Mercy's Call

I thought I had already been down that road.  I had taken that journey back to that awful place, despite my fear and hesitation, and returned from it knowing that I had been forgiven.  I had confessed my sin and moved on.  What I didn’t understand then was that I had left something important behind and years later, God would call me back there to finish what we started. 

I first felt His whisper through a friend who mentioned in passing that she facilitated abortion recovery weekends through an organization called Mercy’s Call.  I admired her for her desire to help others heal from such deep wounds.  I knew all about those wounds and the hurts and shame that bled from them.  But that was then and I was on a new path of healing from wounds of another kind.   

At some point over the next few weeks, this same friend and I were having another discussion about Mercy’s Call and she said something that turned my soul inside out.  She mentioned that she still mourns the loss of her unborn children.  Mourn?  Now, that was something I had never considered, much less allowed myself to do.  It was in that very moment when the word “mourn” hit my heart that God’s whisper became a (loving) punch in the gut.

It wasn’t long before an opportunity arose to attend a weekend and I jumped at the chance, knowing that the process of healing I was currently in had everything to do with this particular process of healing.  I was terrified of all that I would be facing going into it, but yet I went with the expectation that something big was going to happen.  I just needed to show up and trust and God would take care of the rest.  “The rest” indeed.

He took my hand and walked me back through many of the dark, painful places of my life that led up to and surrounded my abortion.  I was barely 16 when I made that decision but God, my Healer, took me back even further to show me that there was more to my story than what my original version portrayed:   My version was still rooted and steeped in shame, despite God’s forgiveness.  He showed me how abuse had carved self-hatred, unworthiness and dozens of other insecurities into my soul and how it stole my vision of who I really was: His beautiful, treasured daughter.  He showed me how these events drove me to seek out love and affection in harmful ways and though I had my own responsibility for that regretful choice, there were other influential people and factors involved who shared that responsibility with me.  He showed me that I was still paying penance for my early years of life, thinking that if I punished myself enough and withheld enough good things from myself, I could get to a point where I would actually be worthy of the forgiveness that God had already granted me willingly when I first confessed it to Him.  That burden grew heavier and heavier over the years because there was no punishment I could inflict upon myself that was ever going to be enough to atone for taking my own child’s life.  I had made my bed and was wrapped up tight in a blanket of lies that continually reminded me that every last bit of that heavy load was solely mine to carry for a life sentence.  And then God reached out His mighty, yet gentle hand to me and whispered “Give it all to me.”

He wasn’t asking for my repentance or confession – I had already given that.  He wasn’t asking for self-vindicating works or for a promise to sell all my belongings and become a missionary across the globe as an offering.  He just wanted all the ugly stuff.  He wanted the beastly burden I’d been lugging around for so long.  He wanted my sin, my shame, my terror, my losses, my anger, my traumatic experiences and all of the rage and unforgiveness (towards myself and others) that was still in my heart as a result.  And last but not least, He wanted . . . my trust in what His intentions were with it all.  Still leery, I searched and questioned and saw no fine print.   I had come to a place of “the rest” and just in time.  I was so tired of carrying that shameful burden that I could not take another step with all of that weight bearing down on me.  So, I lifted my hands up to the sky (literally) and in faith, I let go!   And in return for all that unsightly mess, including all the times I rejected Him, He lavished me in His comfort and love.  But He didn’t stop there.  He also gave me the son I never knew!  Through the amazing women who facilitated this weekend, my Heavenly Father reminded me that I am a mother of THREE, not two children and that my first child is alive and well in God's kingdom and he waits for me there!  He allowed me the space to mourn the loss of never being able to hold my son or know him.  He allowed me to wrestle with questions like “Did it hurt him when the machine took him from my womb?”  What would he look like now?”  “What if . . ?”  And then my wise and wonderful Father brought my attention back to His grace. 

As the weekend came to a close, one of the facilitators placed before me a little white box with a cross inside that represented God’s forgiveness and asked me if I was willing to receive the gift of God’s Forgiveness.  I went after that gift like a ravenous beggar clawing at a divine feast.  It was the first time in my life that I had ever allowed myself to “receive” what I knew (but only in my head) had already been given to me.  I accepted it without shame and there were no strings attached . . . only grace.

We ended with a ceremony to celebrate and honor my first child, Austin Isaiah Davis.  During that ceremony, a facilitator read a conversation that God was having with my unborn son, who wanted to know things about me.  He wanted to know what I look like, when I would be coming home and if I would recognize him when I arrived.  Then he asked God “Why is she still there and I am here?” and my gracious Father replied “You know, my son, I don’t remember (Hebrews 10:17).”  This was “the rest” that God had planned for me in a single weekend.  I can only imagine what more He has for me (and you) in these remaining days on earth and in the hereafter. . .

