Sisters Arise!

Have you had an abortion?  If so, you are on my mind today.  Dear sister, you are one of the reasons I feel so compelled to speak out about what is happening in our nation regarding abortion.  Please bear with me as I sort through what I want to say.  I promise I will come back to you in a minute.

My heart is indeed heavy and I am so angry. 

Did you hear the news?  Yesterday an undercover video surfaced that was filmed in July 2014 by the Center for Medical Progress, an advocacy group that reports on medical ethics. They sent two actors posing as representatives of a human biologics company to a business lunch with Deborah Nucatola, Planned Parenthood’s senior director of medical services.

While sipping wine and enjoying a lovely salad, this woman spoke rather bluntly about Planned Parenthood’s business of selling body parts of aborted babies to the highest bidder.  She explains how with certain techniques, they can preserve and sell specific organs. 

Her words, “We’ve been very good at getting heart, lung, liver, because we know that, so I’m not gonna crush that part I’m gonna basically crush below, I’m gonna crush above, and I’m gonna see if I can get it all intact.”

“CRUSH”…..and God weeps.

I won’t share the video here, but feel free to google it – it’s easy to find.  I finally watched it this morning and I am still nauseated.  As Matt Walsh said yesterday in his column for The Blaze, you cannot be shocked.  Sick, disgusted, sad, heart-broken, but don’t you dare be shocked.  This should not surprise any of us and if it does, shame on us for not paying attention!

Planned Parenthood is the vilest agency in this world.  They rake in millions of dollars every year providing abortions to anyone and everyone they can.  Their hallmark motto is that they mainly provide birth control…..please tell me you don’t believe this lie.  They are lining their pockets with the blood of unborn children and the tears of women from every demographic and socio-economic background in this country.

There are countless videos on You Tube where you can witness their atrocities.  Planned Parenthood’s employees encourage young girls – LITTLE GIRLS – to abort their babies, sometimes without parental consent.  These employees stand by as sex traffickers bring their girls in for abortions and/or birth control pills.  They even counsel teenage girls about sexual prowess.  They despise ultrasounds and they balk when any form of regulation is mentioned by a politician or pro-lifer.  Why is that?  Why shouldn’t their regulations at minimum match that of a regular medical facility?  It’s ridiculous.  And the list goes on and on.

However, my point today is not about sharing heinous videos from You Tube or explaining in greater detail the evil that is Planned Parenthood.  Today I want to focus on the group of people who I believe can truly make the biggest difference in the pro-life cause. 

Mothers of aborted babies.

Christians and pro-lifers spend so much time denouncing the act of abortion – and rightly so – but I feel the mothers sometimes get lost in the rhetoric.  These are women who made a decision at one point in their lives to terminate their pregnancy.  Maybe now they have other kids.  Or maybe they were never able to conceive again.

But they get on Facebook and they read the commentaries of passionate pro-lifers, and while they might agree, perhaps they feel too shamed in their own regret and sadness to allow themselves an opinion. 

Yesterday the Huffington Post printed an article entitled, "95 percent of Women Do Not Regret Having an Abortion."  I read about 3 paragraphs and called it BS.  That is just another lie from Satan meant to ultimately shame the women who do feel the loss.  There is no way there’s not regret in the hearts of these women.  No way.  We can't sweep it under the rug and hope that time heals all wounds - it doesn't.  And these women deserve to grieve.  Stop telling them "everyone else" feels no guilt.  LIES! 

My heart is broken for these women and I have a message for them:

If you haven’t already, come to God and ask for forgiveness. And forgive yourself!  God is there for you. He offers forgiveness and asks that you speak on behalf of the ones who have been silenced.

Don't let your past stop you from protesting the most hideous act/law of our lifetime. 

There is No greater battle in our generation, yet half of us feel defeated because we are losing the inward battle of regret and depression. Not so. We are NOT defeated.

Don't be pro-choice because you made the wrong choice. Be pro-life because you have repented and understand the enormity of what is happening here. 

Do we vote the way we do because we feel hypocritical robbing other women of the choice we've already made? At what cost?  What did it cost you? Would you wish that pain upon your worst enemy?

Perhaps we have chosen the representatives and presidential candidates that make us feel better about our own choices. But stop it!!  Be honest.  It hurts doesn’t it?  It doesn’t go away. Millions of mothers are suffering the wrong decision of abortion. What if you could stop one woman from making that choice?

Before we can save millions of babies in this country we have to save the mommies who are making this choice. We have to talk about it - YOU have to talk about it.  

Yell. Scream. So that others would choose differently. Your wrong choice does not disqualify you from having an opinion. 

More than anyone - YOU MUST SPEAK LOUDEST.  Tell our daughters what you learned. Tell them how much it hurt and changed you. Share how it affected your marriage and your emotional well-being.

 

SPEAK SISTERS!

