma dip, where it falls from your chest, into your stomach, with the weight of concern for your child. I quickly realized she could have typed these words hours ago, anytime really, over the last 8 hours. My eleven year old didn’t have a phone of her own, but I sometimes let her borrow my old one. With it, she could message me at work through a child’s messaging app, if Wifi was available. That day, I knew she had taken my phone to an acting class she attended, so she could video a musical number they were performing.

My only thought (after the jumble of cryptically delayed pleas) was, oh, dear… What happened?!

Y’all, they had been mean to her! Some kids in this class had ganged together and made fun of her. The song they had chosen for their mock music video had cursing, and Chloe had decided she wasn’t going to lip sync the curse words like they wanted. She sat the video out! Then, I discovered, as some of her classmates (many older, since the class wasn’t divided by age groups) had been using cuss words in their regular conversations, she asked them to stop. Even going so far as to ask the teacher to tell the group to stop cussing.

Ouch.

My teen years flew through my mind.

Now, let me just say, we’ve explained to our children that this world contains all different types of people, and they are all precious in the eyes of God. We’ve explained that different families have different values, and just because our family chooses not to do, for our own reasons, certain things, that doesn’t mean it’s bad for other families. They understand that they may not see alcohol in their parent’s hands or hear curses from our mouths (except for the occasional slip, wink, wink), but that doesn’t mean people who choose to do differently are bad, or more importantly, that we are morally better.

We have explained these things, but still, I suppose since she doesn’t hear them from home, it makes her uncomfortable. And she let that be known. And some kids bullied her for it. And… it hurt my momma heart for her. Sigh.

I remember being the different kid in school. The weirdo, the outcast, the subject of much bullying. I never wanted that for my babies. I didn’t want them to experience being the outcast, at a young and emotional age, when self worth was still emerging, but more than that I didn’t want them to feel pressured to try and fit in with the “cool kids.” I had experienced that rollercoaster growing up too. So, it’s like, I was proud of her for being different, and for sticking to her principles, but it also hurt me that she had to experience the ridicule of it.

“It makes me not want to talk to anybody outside of my family,” she had confessed during our conversation.

I could understand that. There were mean people in this world. As a homeschooled kid, only ever being around cousins, church friends, or in Christian Co-op classes, she had not really had to face this yet. We talked a long time about the mean people out there, why they’re mean, and how we love them anyway. We talked about how despite the mean people, you still sought the kind ones, because they were out there too, and friendships of that caliber were worth digging for. I think she got it.

In a way, it was really good for her to experience life outside our safe bubble, something I knew she needed. Yet still, my mommy heart worried. As we laid in bed later that night, saying our prayers together, it struck me…

God was listening!

I mean, of course He was listening. I knew that! But the events of the day reminded me on a deeper level of His hand in the life of my children. Every single day I prayed for my babies. I prayed for God to protect them and keep them healthy, of course, but I also prayed for their relationship with Him. Every night we prayed together that they would hear God’s voice and feel His presence. That they would know they’re never alone. As Chloe grew older I prayed the Lord would guide her, give her wisdom and discernment for His will. I prayed for God to give me and my husband those things as we attempt to parent well.

God was listening. He was answering our prayers, and His Holy Spirit led her each day.

Y’all, this gave me great comfort. I guess my heart will still worry for her feelings, and my mind will still become anxious over how she will transverse this world with all its many different people, but I will also have peace knowing we are not alone in parenting our daughters. Even throughout the emotional tween years, and later the crazy teen years (I’ll probably need to re-read this post at that point). And with His Shalom Peace I can survive this parenting journey.

It’s hard not to worry for your children as a Christian parent. You know that their still-developing, immature mind cannot grasp the truth of the spiritual matters that give you peace. They’re not there yet. But then I’m reminded that God is still present, walking them through their budding relationship with Him. I think of John the Baptist, leaping with the joy of the Holy Spirit, while still in His mother’s womb, and I understand that same Spirit is with my babies too. Today, I’ll take it. And I’ll take it tomorrow. I’ll take all the help I can get as I learn more how to parent each and every day.

Did You Know This About Your Husband?!

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I was mopping the bedroom floor with our brand new mop. Man, it was so dusty in there! I’ll start by saying, I was the first one to use this mop. I bought it two weeks ago, and when I pulled it out this morning my husband exclaimed with surprise, “I forgot all about you getting that!”

That kinda sets the theme for this story, y’all.