The Gift (In Honor of Austin Isaiah Davis)

You made your Glory shine

In that sacred, secret place

And though I turned your gift away

I could not stop your Grace!

You were there when I rejected

The child you made for me

You saw it all and still, you used

My sin to set me free!

O only you, Jehovah,

Could take my blackest deeds

And snatch them from my blood-stained soul

To cast into the sea

O, thank you, Abba, Father

For the grace to mourn & grieve

For peeling off my burdens

That forbade me to receive

Behold, the former things have passed

And I no longer cower

From that painful place of loss

But celebrate your POWER!

Today you do a brand new thing

And I cry out with joy

To tell the world, despite my sin,

“I have a little boy!”

He waits for me at Heaven’s gate

And cheers me as I go

And once we know our first embrace

I’ll never let him go!

Yes thank you, Lord, for ALL OF IT

The terror and the shame

For only you, O Great I AM,

Can do all that you claim!

To learn more about Mercy's Call, visit:  http://www.mercyscall.org/

In the Dirt . . .

In the dirt, she waited

With worms and crawling creatures

Covered up and smothered

Were all her sparkling features

But tucked away from sunlight

And choked of proper air

She held a dormant treasure

Completely unaware

For no one ever told her

That she was born a seed

And so she took her place in life

As but a lowly weed.

But deep beneath the muck and mire

Love had found her still

And loosed the soil that captive held

A purpose yet fulfilled

It could’ve yanked her free from threads

Of roots which held her down

But chose instead from there on high

To stoop its knee to ground

While toiling in the same dirt

She’d worn for all her life

Love drew her out with nourishment

Of water, breath and light

Now slowly, she emerges

From the pit of bitter Hell

As Love sings ever sweetly

Of the seed He knows so well

And though she’s been cut open

And all has been exposed

What once was called a worthless weed

Is now Love’s priceless rose.

The Watchman

“Nice”, “Kind” and “Pleasant”

Were once deep compliments

But naked in the light of day

She’s taken great offense

For somewhere down that darkened path

What Virtue aught proclaim,

A mark of woman’s glory crown,

Instead clothed her in shame

She learned to play the fool

And how to look away

When Evil showed its colors

On the backdrop of the day

But deep beneath the surface

Of that naive countenance

A clever Watchman tallied

Every hint of false pretense

He saw beyond the flattery

And counterfeited smiles

And left no room to wonder

If they carried hidden wiles

But when the warning shots were fired

She rarely paid attention

And fell into a trance

That stripped away all apprehension

No matter what they took from her

It didn’t change the truth

Her Watchman saw it coming

And was quick to give her proof

But she mocked him into exile

And thought it for the best

And since that fateful day

She’s never known a night of rest

Now, after all these years

She hits the streets where he was shunned

Calling to a Watchman

Whose forgotten where he’s from

Longing Risen

I was made with a Longing

In my heart

Fierce and beautiful

I wore it proudly

Like pigtails on a little girl

Until

Darkness showed up

And brought the cloud

So I put my precious Longing in a bubble

And promised

I would return for it when it was safe

But the cloud grew

darker with time

Every now and again

Longing wrestled inside of its prison

stirring

disrupting

The cloud didn’t like that!

So it sent a sword through the sky

And angry gusts

carried it away

to a deeper

darker

place

Where no one would

EVER

find it . . .

EVER.

Longing lost its will

in that darkness

and I watched it

sink

out

     of

         sight

         

And yet

The same violent sword

That drove the Longing under

Sliced that cloud

And light shown through the slivers

Leading the way

for the Longing to follow

that light

through swamps and forests

through cemeteries

through mine fields

and mazes

   Rising

      Rising

         Rising

Like a soldier

Rising up to fight for

Freedom

Because she is worth fighting for

The Longing has found its way

and now sits in my throat

And I just know

it will either choke me to death

or BURST into a new song

Survivor In the Wilderness

August 19, 2011:

It is morning and everyone is still asleep.  It is my family's last day at the beach and I have been sitting on our balcony for the last hour or so having a conversation with God that I don’t want to see come to an end.  He has been speaking sweetly to me through exquisite sites, sounds and smells and even through the luxury of drinking in the richness of a good cup (or three) of coffee.  I have been telling Him about all of the people in my life I am concerned for and want Him to bless, even though He already knows and is far more troubled by their trials and heartaches than I ever could be.  I have been praising Him for all that He has done and NOT done in my life.  It has been a most treasured conversation between the two of us but soon enough, the kids and my husband will be awake, wanting to get into the day and I will be thrown into overdrive.  We will cram as much fun into this last day of vacation as possible, while cleaning and packing for tomorrow’s ride home and through it all, I will be anxiously awaiting my next conversation with God.