For a time is coming when it will be too late. If one bad choice is keeping you silent, I encourage you to repent and speak.

These broken women are amongst us. I promise you know at least one woman who has terminated a pregnancy. They are normal, loving mothers and daughters. Some of them love Jesus and serve Him. And they regret their mistake. It haunts them and they feel discredited.

 

But we need them to speak. We need to empower them and stand by them so they can testify. We cannot abide this heinous sin any longer.  They have a story to tell and we need to let them tell it without judgment or criticism.

 

So when you are commenting on Facebook, remember the silent women.  They agree with you and their hearts are broken.  Pray for them to find comfort and to find a voice. 

 

Friend, I love you and I am praying for you today.  I'm so sorry for the tone we sometimes have on the pro-life side.  We need to do better embracing the mothers whose babies are in Heaven.

                                                     
Today, I have made a choice.  I will speak.  I will loudly condemn abortion for the rest of my life and I will support and love women who's lives have been devastated.  Roe v. Wade made it legal, but it didn't make it right. 

Do you think God isn’t paying attention?  Do you think there is no curse in the money that is flowing into this agency?  YES, there is a curse!  Choose life or choose death.  When my money goes there, is that not choosing death? 

I will demand that my tax dollars STOP going to Planned Parenthood - a hard battle already being waged.  It seems insurmountable, but do I have the right to ask and beg that the federal funding stop?  I’m going to try.  We have to do something and now is the time.

A gay couple can sue a bakery because they won’t bake their wedding cake….why on earth can’t I protest my tax dollars funding abortions?  I can and I’m going to.

I took this step today, won't you join me?

http://www.texasrighttolife.com/legislative-blog/contactyourlegislator.asp

 

Life in the Desert

I have spent years trying to get out of the desert.  I can’t recall the exact moment I stepped into it, but in a way I feel I have never and perhaps will never leave the desert.

In January, 2000 Erik and I moved to Arizona with a 3-year-old and a newborn baby.  Erik had just graduated from Tech and took a job with Hicks & Ragland as a site acquisition agent.  When the offer came in, we did not hesitate.  It was more money than the two of us combined had made over the course of our few years together and it was an exciting new start.  Oh to be young and fearless again!

I found it ironic that we moved into the literal desert of Arizona around the same time I found myself in the first spiritual desert of my life.  I was eager to grow and go deeper with God, but it was a struggle.  I could not hear Him at all.  Was He speaking to me or acknowledging my desire for Him?  It sure didn’t seem like it.

Looking back, the biggest problem was that I constantly compared myself to other Christians who appeared to have everything together.  I would literally ask God to make me more like “this person” or “that person” and I was continually disappointed that my walk was so much different than theirs.  What was wrong with me?  Why wasn’t I changing?  I was still getting frustrated with my kids.  I was not serving Erik as I thought I should.  I was grouchy and depressed. 

And I was a pill.  I’ve always been a pill, a stinker, a little “toot” as my Papa called me.  I think I expected God’s mighty hand to come down and magically make me a different person, a better person. 

I have what some might call a biting wit, a sarcastic flair, a hyper tongue reflex meaning I might shoot off at the mouth in a pithy, hilarious way that rubs people the wrong way.  I can sense the reaction when I’ve gone too far.  And for the first 40 years of my life it scared me.  I hated that about myself.  I always felt the need to ask, “Do I repel you?  Will you forgive me?”

As much as I wanted to be gentle and sweet, God just wasn’t accommodating me and I was beyond frustrated.  No matter how much I tried to be “that person” God wasn’t having it. 

What wisdom comes in the desert.  What revelation comes when you are hot and thirsty.  Or under your ironing board crying and begging God to do something that He is apparently refusing to do.

Yes, under the ironing board.  Erik was away for several days, money was tight, Lexi was colicky and my mother was 12 hours away.  The ironing board…..oh dear me!

But I would not trade those two years for anything.  Once again, hugely ironic that if I could go back to one period in my life for one day it would be this dry, desperate time in Arizona.  I would nurse and hug those babies again.  We would stay longer at the park.  We would swim longer and laugh harder.  I would take 100 pictures every single day.  And I would write down every funny thing they did or said.  I would worry less about the baby weight I couldn’t lose and spend more time praying for their hearts and their futures.  And hugs…..lots and lots of hugs.

For a 26-year-old in the throes of a wrestling match with God and extreme post-partum depression, I believe my kids and I did okay.  I determined to make sure that they knew how much I loved them and that they felt nurtured and cared for.  I would allow myself to fall apart during naptime or after bedtime.  Other than the incident with the ironing board, I think we did alright.

The desert is a real place, and I still live there most days.  We physically moved out of Arizona many years ago, but wherever I go the desert is there.  The Israelites wandered the desert for forty years – am I meant to do the same?

I have the answer to that.

