Category: Suffering

Organising a funeral amidst the chaos

1 Comment
A photo of mum and I, taken back in 2014 for a Woman Alive article we both wrote.

I know that I have mentioned in previous blogs that my mum died a few months ago. As it is Good Friday, and we are focusing on the agonising death our saviour experienced for us, I am taking a break from the weekly series I am currently sharing on my blog. I feel it is right instead, to lament. And, as so much of my grief has been tied up in my mother’s recent death, I am going to share more deeply about the process of planning and then going to the funeral of a loved one in the midst of this global pandemic. I know that many people are unable to be near their loved ones as they lay dying, and some are unable to attend funerals – I held off sharing because of feeling sensitive to this. However, I was specifically asked to write about my experiences – and then found I was unexpectedly left with the material available for me to use personally. I know my writing is raw, deeply personal and painful at times, but I also feel we are in a stage of collective grief and I hope and pray that my blogs today and tomorrow may help give some people voice to their grief, as they recognise some of the emotions I describe.

This year has not been as any of us anticipated, despite all the new year hype about it being a new decade. However, for my family, the change from usual routines began in January, with the news that my mum was nearing the end of her life (something we had been told for the last two and a half years could happen any time). 

I was travelling back from a meeting when I suddenly had a call to say that I needed to get down to my parents’ house as soon as possible. But then, in typical mum-style, she hung on for another ten days, during which time I was able to sit by her bedside, share with her and, in fact, finish writing the devotional I was in the process of writing. It is on loss and disappointment, which was certainly very up close and personal to me during that time (when I was asked to write it, I had an inkling that I was about to walk through personal grief – but I had no idea of the collective loss we were about to face as a nation). It was, in fact, very cathartic to write while I was with mum and, now the COVID-19 pandemic is literally everywhere, the mixture of lament and hope I gleaned from scripture seems so apt for us all.*

Ever-changing arrangements

Since mum’s death, I have been emotionally very up and down. The whole process of mourning for mum has been difficult because her death certificate was not released to us for over a month (due to complications with doctors). It meant her funeral could not take place until the end of March, which put us slap bang in the middle of the lockdown and all the other implications the pandemic has caused.

I can look back now and say I am so grateful that my mum was taken before the coronavirus broke out (as she had a lung disease so would have been super susceptible). However, I have to be honest and say there have been days when I have struggled with the fact we had to wait so long for the funeral, and the changes we had to make to it because of the time lapse. 

My mum was so organised – her funeral ideas had been penned and ready for a couple of years. But we had still gone through the agonising experiences of visiting the funeral director, choosing a venue for after the service, pulling together the order of service and inviting guests. Each of those things, when you are exhausted from being involved in end-of-life care, as well as consumed by the enormity of grief, feels like it is one thing too many. 

As the virus has spread, it has felt like each week brought with it the enormous weight of new and desperately difficult decisions to make. Sometimes the burden felt unbearable – and then simply pointless as, a few days later, the decision we had made was then made null and void due to changes to government guidelines.

One week we agonised over whether to make the funeral immediate family only. We were concerned some family weren’t sure they could travel any longer. Others had begun to self-isolate as they were high-risk. And most of mum’s local friends were over the age of 70 anyway. So we did decide to take the decision out of people’s hands, so they wouldn’t feel guilty for choosing not to come.

And then the lockdown loomed. We knew it was coming; we were just hoping it would happen after the funeral. Listening to Boris address the nation was horrific. I was literally clinging to a cushion, desperate to take in all he said and feeling more and more anxious as the announcements were all about shutting things down and staying indoors. But then came the news that funerals could still go ahead – for the moment at least. My heart leapt…but then I was left with many questions. Would the crematorium local to my parents still be allowing family to attend? How many of us would be allowed to go? Would different decisions be made in the few days leading up to the funeral, which would mean we suddenly couldn’t be there? After all, this has been such a fast-moving situation, and we’ve had to change things over and over again.