As a mom, I often feel pulled in so many different directions and it seems I am always longing for more time alone – alone with God, alone with myself, alone to write or create with no interruptions.  Never has this been more true than in this current season of life I am in.  For reasons I have not always appreciated, my heavenly Father has called me away from some of my usual responsibilities that I happen to be very passionate about and has lured me to a cave in the wilderness so that He may get my attention and breathe new life into me.  I did not want to go at first and I resisted Him with every excuse I had.  But He persisted in His whispers to me:  “Arise and eat because the journey is too great for you.” (I Kings 19:7)   

Being a full-time wife and mom in this world has a tendency to poke at all of the sensitive places that give a woman a false sense of value.  I did not want to give up any of the extra responsibilities I had taken upon myself.  They are so important to me, but they had become too important and the only worth I could see in myself was dependent upon what or how much I could do for others – especially those in the greatest need.  Little did I know that, somewhere along the way of serving and encouraging others, I had become one of those in greatest need. 

Though I did not go quietly, I have finally allowed the fierce winds of my pride to subside and have accepted the fact that the journey is, indeed, too great for me.  My Father has my full attention and I know that He has brought me to the wilderness to prepare me for what lies ahead.  I am not certain about what He has planned and there is no doubt that I am in the scariest, most challenging territory I have ever been in, but I know that I am not here alone.  Like the prophet, Elijah, who God nourished in the wilderness, I am being revived and sustained for the next part of my journey.  And in the same way that Elijah searched for God in the strong winds, earthquakes and fire, I have searched for Him there also.  I expected a  nuclear explosion of some sort – overwhelming, but quick.  Then my wilderness experience would come to an end and I could return to civilization and get on with my busy life.  That is not what God had planned.  He chose to use His still, small voice, giving me only little morsels of nourishment at a time instead of a gluttonous feast.  I was too busy waiting for Him to bring the big boom down on me that I didn’t see or hear Him in the quiet messages He was sweetly singing to my soul every day.  Instead of giving me everything I needed and watching me ride off into the sunset without a backward glance, he left me waiting and hungering for more each day.    He knows me so well! 

This morning has been another of many healing gifts from God.  Though I am still in the wilderness, there is much work to be done.  I often feel guilty & even ashamed that I am not doing more and I have to remind myself daily that this is not a retreat – this my episode of “Survivor”.   The business of true healing is not for the faint of heart and it requires more than I ever realized.  Though I don’t always FEEL like I am doing much, I know that WHAT I am doing is important to God and to His plan and that He is preparing me for more.  A GPS won’t be necessary for this journey.   This journey can only be taken by faith. 

Beautiful, Fallen Chains

 I have often wondered what I would see if I could look at some of the people I am often quick to judge through the pure lens of God’s eyes.  We all know what it feels like to be under someone else’s microscope and not one of us would say that we enjoyed being there.  We are wrought with weaknesses and experiences that leave scars.  It reminds me of those awful mirrors that magnify every pore, age spot and facial hair (especially those that keep visiting my upper lip) that we didn’t even know we had.  It is bad enough when we, ourselves have to look closely at all of our flaws we try so hard to cover, but when they are exposed and magnified for others to see, we crack under the weight of our shame.

As a child, I was always drawn to beauty.  I wanted to capture all of the beauty I saw around me and carry it with me wherever I went.  I went out of my way to tell every lovely lady I saw that I thought she was pretty and I meant it.  I did not fully understand beauty, but I wanted desperately to be beautiful.  And I was; only I didn’t know it.  What I also did not realize was that few others knew it either.

Fast forward another 10 years or so to a teenage girl who, in her quest for beauty, was now defiled by promiscuity (not always of my own choosing), wrestling with an eating disorder and numbing her pain with alcohol and drugs.  A lot happened on that hunt for beauty.  Some wrong turns were a result of my own poor choices, but there were many times when I was not given a choice which road I wanted to take.  Most people didn’t see or understand WHY I was behaving the way I was, but paid more attention to WHAT I was doing.  I never felt so far away from beauty than in those years, nor did I ever need it so desperately.  I knew what it felt like to be under a foggy microscope that only told part of my story.  I felt like a freak and I reached out to other people who the world treated differently . . . less than.  Instead of being drawn to beauty, I gravitated toward mayhem and darkness.  Where there was pain, there was I.

Little did I know that I would find beauty there as well and out of my pain and struggle, I was given gifts of compassion and understanding.  Yet, I can still find my insecurities kicking in now and then when I am quick to label a beautiful girl by her lack of clothing or assume that a man’s bad behavior a year ago has rendered no fruit or growth today. 

Over the last several years, God has given me a new microscope with a much broader lens and has gently encouraged me to let Him fill in the blanks that the lens doesn’t reveal.  He is showing me that I need to look both closely and from a distance if I am to understand anything at all and even then, I don’t hold all the pieces to the puzzle.  Someone else’s puzzle is not for me to partake in.  We all have our own puzzle that we are continually working on together with God.  It is a sacred mission between us and our Maker.  We are all working toward the beautiful end product.