Sometimes maybe the promised land is in the desert – but it’s made into something beautiful.  Despite the dryness, there is Living Water to be found.  Despite the suffocating heat, there is rest in the evening when the cool breeze blows.  I’m no longer trying to get out of the desert.  Instead I’m looking for the times of refreshing God has for me along the journey.  And they are everywhere.

When I named this blog “Deserts like Eden” I had no idea where God would take my imagination or what He would uncover in my heart.  I liked the name because it came out of Isaiah from one of my favorite Bible verses.  But I only partially related the premise to my life and the walk I’ve had with God.

Not so today.  I am no longer looking and hoping to be rescued.  Jesus already did that 2,000 years ago when He died on the cross for me and gave me every spiritual blessing.  I’m no longer asking God to make me a different person, I’m inviting Him and allowing Him to sculpt and sanctify the person he created me to be.  Instead of telling Jennie to put a lid on it, I’m letting her write and tell her story.  (And apparently I'm letting her speak in third person, which is a pet peeve of hers!)

Despite some embarrassing facts about myself and the vulnerability in sharing my heart for the world to see, I really just want to share the hope I’ve discovered in the desert.

And friend, there is hope in the desert!  No matter how thirsty you feel or how desolate or how confused – God is right there with you.  Whether you feel it or not.  And He is doing a work in you - perfecting you in a way that only the desert will allow.  If there is any advice to offer, I would say press in even when you don't want to.  Lift up your hands in praise even when your arms carry the weight of the world.  A few minutes in forced worship might result in an hour of humble, invigorating prayer where the weight is lifted and you enter the promised land of trust and fellowship with Him.  The effort on our parts is tiny compared to what He is willing to do in those moments of surrender.  This I know.

Maybe someday I’ll find myself in the spiritual mountains for more than one day or one week at a time.  But for now, my desert is actually quite lovely.  There are promises here and the anticipation of new chapters to write.  God is good in the desert.  Isn’t that when we need Him most?

Transplant Day - July 3, 2003

Sunday, June 15, 2003

Erik had been in cardiac ICU for days.  He was on the transplant list at Status 1A which meant he required two intravenous drugs around the clock and doctors had given him less than 20 days to live without a heart transplant.  It had been almost 40 days. 

Waiting on a heart for a man who is 6'4" 200 lbs. is typically a longer wait than for a woman or smaller man.  A heart recipient can take a heart that is too big, but not one that is too small.  So we were waiting on a very specific sized heart in Erik's case.

He had not left the 6^th floor at St. Paul Hospital in Dallas since April 16.  We had enjoyed some short spurts of time in a regular room, but he had been in and out of ICU for months as his condition deteriorated.

June 15^th was Father’s Day.  Bryce and Lexi (ages 6 and 4) came from Tahoka with my parents and had spent a couple of days hugging on their dad when they could.  When it was time to leave, Bryce would not…..could not let go of Erik.  He cried and cried for really the first time and was not ready to leave.  Mom and Dad and I finally coaxed him into the car and they pulled out of that parking lot with my 6 year old baby looking out the back window, sobbing uncontrollable tears.  That little broken heart just killed me. I walked back inside, swallowed the huge lump in my throat and sat down in the ICU waiting room to eat an entire carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream.  It was all about survival.

Later that afternoon we got a visit from one of the heart surgeons on Erik’s transplant team.  He told us the team had decided that the very next day they would need to conduct open heart surgery and implant a left-ventricular assist device (LVAD) into Erik’s abdomen to help his heart pump.  He said Erik would not live through the week without it.  We could not wait another day for a heart.  This possibility had been mentioned by the doctors, but obviously was not the best case scenario.  For one thing, anytime you have surgery there is a risk of infection.  If this were to happen Erik would become ineligible for a transplant should a heart become available.  And two, this was major open heart surgery on Erik’s poor body which was already so weak and frail.  The risk of death on the table was another real factor we had to consider.  But ultimately, there was no choice.

The rest of that Father’s Day I spent getting educated on the LVAD and what it would mean for Erik as he waited on a transplant.  Once Erik recovered from the LVAD implantation, we would be able to leave the hospital and go as far as Frisco to live with my sister and her husband.  He would remain on the transplant list, but would be moved to status 2 which meant he would be lower on the list – not ideal, but at least he would be out of the hospital.

The first generation LVAD was a 3-pound pump which they explained would be connected to Erik’s heart to help the weakened ventricle pump blood throughout the body.  Cords would come out of his abdomen and literally plug into a battery pack or a wall outlet.  Erik’s sister Aleisha, my sister Kelly and her husband Matt would all join me in a 12-day training class to learn how to keep the batteries charged, how to manually pump the LVAD in case of a power outage and how to handle an emergency situation if the pump failed.  Our transplant coordinator, Katy, visited the Frisco fire department near Kelly’s house to give them first aid training in case they ever received a 911 call from Kelly’s house.  Also, I would be in charge of his sterile dressing changes – an adventure in itself. 