Speaking to my dad and sister, we continued with plans to bring the immediate family together, but decided to pare back the service as there would be so few of us. We may have a celebration service in the summer with those that were supposed to be with us, if the pandemic has ceased – but who knows how we will all feel by then, and how many others we will be mourning by then.

Thoughts from the eve of the funeral…

I have cried so many tears over the arrangements, and what we have had to change. But I have also reminded myself and my family that we were blessed to be able to be with mum when she made the journey from life here to life with Jesus. So many people are dying, alone, in hospitals. And I know there are those missing family funerals because they are having to isolate themselves due to symptoms. That can make me feel guilty at times, although I know that is one negative emotion I needn’t be feeling (although that doesn’t stop it).

The funeral is tomorrow and I am full of mixed emotions about it. I’m totally wrung out trying to navigate life with us all working from home; my husband and I already mainly work from home but now we have our children doing online schooling here too (just like most other families). But my husband is a pastor and so we have been navigating setting up online services, and trying to keep everyone connected. That has consumed his thoughts and most of his waking hours, so the run up to the funeral has felt pretty lonely too…

* Everyday insights into loss and disappointment is a 30-day personal devotional, being published in May by CWR.

Feeling hemmed in?

1 Comment

Reflections based on Genesis 39:20–23.

What a challenging story! In the most extreme circumstances Joseph surrendered himself totally to God. He spent 13 years altogether in captivity (firstly enslaved, then imprisoned) before he became Pharaoh’s right-hand man.

For some of us, this time of forced isolation may feel like imprisonment. With strict instructions to stay at home, and only make essential journeys for provisions, those who live by themselves may be battling loneliness. Those of us with families may be finding their homes become like pressure cookers, with each person’s stress levels rising as we navigate being with one another 24/7 (we have had moments like that in our house this week!).

Whether we feel like the days are stretching out before us with no end in sight, or we are desperate for a bit of space to ourselves, I think we can learn from Joseph’s attitude to his difficult years. It seems that Joseph didn’t turn against God or blame Him for the unjust circumstances he found himself in. He may have been aware of God’s sustaining presence with Him, for we read: ‘… while Joseph was … in the prison, the LORD was with him; he showed him kindness and granted him favour … (vv.20–21). I pray that, whether you are struggling today or not, you will sense God’s presence with you.

And, whether we have a lot of time on our hands right now, or are having to snatch moments in between working and trying to help our children with their daily school tasks, I also pray that during this lockdown we will each have the opportunity to get to know God more deeply. That will look different for each of us. I have had to learn not to get frustrated by the lack of time I have currently – and my time with God looks different right now. We are each having to adjust; may we remember to include God in the decisions we make and in the changes to our daily lives, asking Him to order our days.

Prayer: Lord I thank You that You are not surprised by the strange circumstances that we find ourselves in currently. I pray that each of us will sense Your presence, and will find new ways of drawing close to You today.

God’s eleventh hour timing

1 Comment

Reflections based on Acts 12:1–19.

‘The night before Herod was to bring him to trial, Peter was sleeping … an angel of the Lord appeared …’ (vv.6–7)

Peter was awaiting trial by King Herod, knowing that his fellow disciple James had just been executed. But he wasn’t having an anxious, sleepless night. In spite of his chains and the guards around him, he was so soundly asleep that the angel we went to rescue him had to strike him to wake him up! At the eleventh hour, as believers are praying for him, Peter was miraculously freed from prison. 

You may have personally experienced God’s eleventh hour timing, in provision, healing or ‘deliverance’. I love the stories George Müller (who founded schools and orphanages in Bristol in the early 1800s) told about God’s provision. One such anecdote refers to him saying grace in front of the orphans he needed to feed. He had no food at all, but was expectant for God to move – and He did. While George was praying, the baker walked in with many loaves for them to eat.

But for all the stories of God’s incredible rescue, it is important to acknowledge that not all are healed or delivered from death. Many of the early Christians were martyred – as are many Christians still today. And, of course, thousands are dying right now at the hands of the current pandemic.

