Imagination: A Single Touch



         Have you ever felt like life was just spinning out of control and there seemed to be nowhere to run for help? I know I have. As I think back on those times in life, I innevitably found myself in a place that I just wished I could find relief. It seems we have all felt that pressing desparity for hope. That moment when you literally think you cannot go on. Or what about times in our lives when loneliness sets in and we feel beyond empty, just wishing someone would notice; just wishing someone would hold us in their arms and tell us everything would be okay and that they were here for us. We all know what it is like to 'walk through the valley of the shadow of death' and we all know that sometimes life is lonely and filled with pain and suffering that makes us feel as though we can't take one more step forward. We have all felt hopeless. And if we are believers, we have all felt like if we could just feel Jesus' touch, we would be much better off.

         I wonder if that is how the woman with the bleeding problem (Mark 5:25-29) felt; lonely, out of hope, and needing to encounter Jesus in a real and physical way. I wonder if the paralyzed man who was lowered into a home through the roof just to meet Jesus face to face (Mark 2:1-12) felt a sense of relief the moment he saw Jesus' face because he knew that his suffering would be over. I wonder if the blind man's anxiety and pain went away the moment he felt Jesus touch his eyes with the mud he had created to put on the man's eyes (John 9:1-11). This man, who had spent his whole life unable to see, dependent on the mercy of others; what was that moment like for him? What is it like to be touched, physically touched by Jesus?

         I remember lying in bed one night desperate to know God's peace; desperate to feel like He was there with me. As I closed my eyes, I just imagined what it would be like if Jesus could just reach out and touch me. What would it feel like to touch the hem of His garment for a split second? What would it feel like to reach out my hand and find Him there in the darkness of my room? What would it be like to be wrapped in the perfect love of God's embrace? If only I could feel Him as physically here as the woman who touched the hem of His cloak. If only I could feel Him touch my face the way the blind man had. If only I could feel His hand touch me and heal me. What if I could know Him that way?

         When I imagine what it  will be like to be completely lost in Christ's embrace and to feel Him touch my face and look into my eyes with all of His overwhelming love, I imagine the day when I will one day see Him in all His glory. I imagine the day when I meet my maker and I can't even begin to fathom what that will look like. This world can often feel lonely and pressing. We can often feel that if Jesus was physically here we would be more comforted and things would be much better. I admit, that sounds incredible, but I know that this side of Heaven, I can know Him even without Him physically before me. The truth is, Jesus is more real today than the covers that cover my body when I am tucked in bed at night. I may not physically see Him, but I know He is there.

          So dream with me friends, about the day that we will be able to know what it is like to feel Jesus' embrace and to know what it must have felt like to be someone in great need and to experience a touch from God Himself. Imagine that day, standing in glory when we see the King of Kings exalted on high. And suddenly, the old is gone, the new has come. May the thought of one day being touched by Jesus Christ and completely healed of all things in need of healing comfort you today. May you know that though no one is physically around you, you are not alone. May His love overtake you and may you find healing in the one who loves you infinitely more than you can imagine. The problems and pain of this world will not disappear until He returns again, but know that with just one touch, He can bring healing and new life. Be blessed and find healing in Him.

        

Inside My Muddy Heart

This weekend, I had the privilege and the honor of
being at a retreat with my cohort in the M.A. in
Counseling program, through Biblical Theological
Seminary. To say that it was an honor was no
exaggeration. It was a weekend full of learning,
introspection, and serious focus on who each of us
are and how that will affect our counseling. It was
so awesome.

"What is in your heart will come out in the counseling room."

One of my professors at Biblical reiterated this at our retreat several times this weekend. I couldn't help but to let such a statement hit me hard in the heart. It hasn't taken long in this counseling program to show me that. It seems like every week when I walk into class I need to ask myself what sore subject will be talked about this week. It's as if I need to bring my rain boots to school each week because I know I will be trudging through the 'mud' that has somehow made it's way into my own heart. The process is both daunting and refreshing all at the same time.

As I began to mull over this statement, by Dr. Jenn Zuck, I knew that no matter how much I wanted to deny this, it was a true statement. I knew that I was going to need to work on my heart issues before I would be able to effectively help counselees in the future. A moment of panic swept over me as I realized that there was no way that I would have time to 'clean house' by the time I had graduated the program. Was I going to be an effective counselor with such a damaged and mucky heart? We've all got our baggage, right? I hope I'm not the only one.