Back to the bedroom, it was so dusty because my husband rarely did the floors in there. Important to mention, at this point, is the fact my husband sweeps the living room and kitchen floors every single day. We have three children under eleven in the home, all day every day. He homeschools them. They eat about a billion meals a day at the bar, dropping a tsunami of enough crumbs to feed the state of Rhode Island. He does plenty of housekeeping. Remembering this as I mopped our dusty bedroom tile helped me mop with a happy pace rather than the rage against the housework moms can get while they pick up after other people. I mean, seriously, no one executed tasks like a woman!

As I went about my mopping my mind zigzagged through an off-day to-do list as it usually does. You know what I’m talking about, ladies. You have this one day, and you have a list of things you want to complete. The only question is, what gets crossed off and what gets moved to the next day.

Toilet paper, my brain shouted, like a dog who sees a squirrel. We needed it. I’d have to go get it. Why hadn’t my husband offered to go get it?! He knew I worked tomorrow. He knew I hated running errands on my last day off!

Like I had shot a mental arrow, he appeared through the doorway. “Babe, stop. You gotta work tomorrow. You need to chill.”

“That reminds me,” I replied, “I was wondering if you could go get some toilet paper from the store for us? I have been to the store the past two days, and my goal is to not leave the house today.”

“You betcha,” he replied happily. “I forgot we needed some.”

As I finished the last section of tile, already looking forward to reading a book in my favorite corner, I laughed to myself about men and women. In case you haven’t figured it out, we are way different. The problem came when we, as women, assume our men should be like us.

I remember it took me some time being married to learn this truth. Men do not think like women. Not at all. I know there are exceptions to all rules, so to speak, but for the most part, women are better at task completion and multitasking. Sorry, fellas, who may have gotten this far, if you’re offended, but this is how we ladies see it. Lol. We remember the things. We lay in bed at night thinking about the things. Meanwhile, hubby is snoring softly. Know what I’m saying? Point is, women remember things like needing toilet paper, sweeping dust bunnies out of the corner, or calling the cable company about last month’s bill.

I’m not sure why our brain, for the most part, works so differently from our male counterparts, but knowing my Heavenly Father like I do, I know it’s with good reason. I think of my tendency to sweat the small stuff, and how my husband’s chill and nonchalant manner, while sometimes exasperating to me, also helps to keep me anchored towards a kingdom mindset. When my anxious thoughts of things of this world want to run rampant, my spouse is the steady buoy of my mental storm. He’s the steady truth to my sometimes cray-cray, so if he forgets to try out the new mop, he’s forgiven.

One key I’ve found to a happy marriage is not expecting my husband to be like me or to be who I think he should be. He is who God made him to be. In times past, when those differences have been bothersome, I either pray to the One who can change a man’s heart better than me, or I have responded to my husband with love, patience, and understanding. In turn, he responds to me in love and service. Plus, I try and remind myself what’s really important in the long term. Is it a healthy relationship with the man I love or a ball of dirty socks in the floor? Is it always being right, or being humble and happy?

Every day in a relationship we are faced with how we will respond to the action (or lack thereof) by our partner. Yes, there are big issues that warrant discussion! But there are hundreds of tiny, insignificant matters that must be recognized as such so they don’t build up and become big issues. Often when faced with a small nuisance, I can combat that by recognizing my own faults and remembering the many, beautiful sacrifices my partner makes in our relationship.

He’s not like me. He doesn’t think like me. But that’s ok. He loves me. He loves me more than I’ve ever been loved. He takes such good care of me! He protects me, and he would lay down his life for me. If I ask, he does it. He waits on me hand and foot. Y’all, I’m blessed with what I consider to be the best husband and father to my children in the world. If I need to remind him we’re out of toilet paper, so be it. Plus, would I really want to be married to the male version of me?!

Have You Accepted It?

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Grace. That’s what we’re going to talk about today. We’ve all heard of it, and if you’re a believer in Jesus, then you have accepted His grace over your life. Or rather, we should.

I wonder sometimes how much we have truly accepted His grace, His forgiveness, that covering that rescues us from death, while simultaneously giving us new life. That’s the kicker, you know. New life! His Kingdom, His will. On earth as it is in Heaven.

As I continue on my journey on earth, drawing closer to Christ, my “work in progress” as I call it, I continue to pick up knowledge and maturity for my walk. I’m discovering how I can live a new life, with a kingdom view, where I try and carry the fruits of His Spirit as I abide in Him.

Wow, that sounds like a lot. So, let’s try and make it simple. Dumb it down, if you will. I’ve always been a fan of the For Dummies books. Maybe we could call this Grace for Dummies, and I mean that in the most loving way possible. I’ll admit I’m the biggest Dummy when it comes to matters of infinite importance, but hopefully by humbling myself to the fact that I don’t know it all, I can grow a bit smarter, if you will, every day.