Corrie Ten Boom who, along with other family members, helped many Jews escape the Nazis from the Holocaust during World War II by hiding them in her home, was herself imprisoned in Ravensbrück concentration camp (the same camp in which her sister Betsie died). In a letter, Corrie retold an incident from her childhood:

‘When I was a little girl, I went to my father and said, “Daddy, I am afraid that I will never be strong enough to be a martyr for Jesus Christ.” “Tell me,” said Father, “When you take a train trip … when do I give you the money for the ticket? Three weeks before?” “No, Daddy, you give me the money … just before we get on the train.” “That is right,” my father said, “and so it is with God’s strength. Our Father in Heaven knows when you will need the strength … He will supply all you need just in time.”’*

May God uphold you with the strength and wisdom that you need in this time of nationwide lockdown. May you know His love and care in the moments when you feel scared or alone – and may you sense when He wants you to reach out to others; perhaps through a text or video call.

*From a letter written by Corrie Ten Boom in 1974.

Prayer: Lord, when I’m facing difficult situations help me to trust that You’ll be there ‘just in time’ – to heal me, provide for me, deliver me or give me all the strength I need (even if it is at the eleventh hour). I want to pray now for our nation during this time of lockdown; that fear and loneliness will not take root, and that Your Church will find creative ways to reach out. May we be Your hands and feet, even when we can’t physically visit others. Be with those who may be struggling with the isolation; may they reach out to You and come to know You as their loving Father and powerful saviour. Amen.

A life well lived…

Firstly, I must apologise for the break in the weekly blog/devotional series. I know we had just started a new series on timing, which seems a little ironic as my life was turned upside down literally the following week when I got a call to say that my mum was in the final stages of her earthly life.

We had been expecting such a call for a few years; my mum was a strong lady and defied all the experts by living much longer with her degenerative, chronic illnesses than they thought was possible. But a fall a few days previously caused her body to grow even weaker, and she never recovered. 

I spent the next ten days or so sitting by her bedside, along with my dad, sister and nieces, reminiscing, reading to her, telling her how much we loved her – and playing a lot of card games! We laughed and cried, and held one another tightly as my mum made her final journey home to Jesus.

What seemed like terrible timing to me to begin with, began to reveal itself as a blessing in disguise; I was halfway through writing a devotional book on loss and disappointment. When I was first asked if I would write it, I had an inkling that God would walk me through this part of our family’s history and so much of me shrunk back from having to face that. But I knew, deep down, that He wanted me to write the book, and that He would help me do so whatever the circumstances. 

I certainly look back now she has gone and wonder how I managed to write sitting beside her as she slipped away; I know I couldn’t face writing it now as grief’s waves keep engulfing me. But, at the time, it seemed like a fitting tribute to her. She was hugely creative, and enormously encouraging to me with my editing and writing. Her own spiritual wrestlings and insights often made their way into beautifully expressive poetry; she often said that she felt compelled to sit down and write and it was almost like God was giving her a direct download that she was simply the conduit of. The experience of writing the devotional was a little like that – very different from my usual writing method.

So, today I want to honour my mum – over the coming months I may well share some of her poetry with you; for now the purpose of this post was simply to update you and ask for your patience as I process our loss and try to support the rest of my family. The weekly devotionals may or may not make it up – I’ll do my best, but rest assured I am thinking and praying for you all and will be posting whenever I can.

When things seem hopeless

Photo by mateen kazi from Pexels

Reflections based on Job 6:2–21.

‘What strength do I have, that I should still hope? What prospects, that I should be patient?’ (v.11)

I want to look at one more biblical character in our study on hope. I was drawn to Job, partly because I was surprised to see so many scriptures on hope within the book (although many are about the loss of hope). But it was mainly because, having looked at Hannah and David, I still had one more question. How do we keep hoping in God even when everything around us falls apart or is taken away?