The LVAD of today is much smaller and operates completely differently.  The patient has no blood pressure and no pulse.  And there are no exterior cords.  The folks who receive LVADs today have no idea what past generations of patients had to go through.  Erik’s pump was gigantic and loud and invasive.  To say the least.

Left Ventricular Assist Device – First Generation

What is an LVAD? 

 

 As I began to understand what was about to happen, I can remember looking around and thinking, where are the grown-ups?  I was only 30 years old and could not imagine that I was the responsible party in all of this.  Shouldn’t an actual adult be in charge here?

Monday, June 16, 2003.

Early Monday morning, Erik underwent his first open heart surgery.  It lasted about 6 hours and he did remarkably well.  There were no complications.

I sat with him the rest of the night in ICU as he slept, then returned to my little private room in the guest house attached to St. Paul.  As always, I slept hard.  God blessed me with good sleep in the hospital for all those months.  I don’t remember praying for that specifically, but He was so good to me and so generous with rest.  I’m so thankful.

The next morning I tiptoed into ICU as early as I could and found Erik sitting up in the chair watching television.  I was first struck by the sound of the machine where the batteries whirred.  Then the sound of the pump took my breath away.  No words can convey the look on Erik’s face – he looked shell shocked, surprised, terrified.  He had woken up to cords coming out of his body and he was attached to a machine about the size of a large bookcase.  And the nurses had gotten him out of bed and guided him into the chair.  I covered my mouth to stifle the cry.  To this day I believe Erik suffered from some form of PTSD because this implant was physically devastating.  But he never complained even for a moment.

Later that day, Erik admitted that he could actually see better than the day before, and his hands and feet were no longer like icicles since the blood was finally circulating into all the extremities.  The LVAD had already improved his quality of life, even though in itself it was a monstrosity.

The next few days are a blur.  I got trained on the sterile dressing changes and we all started our daily classes on the LVAD training.  We sat at the round table in the hospital conference room with Katy, the transplant coordinator.  And Erik sat next to us on the couch.  Sitting straight up, he would doze in and out of sleep and then jerk awake periodically.  When your eyes are closed do you ever imagine a basketball coming right for your face and it makes you jump?  Erik started doing that after the LVAD and still does it when he sleeps.  I think it’s just another result of this surgery and the trauma it caused him.  Bless him.

Tuesday, July 1, 2003

The day finally arrived when Erik was recovered enough to be released from the hospital.  I packed up four months’ worth of magazines and get well cards and started loading the car to head to Frisco.  Kelly, Matt and I felt ready to handle any emergency and were just eager to get him home.  We planned our first dinner out to Macaroni Grill with Aleisha, Sarabeth and Amanda. 

It was quite a sight seeing Erik walk into a restaurant for the first time in months.  Every head would turn and people would stare at the battery pack and wonder what in the world the sound was.  I just smiled and felt the need to mention to almost everyone that my husband had open heart surgery a mere 15 days prior. (This was an urge I experienced for a long time and Erik finally made me stop doing it from sheer mortification.  I believe the term is “TMI”.)

We sat in Matt and Kelly’s living room for hours that day watching Rachael Ray’s cooking show.  It felt so good to sit next to Erik on a couch outside of the hospital.

The next day I did my first solo sterile dressing change which involved meticulous hand washing, and the use of a sterile field and gloves to replace all of Erik's bandages.  It was also very emotional for me as I cried trying not to hurt him, gently wiping away blood and applying alcohol to the 5 exit wounds.  What precious, intimate moments Erik and I shared as he laid still reassuring me that he was fine and hardly flinching at what must have been intense pain.  I was scared to death I might accidentally contaminate the field, but I would not have traded that job with any other soul.

The rest of the day we spent running a few errands and just enjoying being together.  I had to drive everywhere (slowly and gently) and Erik had to sit in the backseat bravely surviving one unfortunate incident with a curb.  I still feel bad about that.  Other than the batteries and the bandages everything felt almost normal.

Thursday, July 3, 2003

Less than 48 hours later, at 5:16 a.m. Kelly and Matt’s house phone rang.  I picked up the phone at the same time Matt did and I heard the voice of one of our transplant coordinators.  Kathy said, “Matt, I need you to wake up Erik and Jennie.  We think we have a heart.”  I told Kathy I was on the line and she continued, “Please do not speed or take any risks getting here, but we do need you to hurry.”

My heart is pounding just writing about this moment….it was surreal.  The whole time Kathy was talking, I was shaking Erik’s shoulder to wake him up.  As soon as I hung up the phone, that house lit up and became frantic and crazy.  Erik sat on the bed while Kelly, Matt and I rushed around brushing our teeth and putting on shoes.  Kelly said she would stay behind to let the dog out and to blow dry her bangs (This is a real problem for Wells girls.  The struggle is real.)