I thought about the impact of things that have happened in my life in the past. How would they affect my counseling? How have they already affected my life, who I am, and how I view others and the world. I know they have. At first I wanted to deny that my 'junk' would affect my counseling career, but I discovered, I couldn't deny it. If I was going to be an effective counselor, I will need to be ready and willing to sit in the mud pit with my counselees to walk them through their struggles but at the same time, not allow my life experiences and my own selfish heart to get in the way. But how?

Throughout the day, I came to the conclusion that I will need to identify the weaknesses in my heart and constantly be aware of them. I am going to have to look at the muddy parts of my heart and discover how my perspective is going to affect my counselees. I need to constantly be asking myself, 'Why am I reacting the way I am? Why am I doing what I am doing? Is this for my own satisfaction or my counselee's healing?' I need to be aware of my own heart and what is happening in it. If I am not, I have the great potential of harming the very people I have set out to help.

I love to help people; my friends, family, coworkers, or even strangers. As I look at all the relationships I have, I wonder if I can apply this concept of examining my heart before I speak to my every day relationships. The truth is, I wonder how many times I've tried to help someone but instead have hurt them in real life because of my own selfish desires and motives. How many times have I set out to help someone only to find that I was filling my own selfish desire to be loved and accepted. How many times have I tried to dig someone out of a hole, working hard to save them when they didn't want or ask for my help. What desires have I fulfilled in that process?

The truth is, I think we've all had the experience of trying to help someone and in the process have done more damage to the one we are trying to help than we set out to do. I wonder if what is happening in our hearts doesn't only affect our counseling, but also affects our relationships throughout all of life. Maybe my need to be perfect causes me to expect perfection out of other people, who like me, cannot ever be perfect this side of Heaven. Maybe my need for love and acceptance drives me to say yes to all of the activities and ministries I am asked to do, but my heart isn't really in those things, and I end up doing them less than joyfully. How many times have I taken my frustrations out on my spouse, even when those frustrations have nothing to do with him?

It's very easy, I think, to allow our hearts to spill out onto other people. We mask our bleeding with all sorts of excuses. We often forget that what we say and what we do has the potential to affect others immensely. Life sometimes becomes all about us and we wield our opinions and thoughts around like a sharp sword but are blind to the fact that the sword has just sliced someone else's heart open.

Life is hard. Sometimes we don't know what to do. But perhaps one of the most important things we can do is constantly examine what is happening in our own personal hearts before we try to figure out what is happening in someone else's. We need to remember that the condition of our hearts will affect how we view others and how we respond. Just as counselors have a great potential to harm their counselees, each individual has the potential to harm those in the world surrounding.

Being sensitive and identifying my own selfishness can help me to be the best counselor I can be, but I'm also convinced that it can help me to be the best person I can be. I think all of us are here to help heal others, not to hurt. All my life I've heard people say 'You cannot give what you do not have.' I think I finally understand what that means. Life is hard, but I cannot begin to help someone find healing if I haven't found it myself.

So before you say that next 'big thing' to someone, think about your motives. Before you try to rescue someone from there pain, I beg you, take a look at your heart and recognize that if your heart isn't filled with good things, you will not give good away. If your heart is not filled with love, you will not love properly. If your heart is not filled with compassion or hope or joy or peace, you will never be able to give it away. Be careful with the hearts of others.

Standing in the Space of Injustice

 For some time, something has been heavy on my heart. As I stare into the eyes of these children, I can hardly handle the silence that fills the air. No one wants to talk about it. It isn't that no one cares, but it makes us uncomfortable, and so we ignore it. When it is brought up, we quickly change the subject. We look around nervously as we quickly sweep it under the make shift rug, hoping to hide the facts before anyone notices that we really are informed. It's easier that way. We don't have to be responsible if we pretend as if we never knew. But we do know, and yet we still turn a blind eye.

Let me tell you a story. Let me shed some light.
*It is estimated that there are approximately 27 million slaves around the world. *According to some estimates, approximately 80% of trafficking involves sexual exploitation, and 19% involves labor exploitation.* Around half of trafficking victims in the world are under the age of 18. *  There is only one shelter in the U.S. designed specifically to meet the needs of trafficking victims, and it currently only houses a total of seven to nine victims. * Approximately 20,000 Individuals Are Trafficked INTO The United States per year. * The average age of a trafficked victim is 12-14 years old.

If you aren't stunned, I think there is something wrong with you. These facts are a part of the story of every trafficked little boy and girl (or adult, but I want to focus on the children for now). I wonder how I ever slept at night unscathed by the horrors of what is going on around me. How could I sleep at night not thinking about the little ones who lie on a brothel floor, shivering in the cold. How could I crawl into bed at night knowing that I had a full belly of the finest foods, but somewhere in the world, these little ones are going to sleep in a dirty cell with no food. This is real life. We don't like to talk about real life.