Job was a righteous man that Satan said was only faithful because he hadn’t been tested. So God allowed him to take everything away from Job – his children, animals, servants – and afflicted him with painful sores. Even then he remained steadfast (see 2:10). It was when his friends started saying he must have sinned that Job began to question why he was suffering so much.

Job’s friends just didn’t seem to know how to cope with Job at this point. They believed he must need to repent and said that if he would put his trust back in God: ‘You will be secure, because there is hope; you will look about you and take your rest in safety.’ (11:18). How often do we judge our friends, thinking that perhaps the difficulties they are facing are the result of sin? While it is important to challenge each other when necessary, we need to be careful that we don’t make wrong assumptions.

Look again at 6:8–13. Have you ever been in a place of suffering that is so bad you just longed to be allowed to give up? I have watched my mother suffer such constant physical pain that I know death would be a relief – and yet still she clings to her hope in God. She is an inspiration to me, and has taught me so much about trusting God through difficulties.

For prayer and reflection: Help me Lord not to judge my friends unfairly, or to lose hope in You when things around me are becoming difficult.

World mental health day

A drawing my daughter did this week for ‘Inktober’, which I felt beautifully encapsulated how fragile we can sometimes feel.

Today is World Mental Health Awareness day. It is great that we have such important issues flagged up on special days, but of course, whether they are dealing with short-term or severe, long-term mental ill-health, many face difficult realities day in, day out. They are the heroes. The ones who have to be brave each and every day – just to get out of bed at times. And not only do they have to face their own inner critic, but, sadly, there is still so much stigma surrounding mental health issues. That is why anything that raises awareness is to be welcomed.

As I was doing research for a piece on Christian fiction for Premier Christianity magazine, which is due to be published in November’s issue, I was, for example, surprised and extremely pleased to learn that there are a number of novelists out there tackling this subject in a sensitive manner in their work.

There has been a plethora of blogs and comments via social media today, much of it more eloquent than I could probably be. So I decided that today I would let a few of those authors speak on this subject themselves, as they seek to provide deeper understanding amongst us all, as well as championing those who are facing this reality each day. 

May I encourage you to take time to learn more about mental ill-health, as I can assure you that you will know people who are struggling right now – perhaps you are yourself. Take time to read – either the fiction the authors below have written or some of the helpful non-fiction that Christian writers and counsellors have put together. I’ve suggested a few of each at the end of this blog.

Firstly, Sharon Garlough Brown has written the hugely successful Sensible Shoes series, which I have mentioned many times here. Her latest book is about Wren, a social worker and person of faith who has her own struggles with mental ill-health. Here is what Sharon told me about why she wanted to write about this subject: “With so many people suffering from mental health issues, I wanted to explore with deep compassion the struggles, heartaches and sense of isolation experienced not only by those afflicted with depression and anxiety, but by those who love them and often feel powerless to help.” 

Angela Hobday (writing as Annie Try) centres her novels around characters living with or overcoming mental health problems – and usually solving a mystery too! With her background as a clinical psychologist she has “worked with clients whose lives are destroyed partly by their mental illness but also by the attitudes of those around them. In my eyes, those who find every day a struggle yet still achieve their goals, or even attempt to, are heroes. I want them to be viewed as such by my readership.”

Fiction:

Shades of Light by Sharon Garlough Brown

Red Cabbage Blue by Annie Try

Non-fiction:

Honesty Over Silence by Patrick Regan

Learning to Breathe by Rachael Newham

The Power of Belonging by Will van der Hart and Rob Waller

The Insight Guides are incredibly helpful on all sorts of subjects, many connected with mental health issues. Here are three that I have had the privilege of working with experts on:

An Insight into Self-acceptance
An Insight into Shame
Insight into Burnout

Jesus, the hope of the world

Reflections based on 1 Peter 1:1–9.

I simply had to start our study focusing on the person of Jesus Christ, who is the ultimate hope for the whole world. As Christians we believe that Jesus’ death and resurrection has provided the way for people to be saved.