As I began to look with a new lens, I saw things that shattered my heart.  I never believed that I could be strong enough to carry the weight of the things I have seen and heard in these last few years.  Some of this disturbing knowledge is engraved on my soul and has changed me forever, but I wouldn’t give it back if I could.  It is often easier to see a disruptive, violent little boy as a “bully” and a much harder thing to ask “How did he get this way?”  Even if we get that far, we are quick to blame the parents (which can often be legitimate), but what if this boy has an unexplained issue that his struggling, loving parents have given everything to uncover?  What then, when the entire family is shamed and judged by their community?  And what about that middle school girl who everyone calls “trash” because she is sexually active with her older boyfriend?  I now know more fully what drives a girl to believe she has only that to offer and we will miss the mark completely if we assume it is because she is a “bad girl”.  We look at teenage girls on the streets whose bodies are being sold and we believe they chose that life, but too often were never given a choice and were always lacking the security and maturity to even make such a choice.  I have seen teenage girls locked up in juvenile detention centers for prostitution while the adult men who paid to use them went home to their families and the pimps who beat and sell them daily walk away counting the cash that someone else made for them – someone who is still a child.  We walk past people like that and think we are somehow better when the truth of the matter is . . . we are really looking at ourselves if our circumstances had only been a little to the left or to the right.  We are looking at Jesus being crucified and we are joining in with the crowd, chanting “Crucify Him!  Crucify Him!”.

Little did I know that when God called me to open my eyes, it was not for me to save those trapped in the darkness as much as it was for Him to save me from my own dark blots that have held the better part of me in chains for most of my life.  As I break free from the remaining chains of my past, I can see that God is preparing me for more and equipping me to show others the way out of darkness as well.  But now, I have no illusions about who is leading the way.  I am not strong enough, nor do I have the vision for this journey.  I am calling out to the downtrodden to walk with me in faith toward freedom.  On the way, we will leave our chains lying on the path behind us.  Now and then we may go back and get them, try them back on and drop them again, but we will keep moving forward, delighting in the beauty around us.  But the most beautiful sight of all will be those fallen chains that whisper victory into the hearts of the weary travelers who make the trek behind us.  Keep walking beloved.   Keep walking. . .

The Greatest Generation

Before my daughters were born, I worked in nursing homes doing activities.  Those years made a better person out of me.  No - the residents I worked for made a better person out me.  I heard their amazing stories and saw how hard they worked and how much they sacrificed to provide a better future for the next generations.  I kept a journal of some of the conversations and exchanges we had over those years and kept photos so that I would not forget their faces/names.  Some are forever etched into my heart and no photos are even necessary.  Like Russell Miller - who is still one of my best friends (I love you and miss you) and Dillie Dixon (my fiery friend who shared in my thirst for mischief), Charlie Stoneburner (I still have the ornament - always will) and Agnes Schwartz who lived to be 104, but it wasn't long enough for me).  I have the utmost respect for every one of them and they all taught me so much about life, love and even death.  I strive for a fraction of their character and heart.  This poem is a little bit of all of them - it is all true of one or more of them and they were true legends of their time.

Mr. John Doe's Room

It’s just a meager taxi ride

From your home sweet home

Where extraordinary people live

Yet spend their days alone

And if you were to wander in

On some fine afternoon

I’d urge you to come take a look

At Mr. John Doe’s Room

And you will find an old, frail frame

That once stood “ten feet tall”

Whose legs became a wheelchair

Just after that last fall

But look beyond the telling lines

That lead to humbled eyes

And you may see a different man,

A Hero in disguise

Look closely at the pictures

Of his all-adoring kids

Their faces singing praises for

What kind of dad he is

And please don’t miss the stunning quilt

That warms his standard bed

The one his dear wife made with love

Just after they were wed

The quilt alone will tell you

Of her diligence and care

But speak, it won’t, of all the trials

And hurts they’ve had to bear

Like going without food for days

So that their kids could eat

In the days of the Depression

When life was bittersweet

And the time she lost the baby

After two hard days of labor

And nearly lost her own life

Had the Lord not chose to save her

He’s watched those tender, loving hands

Grow weary with disease

And as he once proposed to her

He said “Good-bye” upon his knees

And over in the corner

There’s a shoe-box filled with stars

That he had earned in Normandy

Along with battle scars

And that’s not all – there’s so much more

That you will never see

Unless you look with brand new eyes

At each biography

So let each face that your eyes scan

Be as a precious flower

Whose beauty far exceeds your own

When in its latest hour

And as you leave this “Garden”

Of wisdom in full bloom

You’ll find a living Legend

In every John Doe’s room