To be honest, maybe some of us are bothered by this information. Maybe a handful of us are actually willing to talk about it. But I wonder, are we willing to DO anything about it? Let's take it a step further. Maybe we are willing to talk about it AND do something about it...what is there to do? I can't say that I know the answer to that, but let me share a little bit more about what I have learned. 

Recently, I came across a statistic (for the life of me, I can't remember where I saw it, but I'm sure you could find it online if you searched) that stated that over half of the children who are trafficked each year are orphans. This makes a lot of sense to me. In a class I took in college, which was specifically about human trafficking, I learned that a lot of children being trafficked are promised a better life by the trafficker. The children believe that they will be taken to the city and given a good job. They believe that though they are orphaned, they will be able to survive with a job. The children put their trust in the trafficker, not knowing what will really happen to them. Before long, however, these young ones find themselves locked in a room being brutally abused, unable to escape. Horrid. What happened to their 'dream' of a better life?

 

 

As I think about these little ones, my heart is ripped out of my chest and I feel as though all of the blood my body contains is seeping out of my chest. I am horrified by the injustice that these little ones face. I get this image of running up to a brothel door, kicking it down and standing in the space between the little girl who huddles on the ground and the man who is about to injure not only her body, mind, and spirit, but rather a man who is going to seer her soul and change the course of her life forever. I see the image of a rescuer filling the space between captivity and freedom, taking literal blows to the face, nearly dying but still shouting, 'You will not touch her! I will take her place! I will take her place! Set her free!'. I see a saint bravely picking up those children and rushing into the sunlight outside, dodging bullets to save thier lives.  Who will stand in that void? Who will fill that space? Who is willing to take a blow for her? I want to be.

 

 

Over the past several years, I have felt as though God has put a calling on my life to go into a career and ministry of counseling. I never really knew what part of that I wanted to work in. I love kids, so for a time I thought I would be effective working with children. For a season I thought I could be effective working with families, because I believe in strong families and want to be used in that aspect. But I knew where I was being led...I just didn't want to go. I told God I would do whatever He wanted, but I did not want to work with victims of trauma. That could get too messy; that could be too much for my heart to handle. That was some heavy junk to deal with. But I could not get away. I could not get these thoughts out of my head. I couldn't stop thinking about those who have dealt with the most horrific traumas. I kept thinking about how we, as humans, often like to put messy circumstances and experiences in little boxes, store them in the attic and never peer into the boxes again. I like to do that. I am human. I want things to be nice, clean, pretty, and easy to look at with little effort in the way of healing. I cannot run any more.

 

So here I am, knowing that I have a call on my life to get into the messy situations; to deal with the things that no one wants to talk about or acknowledge. It has never been more clear to me than it is now. I suppose my call has always been clear, I just didn't want to listen. But here I am, ready to kick down some doors, blow the lid of this box of messy horrors and throw all the papers out of the attic window. I cannot sit back and say that people matter to me if I am not willing to care for the least of these. If I am not willing to care for the orphans, the widows, the sexually exploited children, the ones who could never repay me monitarily, than my work is in vain. I must pursue the call that is placed on my life. I want nothing more than to be that person that God sends into the darkest places of this world.

 

When I was a young girl, I used to pray to God "Lord, please send me to proclaim your name to the most dangerous parts of the world. Send me to the scariest parts of the world to bring Your healing to the brokenhearted and the weak." I never knew, as a little girl, that God would grow a passion and desire so intense I could not quench it. I never knew that God would ask me to sit down and hear the stories of horrific tradgedies; things no human being should ever go through. I don't entirely know where to start, but maybe my start is now. Maybe my start is realizing that I can no longer keep silent on a topic that no one wants to talk about or do anything about. Frankly, I am tired of apathy.

 

Here is my plea: That we would begin to care for other human beings as if they were our own children being ripped to pieces. That we wouldn't just sit back and talk about how sad things are, but rather that we would do something. I pray that I will go running to bind the wounds of the broken and bring rest to the minds of the weary. I pray that I would be bold and stand in the space of injustice, willing to take the force of the hits meant for another.

 

I may not know the way now, but I will find one...this is my declaration: I will not rest until I have served in this capacity...too many lives are at stake!

Untamed Blessings

     It's been a few years since I felt like I was dying but the difficulty and the pain are still fresh in my mind. The agony of pounding on Abba's chest still haunts me and the silence in the midst of severe trial sometimes leaves me feeling chilled. However, on the other side of this raging river of hell on earth, I've experienced what I like to call 'untamed blessings.'