This passage has such a richness to it, reminding us that it is through God’s mercy towards us that we have this hope at all, and through Jesus’ perseverance and willingness to die a truly horrific death. We also have an amazing promise – we can now partake in the same inheritance as Jesus and it is being kept for us until we get to heaven!

The passage doesn’t shy away from explaining that we will face struggles in this world. Indeed the people Peter was writing to in this letter were ‘scattered throughout the provinces’ (v1) and some of that was no doubt due to persecution. But trials while on this earth do not disqualify us from our inheritance, which is an important truth to cling on to when we are feeling close to despair. In fact, here we learn that often they prove the genuineness of our faith.

Verse 8 is one I think we should all keep close to us, as it is full of comfort and hope. We believe even though we do not see, and that gives us a glorious joy that can only be found through our Saviour. What a hope we have! It is not based on our own strength, deeds, health or bank balance –but on Him alone. There is nothing we need to do to earn it, as it is a gift.

Let us never take hope for granted.

For prayer and reflection: Thank you for the hope that I have in Jesus Christ. It blows my mind that I am a joint heir with Him. Help me to live in the light of that truth, whatever I go through today. Amen.

Kate Bowler on grief, cancer – and touch

There has been a lot of noise about Kate Bowler’s book Everything Happens for a Reason and Other Lies I’ve Loved. And rightly so. In it she is incredibly honest about what it is like to live with a cancer diagnosis. How difficult it is to go through treatment, cope with friends’ and family members’ processing, as well as receiving endless explanations from strangers about why she has cancer (she wrote an article for the New York Times).

Knowing about my Unmasked blog series, Kate’s publicist and publisher offered me the chance to share an extract of my choice from the book. It feels especially poignant to be doing this now, as just last week I lost a dear friend to cancer. I am certain that she is now fully pain-free, and with her Saviour, but for those of us who are left behind we mourn and grieve. I am so grateful for those moments that I was able to share with her in her last days. Grateful too for this book, as it taught me how important touch is – and so I remembered to reach out and give my friend a hug as I said goodbye for what turned out to be the last time. It’s also taught me that grief starts early, which I am finding in another situation I am currently experiencing.

I know cancer is a particularly emotive subject, and full of pain for many. I hope that Kate’s naked honesty, and sprinkling of humour, will help others to understand what it is really like for those with cancer – and how we can be better at supporting them even as we process the emotional pain ourselves. Over to Kate…

There must be rhythms to grief, but I do not know them.

People begin to take their turns grieving me because it can’t be done all at once. Family and friends who could not be at the hospital for my operation come to stay at the house, and we start all over at the beginning.

I sit outside, wrapped in the same blankets and taking in the sunshine, all my favorite people orbiting around me. My pastor takes out her Psalms and reads a little, gripping my hand. My mom cooks a lot, stocking the freezer with everything that is suggested to be anticancer. My older sister, Amy, sends treats and constant encouragement, while Maria, my younger sister, gives me her words when she can’t be there, sending me poems and bits of trivia from New York, where she is working as an editor for a Catholic magazine. She has two big hopes for me: one, that I will be cured; the other, that, before it is over, I will punch the nearest inconsiderate person in the face.

I have so many fears, spoken and unspoken. When I first got my job at Duke and realized that I was going to live in the United States for some time, I made a lot of loud protestations about how “I will not die in a foreign land!” I also made clear that I would not die in my office, not only because that had happened before to professors (prone, as they are, to get preoccupied by their research) but also because it seemed sad, at twenty-nine, to feel exiled to the Land of Opportunity for eternity. I think back on how I casually strategized about where I would be buried, concerned that I would never be able to reconcile all the parts of my identity. A daughter who lives far from family. A friend who spends too much time at work. A wanderer but a type A planner. I wondered if I would ever be one, whole person. But now I am not hoping for completeness of any kind. All I can think of are the logistics. One night I wake up almost every hour because my mind has seized on a horrible question: Wouldn’t it be a paperwork nightmare to move my body? To take me home?