So Matt and I gently helped Erik into the backseat then jumped in the front seat of his car.  I began making calls to our parents and a couple of friends in Lubbock who could spread the news.  In the meantime, Matt chose his route to the hospital and then we argued the entire way because I disagreed with the highway he took.  Occasionally Erik would say from the backseat, “Really, ya’ll are doing this now?”

We finally pulled into St. Paul’s driveway and Kelly had beaten us there!  Along with Aleisha, Sarabeth and Amanda who had all received phone calls from me as we left the house.  Do you think for a moment I have ever let Matt forget this?  You know me too well.

What can I say about transplant day?  The mood was celebratory.  We went straight to the ICU and Erik entertained us with his imitation of showing pigs.  Imagine his frail little body with cords and batteries all over him, squatted down with his hand out like he was showing a pig in a stock show.  The rest of us were on the floor laughing with tears streaming down our faces.  I still can’t believe he was so energetic and care-free that morning.

It was still dark when they came to take him back to surgery.  Dr. Montcrief shared the only details he could about the heart Erik was about to receive; it was young, athletic and healthy.  Erik and I held hands until the elevator closed.  And then I fell into my sister’s arms and cried.

Our family filled up the waiting room that day.  There were 18 of us eating bagels and waiting as patiently as possible.  At some point I realized I still had on pajama pants and the ratty t-shirt I had slept in.  Thankfully, the guest house still had my old room available so I ran to shower and put on clothes – the fastest 15 minutes of my life. 

Back in the waiting room I would periodically get a call from the operating room.  One of the nurse practitioners I had become friends with was allowed to observe the surgery so she was put in charge of providing me updates.  She called first to tell me that Erik was on bypass.  Then she called again to tell me the new heart had arrived.  Later she called to tell me they were removing Erik’s heart and she described what it looked like – grey, shriveled and not really beating.  It just kind of quivered.

After about 7 hours, I was informed that Erik was headed to recovery and that the surgery had gone perfectly.  The LVAD was gone and Erik had a new heart.  The sigh of relief in the waiting room might have been heard from miles around, as we all packed up our things and headed to recovery.

Erik was in ICU for a couple of days and then moved to a regular room on the 6^th floor.  He began his large regimen of medications which he still takes – 42 pills daily.  And he can take them with a tiny sip of water which never ceases to amaze me and the kids.

Living on the transplant floor we met numerous families on similar journeys and we found that most times, a transplant patient might remain hospitalized anywhere from a month to 3 months after transplant just trying to get their medication straightened out.  And many times after being released, a transplant recipient would come back into the hospital due to rejection or infection.

Erik was released from St. Paul 11 days after transplant with no sign of rejection.  His blood work and vitals were perfect.  Can you believe that?  And other than one harrowing experience a couple of weeks later, Erik stayed healthy and never got readmitted.  (I wrote about that a few years ago.)

hems of my HEART - July 16, 2003

There are countless other stories about things that happened to us in the hospital during the weary months of 2003 –  such as going to battle with the hospital administration which wanted to reject our $250,000 insurance policy because that wouldn’t be enough and his transplant was elective; and the verbal beat down I gave a priest who walked into Erik’s room and asked what sin he had committed to bring this illness on himself; and the fact that every night I slept in the guest house I could hear it raining, even though it never rained.

Erik had the LVAD for 2 ½ weeks before his transplant, so I will always wonder what the last two weeks of our heart donor’s life were like.  I like to think they were profound days where he got to see some special people for the last time or God finished a precious work in him.  We will probably never know.  Erik has never struggled with guilt of any kind, because why would he?  He did not cause the death of an 18-year-old kid, but because of a mother’s selfless decision to donate a heart, Erik got to live.  We are just so thankful.

I’m overwhelmed with gratefulness that Erik has been so healthy for the last 12 years.  He’s surpassed most expectations and continues to impress his doctors with his healthy kidney and liver functions, as well as a heart that has never rejected.  I have every reason to believe that he will be around to walk his daughters down the aisle and even meet his grandchildren.  That is our prayer.

God has always gone before us.  He hems us in, behind us and before us.  He has granted peace in the storm and wisdom in the darkness.  He continues to favor Erik's health and I believe it's because of the thousands of prayers on his behalf all those many years ago, as well as today.

Thank you for letting me share our journey.  Many people reading this walked this path with us 12 years ago.  You loved us, you loved Bryce and Lexi, you helped our parents, you packed boxes and moved us out of our rent house into storage, you donated money, you fasted, you prayed, you wore out the carpet in your house pacing back and forth in earnest prayer for us.