I started my journey by reading the Bible every day, and in following the teachings of Jesus, and the wisdom of New Testament authors, along with the Holy Spirit’s guidance, I have started to see some things more clearly. Like, grace, for example.

Grace is given freely. It’s a gift to the undeserving (us), and it’s not because of anything we’ve done, so no one can boast about earning it (Ephesians 2: 8-9).

How can you tell you’ve accepted a gift? Like, truly accepted it? I don’t mean like when a coworker gives you something at a work party you’ll never use, but you thank them kindly, and later put it in a box in your closet to forget about. I’m talking about the kind of gift that changes your life.

Y’all, we recently bought large, long shelves for our garage, and they are awesome. They allowed me to organize all the Christmas decor I bought, that I really didn’t need, and I was able to look at my newly neat garage without my left eye twitching. I could easily say those shelves are life-changing. At least in the world of my little garage. So, when I talk about grace, and how it changes you, I’m referring to what the recognition of grace in your life does to transform how you see others.

Accepting the gift of grace should change you.

It changes how you see yourself (hopefully, forgiven and worthy), how you see others (also worthy of the Father’s love), and how you see the world (as a temporal venue, with eternal souls walking around in need).

Think on that for a bit.

When someone hurts you, do you harbor a grudge? Hey, I get it! When someone hurts me or makes me mad, I stew about it for a while. But what I try to do is extend grace. It’s a daily thing, but when I find myself reliving my anger towards someone (and thereby giving it power to negatively affect me), I am quick to remember His great grace. I surrender my anger and offense to Jesus, and I remember the mistakes and sins He has died for on my behalf; then I extend grace.

Freely given. And now may we freely receive.

I look around at the world and the reactions of the humans around me. I wonder, do some react in rage and vitriol because they haven’t truly accepted grace for themselves? You can’t give what you don’t have, right?

How many of us say we believe in forgiveness of our sins, yet on a deeper level see ourselves unworthy of entering His presence with peace and joy? Maybe we think we’re not holy enough, that our prayers can’t go high enough, or we’re withheld the blessing of God because of our actions. In that case, we’re living by the law, and the fact we can never adhere to it fully. We will never achieve that level of righteousness on our own.

Through Jesus, we can, though. We can be perfect because He is perfect. That’s a hard concept to grasp. It’s not that we’re claiming perfection on our own merit, but rather through walking and abiding in His perfect presence and great grace. We become one with Him. Imagine if you held two fingers together and they fused into one piece of flesh. He in us, us in Him, together with the Father in Heaven. Yes, I know, this is cosmic stuff, but it’s also Biblical. Through Him and in Him we have our being, our new life, and the fruits of our life should reflect that.

We forgive because we are forgiven.

We are supposed to be the salt of the earth, but we have lost our saltiness when we give off a sour taste by our actions of anger, malice, and judgement. When we walk in peace, love, gentleness, and meekness, we are exercising grace.

We have one enemy, the evil one, and towards one another (regardless of political leaning, skin color, nationality, or status) we should be walking as one who has accepted grace. We have been freely given His grace, and now we should model that grace to others, thereby showing the light of His love.

So, today’s homework is this. Ask yourself, “am I forgiven?” Believe that you are. Think of the worst thing you’ve ever done. Accept that great grace covers that. Then, approach every person and situation with that in the back of your mind. Humble yourself. Remember that pointing out the shortcomings of someone else doesn’t make your own sin disappear. Only His bloody grace does that. And only His grace can do it for others! But the application of that grace begins with us. We are coworkers with Christ, given authority here on earth to lead the lost to the shepherd. We will never lead them by condemnation, but we will point them to forgiveness by grace through our love. But without it, we are just a clanging symbol.

The Look

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I laid out in my lounger float in the pool today reading a novel, and if what you do on NYE has any indication of what the year ahead holds, I’m good with it. But anyway, at one point I went inside to refill my water. My husband sat at his computer, and I went over to deposit a kiss on his lips. Afterwards, he looked up at me, and y’all. I wish I had photographic evidence of those eyes, but the best I can do is burn the image into my brain. I’m not sure what it is about this man, but his eyes talk. They always have.

His eyes are like a book, or a window into the soul. With a gaze he can proclaim strong words even though they aren’t verbally spoken. I mean, if his eyes were a movie screen, the title that flashed up at that moment would have stated, “I love you.”

See, though, that doesn’t even convey. His eyes said the three, simple words, but they somehow said more. They said it way better than a phrase could utter.

