Beyond the Looking Glass

Several years ago, I posted a picture of a corner of my home set against a beautiful night sky. A friend commented on my lovely view, to which I responded, "You only see what I allow to be seen." What never made it to the photo was a house falling apart, inside and out. And the people who lived there weren't faring much better. Spiritually, physically, emotionally ... we were a mess, and couldn't see even a flicker of light in our proverbial tunnel. As I considered my comment to this friend, I thought about how we tend to hide behind smiles and positive affirmations to keep others from seeing what is truly behind our masks. For some, it's an effort to keep others from pitying them. Others believe that, as Christians, we need to put on brave faces and refuse to let people know how difficult things are or face the judgment that we are weak, lack faith, or perhaps have fallen away from God. This simply isn't true. Scripture instructs us to bear one another's burdens (Galatians 6:2). I believe this is talking about praying for each other, and if we have the ability, lending a helping hand.

The following story shows just one angle of how the Lord would call us to be.

Beyond the Looking Glass

Wasn’t it bad enough that we were having the worst family vacation ever? Did she have to show up?

Eloise couldn’t believe her luck. She’d chosen Paradise for the trip because it was supposed to be remote, cool, beautiful, and close to Lake Superior, the next best thing to an ocean-side resort than the coast, and risk of shark attacks. It was also far from people like her.

Apparently, not far enough. Back home, near Detroit, she’d been forced to tolerate undesirables. Because Eloise’s husband, Edward, was pastor of their prestigious church, these people invaded every space possible in Eloise’s life: church, Bible study, life group, the children’s soccer games, school functions, the soup kitchen … the list could go on forever and eternity would never dim the stench they left trailing them.

And now, this woman.

Eloise could almost see the cloud of vapor that swirled about her person. Maybe that’s why her skin seemed slightly tinged with green and her smiles produced yellow with black speckled teeth. It was doubtful she’d ever been shown a comb, let alone taught how to use one. It was impossible to know whether she was a dirty blond, or if her blond was just that … filthy.

Even the shores of Whitefish Bay—supposedly one of the most amazing places to visit in Northern Michigan—couldn’t insulate Eloise and her family from those less … er … fortunate, apparently. They might be ensconced in family feuding and sibling wars, but at least they were out of sight and out of danger of soiling the pristine Christian image she and her family had worked tirelessly to paint in Detroit.

Eloise chewed on her lip. She had to get the family to quit quarreling long enough to escape into their Suburban before the woman saw them and came to ask for money. The children scowled at each other after threats over who’d pay the most for taking the best seats in their SUV. Eloise’s husband, apparently oblivious to any impending doom rocked on his heels at the shore’s edge, hands jammed in his pockets. “Edward.” Eloise finally caught his attention and she nodded in the direction of their abhorrent invasion. “We really must go. Now.”

He looked in the direction of Eloise’s sideways glance and grinned. His eyes sparkled with that look that always spoke of trouble for Eloise. She knew what would happen next might seal the family’s fate for the rest of eternity. “Don’t even think about it, Edward.”

“What? She must be lost.” He turned from Eloise and walked further from the safety of their vehicle. “Hello, there.”

The woman’s lips curled into what appeared to be a smile, though it was a wobbly one. If the whitening streaks forming on her face were any indication, her smile was melting into a full-on cry.

Edward cast a glance over his shoulder. “Eloise, you can go ahead and take the kids back to the hotel, if you’d like. But I think this woman needs a friend.”

Eloise knew her husband well enough to know he wasn’t releasing her to escape, but imploring her to see beyond the looking glass and catch a glimpse of the heart. She looked over to where her children waited, impatiently. There wasn’t enough room.

Was there?

“No,” The woman spoke, her voice a squeak behind her tears. “It’s okay. I just wanted to say how beautiful your family is.”

Of course, their family was beautiful. Eloise had worked long and hard to keep it that way. It wouldn’t be prudent to soil that image now. She turned a stone throwing a glare at her husband. “Don’t you think we should go? The children are hungry.”

“Yes, of course.” He reached out a hand towards the woman. “I’m Edward. Do you live up here?”

Eloise should’ve known better. Even in the remotest parts of the world, Edward would find a way to extend his clean hand to someone. Even an ugly, foul-smelling tourist.