How can we ever truly say thank you?  The communion of saints is something to behold and I love every one of you.  Blessings, Jennie 

 

Supreme Court Smackdown

It’s the slap heard across the country.  Around the world.  To be clear I am not talking about the controversial issue of gay marriage.  I’m referring to the Supreme Court legislating from their unelected benches.  The majority of nine, unelected lawyers – sanctioning what the majority of Americans are not in favor of.  This scares me more than the law itself.

Seventy-six percent of Americans already live in a state where they can lawfully marry someone of the same sex based on the vote of its citizens.  Yet, these judges took it upon themselves to create a law which goes against their constitutional bounds and steps on the feet of the legislators – and let’s be honest, the American people.  How many states have voted and said they disagree with the legalization of gay marriage?  Why do these judges feel they have the right to make this decision?  Five people did this – a majority of nine.

So whether you support gay marriage or not, I hope you can at least acknowledge that what happened in the Court last week is earth-shattering.  I can’t imagine this not scaring the pants off every single American who loves liberty. 

Regardless of what your personal opinion is, we should all agree that this country is in huge trouble when something like this can happen.  Where are the checks and balances?  Where is the accountability to the 320 million Americans who may or may not agree with the majority of nine?  If it can happen on this issue, it can happen on every other issue. 

Will there be societal consequences to the legalization of gay marriage?  Without a doubt. 

The first consequence that makes me want to weep is that freedom of religion will be challenged more than it already is.  How many couples do you expect to visit a mosque to request a gay wedding?  I would guess not many.  Most will go to a Methodist or Baptist church where preachers and congregations will have to defend their right to disagree with same sex unions.  The Court stole the church’s rights and handed them to a minority of people whose voices are the loudest.  I have gay friends who acknowledge this concern.  For the threat is real.

And do you think gay marriage will even be a topic of debate for the 2016 presidential candidates?  Absolutely not!  It’s the law of the land, so the candidates are off the hook in being honest about their actual opinions.  They can just say that regardless of how they feel, the Supreme Court has spoken and they respect the law.  Most Americans would probably like to hear the answer to that question.  But it won’t get asked.

As Antonin Scalia said in his dissenting opinion, “public debate over same-sex marriage displayed American democracy at its best.”  But now the debate is OVER.   

So as you can see, my mind has been wrapped around the politics in all of this more than anything.  Nothing should surprise me anymore when it comes to our society changing or the government stepping in where it shouldn’t.  I respect people on both sides of the issue, but one side has been silenced.  And that is a travesty. 

In the end, my heart feels broken in all of this.  Beyond the rainbows and the gnashing of teeth, there are people at the heart of this issue.  And we are all broken.  Gay and straight alike.  We are all in need of a Savior.    

On Sunday, our preacher taught from Daniel chapter 6.  King Darius decreed that anyone who prays to any god or man during the next 30 days, except to Darius himself, would be thrown into the lions’ den.  When Daniel learned of this decree, he went home to his upstairs room and got down on his knees to pray, giving thanks to God, just as he had done before. 

Just as he had done before.  Nothing changed for Daniel.  And yes, he was thrown into the lions’ den.  Our Supreme Court issued a decree last week.  There will be consequences and some of us will suffer.  Oh to be so courageous that we could carry on living our lives for God and not get bogged down in what five judges say or how other people choose to live their lives.

And like Daniel, I believe the next step for all of us as Christians is to keep doing what we have always done.  Pray.  Seek God’s heart.  Love your neighbor, gay or straight.  Show them Jesus.  Pray for everyone to come into the knowledge of Christ.  Let God be in charge of their hearts – you be in charge of the example you set. 

I have seen some of the most hateful comments come from Christians over the last few days.  Yes, we are a passionate people.  Our very rights and freedoms are being compromised every single day and we are lashing out at anyone and everyone.  But we have to decide where our battle should be waged. 

God is not asking me to protest the Supreme Court.  He’s not asking me to try and change anyone’s opinion or sexual orientation.  And I'm most grateful at this moment that I am not called to be a political writer.  I too often see grey when others see black and white.  I love a healthy debate but in writing about it, I feel a little out of my depth.

That said.....we have to pick the hills on which we are willing to die.  Whether or not gay marriage should be legal?  That is not my hill. 

Freedom of religion, YES!

Rights of the unborn, YES!

Love my neighbor as myself, YES!

Jesus is the Way, the Truth and the Life, YES, YES and YES!

It’s liberating to realize God isn’t asking me for anything other than my devotion and obedience.  He will deal with the chaos swirling around me as I try to make sense of the confusion.  And in the end, I pray that all of us can find Him in this lost and hurting world. 

Let us wage our war in the battle for souls; in the battle of Heaven versus Hell.  The harvest is ripe and people are hungry and searching.  We WIN in the end, so there is nothing to lose.

Un-Churched

Have you ever left a church because someone made you mad?  Have you ever stopped going to church because your feelings were hurt?

