As unbelievable as it is to me, I’m about halfway through month 10. I never dreamed I’d be a World Racer and now this is almost the end of my Race. I’m trying to make sure I’m seizing the most of this thing pressing towards the end, even though the things I asked and expected God to do in my life during the Race haven’t always matched up. (A blog is coming on this subject shortly.) Lately I’ve been looking at myself, how much I’ve changed (or haven’t) and what I want to seize out of these last few weeks. This month I asked for depth. Well, depth doesn’t come from the easy things, does it? It comes from hard things that challenge your faith, make you question everything you know, make you dig in for something to hold onto, and find the answers to those hard questions. Well, I’m getting that this month. We are loving on girls in rehab for addictions; as young as 13. Some girls have infants who are HIV+, some can’t handle the tension between wanting to be free and the draw to the things that have a hold on them so they run away, and some of them, like my friend Lis, are on suicide watch.
Lis is a beautiful 15 year old with a vibrant heart. I don’t know her story, we’re not here to ask about it, we’re here to love them, but I see her skittishly want to receive my affection but be too afraid to approach me for it. It took her several days to stand within a few feet of me or talk to me, but wow this girl’s smile… When she finally came up to me for the first time, she looked me in the eye and pulled up her right sleeve. She had words carved into her arm – words on top of words – almost completely illegible. They weren’t just scratches either… suicide attempt scars. Her showing me her pain makes me want to pour out love to her, but I don’t want to treat her any differently out of pity or show favoritism, I just want to love. That’s a hard, hard balance. Lately she’s seemed particularly down, especially the last few days, which has made walking that line even more difficult. Well, today I was praying for her not to take her life and I felt the Father say, “What if her life is full of pain?”
I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t even know how to think about that. I don’t even know what to pray.
What do you do when the things you want to pray over someone are things Jesus never promised us we would have; or even all but guaranteed we wouldn’t?? Things like love and safety, happiness, a good, easy life… With that I can’t even pray that she will live, I don’t want her to have a life of pain, but I can’t pray for her to commit murder to spare herself of it… I have gone to ministry three times this week to a new girl missing. I’m terrified one day it just might be Lis, but she won’t have run away, she’ll be dead.
This month has forced me into His arms, forced me in worship – and forced me to mean it. Worshiping when you don’t understand is hard and it hurts, but it means so much more then, doesn’t it? It means more when you don’t understand. That’s when it costs you something. What kind of gift can I offer my King if it doesn’t cost? What is trust if I can’t cry out in the pain and expect Him to understand… to know better than I.
When I couldn’t hold it together anymore I went outside and sat in the sun and just sobbed. I turned on the song from Bethel’s latest album “Starlight” that has been what I sing over myself every morning before I go leave to be with these girls.
Help me to love with open arms like you do
A love that erases all the lines and sees the truth
Oh, that when they look in my eyes they would see You
Even in just a smile, they would feel the Father’s love
(“For the One“)
That’s my prayer for this month, but really for everyone I encounter. There’s so little I can do to change a life, but if the Father uses my eyes to look at someone lovingly and make them feel cared for, seen, and loved for even a moment? Yes and amen. I’ll go through all the hurt it takes to open myself up like that. I should know better by now that this is what asking for depth means; hard things to make you deep. But if I can’t trust Him in my fear and believe Him thorough my pain and worship when it hurts, then why do I sing? He can’t be God if I can figure Him out, so I’ll continue to believe, continue to sing, and continue to love with open arms like He does. Then maybe even in just a smile they could feel the Father’s love.
His,
Meredith