“Naw. I don’t live nowhere.”

And that was all it took. Edward had the woman sandwiched between our older two children, refusing to take no for an answer on his invitation to lunch. His piercing gaze silenced any cries of annoyance over their discomfort. He climbed into the driver’s seat and gripped Eloise’s hand, a silent challenge to check her heart’s thermostat. She would either comply or be left seething over her husband’s lack of tourism etiquette in exchange for his pastoral heart. 

"For I was hungry and you gave Me food;

I was thirsty and you gave Me drink ...

in as much as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren,

you did it to Me." 

~ Matthew 25: 37, 40 ~

Legacy

In Him you also trusted, 
after you heard the word of truth,
the gospel of your salvation; 
in whom also, having believed,
you were sealed with the Holy Spirit of promise,
who is the guarantee of our inheritance 
until the redemption of the purchased possession,
to the praise of His glory.
~ Ephesians 1:13-14 ~

 I was 5 when I insisted on my parents allowing me to be baptized. When asked, "Why?" I told them it was because Jesus wanted me to. While I don't remember a lot about my childhood, I do remember wanting Jesus to love me, be proud of me, and be happy with me. In the end, my parents and our pastor agreed, there was no reason I shouldn't be baptized. I trusted Jesus, loved Him, and wanted Him in my life.

In the years following that event, life surrounding my family unraveled in ways no child should have to see. By the time I was 14 years old, I told God we should go our separate ways.  I tell people I'd divorced God. If my parents could get a divorce, why not God and I?

My heart was so broken, I searched for ways to repair it. Smoking, risky friendships, alcohol, sensual (pornographic) fiction ... things that would ease the pain, bring some pleasure, heal my inability to be acceptable. 

Nothing worked. My world continued to spiral. My conscience wouldn't let me cross certain boundaries. I was "boxed in" and no way of escape.

At 17, I moved in with my grandmother. A 4' 11" woman who'd go toe-to-toe with anyone if she needed to. She'd raised 3 girls from their teen years -- a widow. This woman could be heard long into the night, praying. She would name each member of her family and friend's circle, and call on God to work in their lives. And He listened to her.

Today, I am a product of this woman's faithfulness to prayer. She was tenacious. People who knew her either respected her or feared her. They would either seek her out for wise counsel or avoid her because of her honesty. To me, she was a mentor, confidante -- Grandma. (She's been in heaven for nearly 40 years, and I still miss her. But as someone said, I'm 38 years closer to seeing her again.)

Why tell you all of this?

When days filled with gray skies and rain penetrate my heart and soul's deepest places -- the places I try to hide from the world either out of shame, unbelief, fear of judgment, or wish to not be a burden to others, I lose sight of my prize.  I long to shrink back and hide out with the feelings of insecurity, invisibility, and fear of failure. The thorns in my side irritate and are felt more deeply. Those cuts caused by rejection, callous words, unloving remarks, and well-intentioned but misguided advice, begin to burn with the effects of inflammation and infection.

It's these days I need reminders of who--and whose--I am. 

There is a song we sing in church. Words to live by:

All my life You have been faithful.

All my life You have been so so good ...

With every breath that I am able,

O I will sing of the goodness of God ...

(CeCe Winans)

In the verse above, we are promised that Holy Spirit seals us by Himself, the guarantee of our salvation, our inheritance in Christ. If we believe and trust Him. Each day, I choose to trust. It doesn't happen magically, nor is trust automatic. It is a muscle that requires exercise to be strengthened. Grandma didn't get to enjoy the promises of God without some digging in of her own heels, saying, "I will NOT give in." She was widowed with three teenage girls to provide for. She had physical, financial, and emotional needs. She learned over time, that her God would be faithful to His promise to be her provider (Philippians 4:19). Her children, to this day, will ask one another, "What would Mom/Grandma say in this situation?"

Grandma was no greater than I. She was no better than you. She was (and still is) a daughter of the King of the Universe. 

She knew then, as I am learning today, that we will always have trouble knocking at the recesses of our hearts. Jesus told us so, with the promise of His trustworthiness (John 16:33).

And we can always sing of His goodness. Because He IS.