I spent the first 35 years of my life in the church and I’ve known dozens of families who have disappeared from the pews because they were just plain ole ticked off.  Lots of times it had to do with the color of the flowers at the front of the sanctuary.  Other times it had to do with who was or was not elected to certain leadership positions in the church.  Once I recall a family leaving the church because the Sunday school teacher disciplined their precious child.

Oh how I’ve judged people who have left the church.  I never heard a good reason for someone to leave – until it happened to me.  Let me assure you, the reason I left was a good reason.  (Where is my sarcasm font?)

First, let me get out of the way all of the valid points people like me make when we are sleeping in on Sunday morning:

1.      I don’t need a church to worship God.

2.      If God wanted me to be in church right now, he would give me clear direction on which church to attend.

3.      No one will miss us if we aren’t there.

4.      I need to find a church that has service on Saturday afternoon.

5.      I need to get myself together before I go to a new church.  I’m a total mess!

I’m going to have to dig out the other excuses that kept me warm and cozy in my bed on the countless Sunday mornings that I talked myself out of going.  Wait right here…

It shames me to admit that I stopped going to church several years ago because my feelings were hurt.  I know it sounds childish, but let me try to explain.  THE PREACHER SAID SOMETHING THAT HURT MY FEELINGS!  Bless my heart.

I literally picked up my Bible and walked out, never to return.  Oh YES, I sure did.

I was still a Christian.  I continued reading my Bible.  We still prayed before meals.  I still attended women’s conferences and journaled about what God was doing in my life.  My daughter became a Christian during this time.  My other daughter decided she wanted to be baptized and talked about it all the time.  I would tell her, once we find a church that will be the first thing we do! 

So yes, I left church.  And I dragged my family out with me.  Lovely, isn’t it?

I am not going to detail what exactly was said or why it impacted me the way it did.  I’ve shared with several friends and family members and their reactions are split down the middle.  Fifty-percent understand why it hurt me and the other 50% look at me and nicely say, “So what?” 

But I think it was what God said that changed my mind when He clearly said, “GET OVER IT!”

Since when is a preacher perfect?  A preacher is a man.  I’m married to a man and I know from experience that sometimes when they think they are being funny they SO ARE NOT.  I’m also a human being who on more than one occasion has implanted my size 9 right into the center of my big mouth.  I ask for grace all the time from the people around me – why shouldn’t I give the same courtesy to a preacher?

When we lived in Lubbock we had the best church.  We met some lifelong friends who loved and welcomed us and we faithfully did life together for years until we moved to New Braunfels.  Thinking back to one of our first evenings spent with these friends makes me blush and I think there’s a huge lesson in it for me.

On the 4^th of July after we joined Aldersgate in Lubbock, we went with some of our new friends to pop fireworks in Idalou, Texas.  Bryce was a toddler and I was about 27 ½ months pregnant with Lexi.  At one point in the evening, the guys lit a firecracker whose missile seeker technology was very advanced for 1999.  It came shooting straight across the yard and began exploding under my chair.  I grabbed my two-year-old and my huge belly and I went tearing across the yard screaming more than a few four-letter expletives.  I was mortified by my genuine yet less than lady-like outburst.  And my husband even more so.

This was one of the first impressions I left on the Smallwoods and Lynns.  But guess what, we remained friends.  In fact, maybe even closer friends after that night.  Were they shocked that a huge pregnant woman might have a lapse in good grammar when her tail is literally on fire?  I don’t think so.

And to this day when we get together we laugh about it.  Not my best moment, but isn’t that what memories are made of?

I tell this story to say – don’t wait until you are all cleaned up to find a church.  It will never happen.  I bet if you lit me on fire today I might say a cuss word.  Even if my preacher was standing there.  Or Jesus.  I will never be perfect.  Your preacher will never be perfect.

If you are waiting for perfection you’ll be waiting a long time.  The church is FULL of people.  Remember Jerry and Elaine’s conversation about people?

"I will never understand people."

This always makes me laugh because it's true - People are people.  Some are the best and some are indeed the worst.

And I have news for you.  The church is full of sinners.  And to remove all mystery for you, they know they are sinners.  They open the door for you when you walk in.  They are keeping the kids in the nursery.  They are leading music at the front.  And sinners are raising their hands in worship, surrendering their less than perfect lives to the One who is perfect and whose righteousness permeates through all of the gunk of humanity.

If you feel like a mess, there is no better place for you than church.  I know it’s scary and intimidating.  For a long time it was the very last thing I wanted to do.  But I needed it and so do you.  If for no other reason than obedience.  Do your part and I promise God will do His.

To quote my dad, “God doesn’t care where you go, just go!”

Redeemed!

I suppose that in a way, he saved my life.  He didn’t realize it at the time.  Neither did I.  It would be years before I fully understood the significance of what my Dad did.  But 19 years later, I can still hear his words and I can tell you they have shaped me and changed me.  And for sure, they saved me.