Then he said the words, a confirmation of what his beautiful brown eyes had already proclaimed so loudly. A confirmation I didn’t require, but some good cement anyhow. My heart smiled.

“I love you too,” I said out loud, wondering if my soul-windows carried even half the weight of his own.

I took the vision of “the look” back to my pool lounger (since I couldn’t stand there staring at him googly-eyed all afternoon), and I floated along in my pool of chlorinated water and love-soaked emotion. I might as well have been on a cloud.

I had been reading a novel about a woman unfulfilled. Married to the father of her children, and the daughters now off to college, she felt empty inside. It made me sad that love could fade with time, and even though the book was a work of fiction, I knew plenty of people who could call it their memoir.

As I floated along, book turned over on my bare belly, marking the page to which I’d return, I thought about how easy it could be to neglect the flame. I’d been working a lot more while orienting to a new job. The holidays had rushed by, preceded by the busy work of setting up a new house to call home. I knew it took intention to keep anything going, be it a hobby you enjoyed or a relationship you adored.

This morning I had read a verse in the Bible that said, “for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also (Matthew 6:21).

Jesus was talking about finances, mostly, but I think the wisdom could go for relationships also. Where we devote our time, we see our passions. We invest into what we hold dear, and the things we hold like treasure, are the things we love the most. The verses right after happen to talk about the eyes being the lamp to the body (fitting, I know), and it says if your eyes are generous, then your body is full of light. If not, they are full of darkness. I just knew that when Ben looked at me, he was generous with his love. I could see the light of that love. And I never wanted to not see that!

I prayed, and I also reminded myself to be intentional in my marriage. To continue to store up treasure in my marriage, so that my heart would always follow. To be generous with my love, so much that it shone out the lamp of my body, and my spouse would know what mattered to my heart. I wanted each passing year for my marriage to remain strong, for the fire to keep burning, and for my husband’s eyes to never stop proclaiming loudly the love he felt for me.

Happy New Years, guys!

How Christians Should Be Responding to Kyle Rittenhouse and Such

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I can’t tell you how many times over the past month or so I’ve seen a controversy come across my social media feed and been disgusted. I’ve had thoughts, so many thoughts, but other than discussing them with my husband, I’ve mostly pushed them aside. And I certainly haven’t blogged about them. It’s felt pointless, straddling on hopeless, and I suppose the depressing thought of that has for the most part caused me to crawl into a hole when it comes to sharing my opinion on political/religious matters.

This morning I received an email from a pastor/reader of my posts. Thank you, sir. Your encouragement and comments of camaraderie were a blessing to me. It’s nice to remember I’m not alone in my feelings of sadness for the direction the church has taken. And while disappointing overall, it’s also encouraging to know I’m not the only lover of Jesus who has been attacked or vilified when suggesting we as followers of Christ should carry ourselves in a manner that models our Savior. Yes, I’ve been discouraged to share, even though my words are ones of love, because it’s exhausting to share what you deeply believe is true, in a spirit of kindness, and be met with jeers and laughter from your Christian brothers or sisters. Yet, isn’t that what Jesus did? Despite the angry voices, He pressed forward. When called a blasphemer, He held His tongue. Instead of going with popular opinion of religion at the time, He spoke about things like drinking His blood and eating His flesh. He knew He would lose followers, but He had no choice but to share the truth.

Now, first off, I’m in no way comparing myself to Jesus. Not at all! But I do pay close attention to His behavior. Every day when I read the Bible I absorb His Way. My goal in this life is to be His disciple. Not because I must do this for salvation! His grace is enough. I strive to be a good disciple because I love Him. With that in mind, I follow His example as much as I can. For today, that means speaking truth even when it hurts my feelings and heart at the reception of my words by some Christians. But again, the church leaders of Christ’s time didn’t like being told they were wrong either.

Big news was released today concerning Kyle Rittenhouse, and while this is a very deep subject that sheds a sad light on the inadequacy of our systems, I won’t go into every aspect of the case. As a human, I believe inequality could easily be witnessed in the proceedings, but I only want to touch on a small slice of this pie. That piece is how we as Christians should be responding to situations like this. I don’t care how those who don’t follow Jesus are talking about this case. I mean, I do, but it doesn’t bother me as much as fellow Christians speaking erroneously on earthly matters. Because our words impact Kingdom Matters. Allow me to explain.

As a proclaimed Christian we must understand we are representing Christ. When our words and actions thereafter don’t consistently speak love, we are misrepresenting our Lord. Jesus told His disciples that people would know they followed Him because of their love. We cannot forget that most important commandment, and when we do, we are a stumbling block to the salvation of others.