When I teach pastors at the seminary where I work, I lecture them about the First Great Awakening and religious responses to the Civil War and how their political differences will ruin their next Thanksgiving if they don’t learn to shut their traps. But as a historian, I have never spent any time teaching them how to perform baptisms, officiate weddings, or conduct funerals. And I have certainly never told them what to say when they visit someone who is dying and how not to sit on her couch, mouth full of cookies, and ask endless questions about how cancer treatment works. I did not tell them how few of their words are needed but how much their hands are wanted, a hand on my back as I tear up, a hand on my head for a soft prayer for healing. When I feel I am fading away, these hands prop me up and make me new. When my older colleague Frank, who lost his own adult son, found his way into my hospital room, he wrapped his strong hands around mine and said, quietly: “I wore this clerical collar to impress you. And also to get through hospital security.”

Kate Bowler is an assistant professor in the school of divinity at Duke University. She lives in North Carolina with her husband and son. Currently the experimental immunology treatment she is undergoing is working, and studies suggest Kate has at least another year to live.

 

 

‘My journey from desertion to redemption’

I am pleased to welcome David Mike to the Unmasked: stories of authenticity blog series today. He has faced great difficulties in his life and bravely shares his mistakes, as well as what he has learned, with us. Do check out his book…

DOWNFALL

In 1987, at the age of seventeen, I swore in to the U.S. Army, fulfilling a childhood dream of mine to become a soldier. Two years later, I found myself sitting in a jail cell facing thirty-eight years in prison. After going through a relationship break-up, I began to start hanging out in nightclubs with some fellow soldiers. It was in a moment of depression that I ended up taking a hit of ecstasy. After the first time, I immediately became addicted to the drug and the release from reality that it gave me. I deserted my Army unit and lived on the run for six months. My only source of income was from selling the very same drugs I was using.

After finally being captured by the Army’s Drug Suppression Team, I was court-martialed and stripped of my rank. I also received a dishonorable discharge and a five-year prison sentence at the United States Disciplinary Barracks at Fort Leavenworth, KS. I had nothing left, not even my own pride.

GRACE AND REDEMPTION

During my time in prison, I had an encounter with God. I read Classic Christianity by Bob George that defined grace and forgiveness. It was all new information to me. I was raised in church but never really understood what these words meant. This book really resonated with me and I learned more about the way God sees us.

Romans 8:1:

There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus

I was not a disgrace to my creator. He no longer saw what I did in the past because he took care of the penalty for me. He nailed it to the cross.

Even though I had a dishonorable discharge, it could not define me. My identity was in Christ. To Him, I was perfect and holy. It didn’t matter that I was in prison, because:

John 8:36:

So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed

Freedom.

Not the freedom I tried to take for myself.

Not the freedom that I would be eventually awarded by the Army.

Not the freedom that this current life was about to offer me.

But real freedom.

Released from the bondage of sin, my own thoughts, and the brokenness of my own flesh.

By God’s grace, I had been forgiven and I had been redeemed by my Savior.

LIFE AFTER DISHONOR

At the three-year point in my sentence, I was offered parole and was released.

As time passed, I tried to get on with my life. I did the best work I could at the at my job and stayed out of trouble. Life was not perfect or easy and I still suffered from my human identity. This meant that I made mistakes from time to time. No one ever gets it right, only one man did and He was God so there’s that. So, I tried to be a productive member of society, a role model to the students that I taught in a hair school, and a good man.

On September 11, 2001 the world changed forever. After the attacks a huge wave of patriotism swept our nation. War was imminent and everyone backed our service members no matter what branch of service or what job they held. It was amazing seeing how much love and respect was shared with anyone wearing a uniform.

GUILT AND SHAME

It was at this time I became very unsettled. My father, brother and sister were all veterans and my youngest brother had just signed up just months before the attacks. As America hailed and praised our men and women in uniform, I began to develop a deep sense of guilt and shame about the actions that led to my incarceration and dishonorable discharge.