For 59 days I had been trying to figure out how to tell my parents that I was pregnant.  I had only known Erik for 6 months.  And even though I had told my mother in the beginning that I wanted to marry him, I didn’t see how anything could make the truth easier.  I was 22, pregnant and unmarried.  And while I wasn’t worried about my parents kicking me out of the house, I couldn’t bear the thought of how this would hurt them.

Living in a small town, there aren’t many things as scandalous as an unwed pregnant girl.  I shuddered just thinking about what people would say – most especially, what was my Dad going to say?  I think I might have waited forever to tell them the truth, so it was a relief when my mother walked into my bedroom that hot July afternoon and asked me, “Are you pregnant?”

My mother hugged me while I cried tears of shame and relief.  We sat and talked about Erik and our plans and she extended the forgiveness and mercy that I had been longing for.  For the first time in 3 months, I knew everything was going to be okay. 

She told me she would tell every other person in our lives about my pregnancy and upcoming wedding, but I was going to have to tell my dad and my grandparents.  And it has to be TODAY, she said. 

When Dad came home from work, Mom and I tearfully knelt on either side of his chair in the living room.  She waited and waited for me to say something, but I couldn’t speak.  Finally she said, “Jennie and Erik are going to have a baby and they are getting married.”

Dad leaned his recliner back as far as it would go and covered his eyes with his hands.  But before I could take a breath, he quickly sat back up and wrapped one giant arm around me and squeezed.  Then he leaned back again, covering his eyes.  Mom looked at me and said, “You can go." I bolted to the bedroom with my sisters.  And then I waited.

 Thirty minutes later my dad called me into their bedroom.  He walked up to me and took me by the shoulders, and with his voice shaking he said the words that saved me, “Someday you might feel a lot of guilt about this.  Don’t!  Guilt will eat you up from the inside out.  Make your peace with God and let’s get on with life.”  From that moment on, I felt no shame.  With my father’s words, the guilt melted away. 

Mom and I made our way around to all my grandparents that afternoon.  Nothing could have prepared me for the graciousness and the love each of them expressed to me.  Not only had my Dad lifted the heavy burden of shame, but then my grandparents spoke life and blessings over me and Erik and the baby.  And the moment that still makes me smile was finding my mother and my Aunt Beth sitting in the kitchen as mom told her the news.  When I walked in Aunt Beth stood up to hug me and exclaimed, “A baby!”  Finally I was starting to get really excited about marrying Erik and having this baby.

Planning a wedding usually causes stress – especially for the people who are paying for it – and money was extremely tight for Mom and Dad.  Obviously we didn’t have a lot of time to save and plan.  Also, when you are pregnant and planning a wedding you run into a lot of quandaries that ordinarily wouldn’t be a factor.  For example, we wondered whether it should be a family-only wedding.  Should I even have bridesmaids?  Maybe it should just be Erik, me and a preacher. Should I wear a white dress?  It seems silly in hindsight because society has certainly changed since those days.  But for us, we were finding our way along this very confusing, narrow path and trying to do the right thing.

One day my dad came in for lunch and my mother and I were sitting at the kitchen table discussing all of our options for my wedding.  My dad is semi-famous for his quiet, yet profound communication styles.  Sometimes you think he’s not listening, but then he might bowl you over with wisdom you didn’t expect.  This moment was my favorite ever. 

He turned to us and said, “You are going to wear a white dress.  I’m going to walk you down the aisle.  And we are going to invite every person we know.”  Only my dad can speak something so huge in so few amount of words.  He went back to work and left my mother and me in a puddle of tears. 

And my dad did proudly walk me down the aisle on that rainy August day.  We have never discussed how he felt in those first days after the news.  He has never spoken to me about being hurt or embarrassed or disappointed.  But of course, he had to have felt all of those things.  What it must have cost him at moments to put my heart ahead of his own feelings.  But his number one concern was ME – my heart, my relationship with God, my life in the years to come.  As a parent I can now ask this question – how did he do it?  Could I do the same?

I can’t think of a better example of our Heavenly Father.  Can you?  He does not condemn.  He is never disappointed.  He loves wholly and completely without prejudice.  And he is more concerned with my heart and my future than he is with a clean house or my roller coaster walk with Him. 

So yes, my Dad saved me.  He allowed me to enjoy my wedding day and he honored me by standing next to me.  He gave me the confidence to hold my head high in front of my family and friends.  He gave me permission to accept God’s forgiveness and to forgive myself.  And I’m most thankful that he helped me find God in the midst of the struggle. 

God redeemed my life from the pit.  He made my deserts like Eden, my wastelands like the garden of the Lord.  And my Dad just happened to be standing right next to Him when he did it.  Happy Father’s Day, Dad.  I love you!