For example, we cannot say we are Christians, aka, followers of Christ, but then put a bumper sticker on our truck that proclaims, “let’s go, Brandon.”

We cannot choose to say a young man who killed people is a “hero.” We can’t celebrate the very poor decision of a immature mind to take a weapon across state lines to a civil unrest situation.

I mean, we can, but we shouldn’t.

We have to stop “taking sides” based on politics and understand that as followers of Jesus, the only side is love. We have to stop basing our opinions and decisions on our political platforms. When we do this, a sad situation where poor decisions were made becomes more about gun rights than it does the pointless death of fellow humans made in the image of the God we serve. We end up seeing rioters through the human eyes of destruction of property rather than empathetic eyes that try and see how a person can be pushed to make a big demonstration to get the desired results.

It seems like, to me, when I read the life of Jesus, I see a man who was without sin, yet He tried to sacrifice, serve, and love those who did sin. He saw to the heart of why the woman at the well did what she did. He loved her there. That love brought her out of her pit. He knew how to understand pain, and how to help others walk out of that pain. He never told someone, “that happened, like, a hundred years ago. Why are you still mad?!”

He was totally selfless! When something was an inconvenience to Him (like hoards of people following Him when He was just trying to grieve the murder of His cousin, John), He didn’t respond with anger. He didn’t say, “you should have thought to pack your lunch for a desert trek!”

The scripture says, “He had compassion on them.”

Despite His pain, He fed them.

He didn’t tell the woman with the blood condition He was busy with another ministry. He didn’t get angry when she touched His garment without asking. He didn’t worry that the crowd He fed would become dependent on Him for their fish and bread. He saw the pain on Martha’s face and brought her brother back to her, even though He knew the eternity that awaited him. Yes, He did it to lead others to the Father, but He also had compassion. He always had compassion. We are lacking in compassion, and our behavior isn’t bringing anyone to the Father.

We have confused our relationship with Christ with our political affiliations. We have assumed that Christianity and political platforms go hand in hand, but this is causing us to ostracize the people Jesus has called us to love and serve. We have taken a very fleshly stand and it’s having Kingdom repercussions. So, people who would benefit from the love of Christ, are instead being branded the enemy. We have taken a divisive stand rather than a servant heart. When we do this, we make a hero out of a confused boy, and a villain out of a president.

In fact, we laugh at chants of “f*€k Biden,” and we smirk at hateful rants. A political leader (if they’re on your particular side) can share a cartoon of themselves murdering their political opponents with a samurai sword, and we can say, “he didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a joke.”

Because, see, hurtful jokes become ok. Jeers, sarcasm, hatred, bigotry, selfishness, and greed become something we celebrate, and in fact, elect to office. We don’t want a Savior like Jesus anymore. We want a warrior who will annihilate our enemies (if memory serves, that’s what the disciples originally wanted Jesus to do too, yet that wasn’t His way.) How in the world we came to a place where this seems the way of Jesus is beyond me! The only thing I can figure out is people must not be reading their Bibles. I guess they’re simply listening to TikTok videos or their favorite news channel for their beliefs on life.

And that’s fine! If you want to be hateful and selfish, that’s your right. God has given us free will. My problem is when you give yourself the label of Christian, yet forget it means you are a disciple of His way. Not the way of Republicans, Fox News, or Breitbart. If you’re going to use the family name, you have to uphold the stellar reputation set by a man who told His bodyguard Peter to put down the sword. And then He put His abductor and murderer’s ear back on!

This country has become very divisive, but we can never put things back together by choosing sides. Instead we as Christians must understand when to surrender. We have to surrender our earthly ideals to His vision for the Church. We have to understand that servanthood is what He calls us to. We have to remember that the fruits of the Spirit are what we must bear, according to scripture, and that it says very little about bearing arms, unless it’s to lay them down, turn our cheeks, or “forgive them” when they know not what they’re doing.

We have a responsibility as Christians to respond to earthly and political matters in a certain way, and it’s not to “stand our ground” and protect our freedoms or rights here on earth. Our responsibility is to the Kingdom of Heaven and building that Kingdom. The Kingdom isn’t built by politicians, but rather built by love, by healing, and by repentance. Jesus showed us that healing, repentance, and eternal life did not come by earthly matters or the law, but through His sacrifice of love. Now our job, as disciples of Christ, is to show the way to eternal life and freedom from sin. Recently we’ve been pointing a path that while it will lead to religious accolades, will not necessarily lead people to Jesus. We have to work on this.