This feeling wouldn’t go away and it cut deep into my soul. It was hard to go to work every day feeling like that. I was feeling like there really was no significance to what I was doing. That in the grand scheme of life, I was irrelevant. Men and women were going overseas to fight and die for a cause.

In no way, shape or form did I ever want to leave my family to go to war. It was in knowing that even if I did want to, I was blacklisted from serving. The time that I spent in the Army was good for nothing. The worst part was, every time someone said to me, ‘Thank you for your service’ it dug the knife in even deeper. They meant well, but I just couldn’t shake these feelings.

This same thing would happen around Veteran’s day and Memorial Day. Holidays honoring those who serve or have served and for remembering the men and women who died while serving in our country’s armed forces.

A reminder that I live in a country that was fought for with blood, sweat, tears and lives. I know that I walk around every day with the freedom that was provided for me. My heart is heavy and my head hangs low because I was discharged from the Army with dishonor. My selfish actions are to blame and I accept full responsibility. Having failed my family, my country and God miserably, I deserve the death that each military grave represents.

Yes, I know now that I am forgiven, and I know that God doesn’t look at me this way. However, it seems, the consequences of my past still haunt me year after year. The enemy likes to attack me with guilt and shame, so it rears its ugly head from time to time. Remembering the truth of who we are in Christ is the only way to dispel the lies that we tend to believe about ourselves.

SURRENDER

In an ongoing process of spiritual maturity, I came across the concept of surrender and dependency. I am very aware that I can not do things on my own. As humans we tend to mess things up when left to our own devices. So releasing the thing that we can not deal with, to God, is our only option. Being dependent on Him to do the work in us when we have hit a limit, gives us the freedom to become who He wants and designed us to be. We need to rest in the promises that God gives us in His word that He has our best interests in mind. Just, knowing that I am forgiven by God’s grace is not enough. I need to surrender my past to Him and rest in my new identity daily. My conviction does not have to define me. I have to leave my old identity and accept my new one.

1 Peter 2:9 (NLT):

For he called you out of the darkness into his wonderful light

You do not have to be defined by your past, you have been forgiven and can have a new identity in Christ.

WRITING

Several years ago, I felt called to write my story. It started out as a blog at dilemmamike.com. Eventually the blog posts were compiled and turned into a book. That process released so much pain of my past, as a huge weight felt like it had been lifted off of my shoulders. What happened next, as I shared my story was unexpected. During the three years that I blogged, people started following along. I began to receive messages about how my story resonated with them.

Some mentioned that they went through a similar situation and that hearing my story made them feel like they were not alone. One woman even said that she read my blog to feel sane and to keep from using drugs. It was awesome to hear people say they were touched by God through reading about my messy past.

Others mentioned that a family member or friend struggled with addiction, incarceration or both. For them, reading my experience, gave them a better understanding of their loved one. Again, I had no idea that putting my broken past out there would help anyone. It was very humbling.

DISHONOUR BOOK

Once the book was released, a new opportunities arose. I was able to get copies of my testimony into the hands of inmates. There were many requests from people, to mail copies of my book to incarcerated loved ones. Just like the life-changing book I read in prison, God was now using my book to do the same for others. I love hearing the stories that people share with me after reading my book.

I have been able to share my book with people struggling with addiction or just trying to deal with the shame and guilt with their past.

After the release of my book, I was able to speak to several churches, schools and organizations. This whole thing has been so surreal.

If I never told my story, these things may never have happened.

Maybe you don’t think you have a story.

We have all struggled with something, are struggling right now or will struggle in the future.

Someone out there needs to know that they are not alone.

Share your experiences.

Is there something going on in your life right now or something that you have overcome?

You can share God’s love

You could be the person who leads others the light.