     Many of you may know the story of my battle with Lyme Disease. Left undiagnosed by numerous doctors (for years!), when the diagnosis finally came at fourteen, my family and I were both relieved and afraid. They were years of exhaustion, several missed days of school, intense pain in my body and fevers so ferocious that it wasn't uncommon for me to be wearing a sweatshirt in ninety degree weather. The feeble state of my body (and spirit) by the time I was diagnosed was such that the doctor who diagnosed me was highly concerned about me. Dr. Fein, (whom I am convinced is the BEST doctor this earth has seen) got right to work. I would need intravenous medication multiple times a day and a picc line inserted into my arm immediately. There was no time to waste, so literally, within one week of a diagnosis I was in her office again having my IV line put in my arm. There I was, fourteen, unable to function like a fourteen year old girl and unable to do the things a normal teen could do. I was devastated to say the least.

     Devastation not only hit my body and made me feel crippled, but it also took over my mind. All I wanted to do was die and I wondered why God would make me go through such a horrid disease. I remember waking up one night in particular having absolutely no idea where I was. While this happened several times during my battle with Lyme, I woke up this particular night in a panic. In the darkness of my room I began to search for something familiar. My hands became clammy and sweat began to form on my chest. Where was I? Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the dull glow of my small fish tank in my room and my mind was eased. I was safe in my room. The panic subsided for that night, but as I lay awake in the darkness, I wondered if the feelings I experienced were feelings that an elderly dementia patient would feel...always kind of 'lost'. My mind wandered to several places that night, and ever so softly,  I began to speak to God.

     It started in my head and became a dull whisper. I said 'God, I don't want to die...' as I struggled to forget about the intense pain my entire body experienced. Again, a soft whisper floated out of my gently parted lips 'What did I do wrong, God? Why is this happening? I'm trying to be good, I really am. I swear.' Tears began to form in the corners of my eyes and ever so lightly began to roll down my face. 'I just...I just don't understand' I said so softly it was barely audible. I waited for an answer; as if I believed God would speak to me in a loud beaming voice. I expected the normal answer that everyone around me had been giving me saying, 'Oh honey, you'll feel better soon...I'll pray for you!' Silence. It was so quiet I swear I could have heard a pin drop on my carpeted floor. The only noise I heard was my breathing. As I turned over to my side, I gave up on hearing God say anything and attempted to sleep. But I couldn't. After what seemed like hours, I finally dozed off as I attempted to figure out what I had done to deserve being this sick. It was all my fault and I knew it. Somewhere deep in my heart I knew God loved me but intellectually I felt like He had spat in my face. Somehow, in the midst of all my confusion, I continued to seek God. I was hoping for some answers.

     Several months passed with many experiences like the one I just described. In the midst of being sick, I faced tragedy all around me. There is literally too much to recount but I watched one grandfather face open heart surgery and another deal with the brutal disease ALS and pass away suddenly. I watched my great grandmother go through breast cancer, a young friend pass away from a brain cancer, and the loss of my horse. Each thing hit me harder than the last and til it was all said and done, the devastation of all of these things and even more, I was left wishing I had never even existed. Sure, I believed God created me for a reason but I began to look at Him as if He was playing chess with my life. I began to believe that He got some sort of pleasure out of my pain and that somehow I was too sinful and that's why He had brought all these trials into my life. Of course I grew up in church and had heard so much about 'trials' and 'God's love' and 'grace' and 'mercy,' but as far as I was concerned, God was a God of love but He just didn't love me. I felt unworthy, unloved and broken beyond repair, but most of all, I was angry. Very angry.

     My journey with Lyme (well, the worst of it) lasted over two years. With over twenty months of IV treatment, sometimes three times a day, I tried to live life as normally as possible...whatever that is. I finished high school and entered my first year of college. Because of my school schedule and IV medication, I would wake up every morning at 5AM, hook the IV to my picc line - which transported the meds directly to my heart - in order to make it to class by 8AM. I pretended I was happy and some days I really was, but deep down I felt wounded by God.

One morning in particular, I remember waking up at 5AM and complaining to God. I was tired and didn't want to get out of bed to get my medication or hook up my IV. In a gruff voice (thank God I didn't have a roommate!) I said 'You know, God, this sucks!! I don't want to get up and do this!! Can't you just heal me already?! I think I've done enough 'sick' time by now!' I scoot out of bed, yanked the refrigerator door open and slammed it shut. 'I HATE this!' I thought. Again, I yelled at God; 'This isn't fair! How could you do this to me?!' God answered. Out of nowhere, God spoke. He said 'Do what?' Furious at the question I felt Him asking I threw the IV bag on my bed. 'THIS!! Why did you let me get so sick! And for this long?!' 'Because I trust you.' 'You trust me?!?! What a stupid response! Trust me to be sick?' 'No.' 'Then what?! Trust me with what?!' 'I trust you with this gift.' All of the air suddenly left the room and I struggled to breathe.

     Fury danced in my eyes as I glared at the IV and tube sticking out of my arm. I quickly retorted to God's answer: 'If this is Your opinion of a gift, take it back!!! I don't need it!! What kind of gift is being deathly sick?!' Once again hot, fiery tears fell from my eyes. They were angry tears; frustrated tears. I couldn't understand. All I wanted was the pain to stop. I just wanted to be normal...so I told God that. Spirit broken I plopped on my bed and silently hooked up my IV. 'But I just want to be normal for once, God. I just want this to be over...' Again, God spoke. In the most gentle, most calming way, God said to me 'Kaitlyn, I didn't call you to be normal...I chose you to be greater than normal.' And I wept.
I wept because I didn't understand. I wept because I was heartbroken and didn't know how to be whole again. I wept because for a moment I remembered that God had a plan for me (Jeremiah 29:11). I wept because I knew I shouldn't have been worried (Philippians 4:6). I wept because God chose me. I wept because for the first time in so long, I actually felt the love of God in a new way. I just wept. Somehow, in the midst of it all, that day changed me. Did I instantly understand? No. Do I totally 'get it' now? No, I don't think so, but now that I'm on the other side of this thing I can see more clearly now.

     Did you ever stop to ask God 'Why?' I know I sure did. It's so evident that in the midst of the things I described above and the rest of my journey through Lyme and the pain that surrounded it, God was still at work. It did something to me. Today, I am absolutely closer to God than I ever have been before. I've learned so much. I've learned that even in the midst of trials, God is still 100% loving and good. I've learned that sometimes God entrusts us with difficult things because He knows that with Him, we have the strength to come out the other side alive. I've learned that God is always trying to teach us something. For me, I learned how to be a whole lot more compassionate and empathetic. I've learned to listen and not speak. I've learned that through my sufferings, people can get a glimpse of Christ. I've learned that healing is possible and wholeness is possible after complete brokenness. I've learned that I am nothing, but Christ is everything. What I do today can bring Him the glory He deserves. I've learned that God is a God of forgiveness and not of punishment. I may sin daily, but God did not allow me to be sick as to punish me, but rather to bring me closer to Him. The list could go on and on as to the things that I've learned through my struggles with Lyme, but the biggest thing I've learned is that God is love and He's got a plan for me. He's got a specific plan to prosper me and I don't have to worry about tomorrow because He's already got tomorrow under control.

     People have asked me many times 'Why does God allow bad things to happen?' and I am convinced that it is meant to get both our attention and the attention of those around us. Maybe it's so we realize that our lives, without Him, are pointless and drudgery. Maybe instead of Him pushing us away, He wants us to come closer to Him in times of trial so He can show us first person how much He cares. Was I afraid? No doubt. Do I understand fully? Absolutely not. But what I do know is that despite the trials of life, I am closer to God than ever before and I am happier having had these experiences of growing with Him than if I hadn't ever had them. I know that He has chosen me for great things and in my suffering, I am blessed.

     I believe, that with the help of God, we can change this world for the better, but we must cling to the cross when death is near and dance in the shadow of the cross. Let us sing praises to Him in both the good times and difficult because our Savior lives. Let us hold fast to the garments of the King and know that we are under His protection. Let us look for the joy and the blessings in hardship. Perhaps, being a Christian isn't about going to church and giving to the poor and having all sorts of programs-these things are good, but rather, maybe being a Christian - a Christ follower - is about living our lives by the fire and in the flame or learning to exhibit Christ in a world full of untamed lions. Maybe, just maybe, those trials and difficult times we face are really just 'untamed blessings'...blessings in disguise...blessings far beyond our tame imaginations if we'll only surrender completely to Christ and allow Him to show us the plans He has for our lives. Yes, maybe we all need more 'untamed blessings' in our lives...

     Truth is, God understands our suffering and understands our legitimate cries for help. He also knows what is best for us. I believe that everything happens for a reason; that God has a marvelous plan for each of His children. I believe that His plan is best, even if I don't understand and that I don't have to worry about anything. God will take care of us. So in the midst of your suffering, cling to God. Don't be afraid...He is with you always. And trust me, on the other side of the trial, you'll find blessing beyond your wildest imagination.

May His face always shine upon you...