 

Take off the mask, you might be surprised what happens next…

 

 

David Mike is a Christ follower, husband, father, blogger, author of Dishonor: One Soldier’s Journey from Desertion to Redemption and cosmetology instructor in Omaha, NE. David is passionate about sharing the message that we do not have to be defined by our past and that God can use our kind of mess for good. You can follow David on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram

Embracing the broken

I am delighted to welcome Liz Carter to my blog, as she continues the ‘Unmasked: stories of authenticity’ series. This will be the last post before I take a little break for the holidays – but will be continuing with this series in the New Year. Liz is incredibly honest here and I resonated with a  lot of what she shared, including the pressure felt as a pastor’s wife and also feeling the need to learn to lament well…

‘How do you feel now?’

I stand there, my head bowed, my body stiff as I contain the pain raging inside. What do I say?

‘Are you feeling better?’

I bite down on my lip. ‘A little, yes, thank you.’

But inside I am berating myself. That’s not true, is it? I don’t feel a little better at all. If anything, I feel worse, the pain made somehow more obvious by the prayer. I feel just that bit smaller, that bit more invisible, the real me hiding behind the reality that once again, I am not healed. Once again, I have let somebody down, someone who wanted to pray with me, to see me set free from the pain which holds me in fierce bonds.

You see, this is my mask. This is the face I put on. It’s the face I have put on all my life, growing up with a degenerative lung disease. And it’s the face I sometimes put on with God, too.

It’s the ‘I’m fine’ face. It’s the words I say when folk ask me if I am better yet, the smile I smile when people tell me I look so well. It’s the false mask of pretence; a way to escape being too real, because sometimes it’s just too hard. Too exhausting to reveal my inner self with all its pain and loneliness, enclosed in a body which keeps me caged from the world for so much of the time. So instead of sharing my unmasked self, I nod. I smile. I’m fine, thank you.

Somewhere along the way, I learned to hide my feelings. Growing up with this disease meant that I had to put a mask on every day, to face the world, to be a person who deserved a place in the world. If I took my mask off, I thought I was showing that I wasn’t good enough, after all. That I was too weak and helpless. Too pathetic to be of use, because my body always let me down. The easiest way was to hide the fact that I was in pain. To pretend that all was well.

I started doing this in church, as well. I thought that people didn’t want to hear that I had another infection or felt too exhausted to go out of my house or that pleurisy was racking me yet again. I thought that I wasn’t displaying God’s power at work in my life if I was sick. I thought people wanted to hear bright and positive stuff.

But I was wrong.

People long to see authenticity

They yearn to see people being more honest, more open about their struggles. And when I share what I am really feeling, how I am struggling, then that brings me to a better place, as well. A place where I don’t have to pretend, anymore, a place where I don’t have to be lonely in my pain, because others have taken some of it and held it along with me.

Unmasking is scary. It’s risky. It doesn’t always go down so well, either. There have been the times I’ve tried to be more real with folk and they haven’t wanted to know. The shutters have come down, the glances over my shoulder more marked, the barriers erected. The platitudes start: ‘I’m sure you’ll be better soon.’ ‘You just need a bit of fresh air/exercise/aloe vera.’ Some people don’t want to be faced with the reality of my pain.

But there are actually far fewer of these people than I once told myself. Once upon a time, I felt I could only be open with my closest friends and family. Now, I’ve found that saying how I really feel can open conversations in the most wonderful way. I was talking to a lovely lady the other day – I don’t know her very well, so was all ready to say ‘fine, thanks,’ when the question came. But I caught myself, and told her that I was feeling fairly broken, actually, and that this year had been really bad for me, with multiple infections and a hospital admission. Instead of the conversation continuing on the superficial level it had started with, it got deep quickly, because this lady was released to speak about stuff going on for her, too. My decision to be real meant a much more profound connection. A healing conversation.

The perfect parson’s wife

I’m especially aware of this as a vicar’s wife. Perhaps there’s a script running somewhere in my mind telling me what a vicar’s wife should look like and act like, something which says that a vicar’s wife is always impeccably presented, and coolly calm and confident. I couldn’t possibly show folk who I really am, because that wouldn’t be appropriate.

I know that script is really a load of rubbish. It’s an archaic leftover of old novels I’ve read featuring distant and collected parson’s wives (we’re talking Austen and Bronte here.) It’s nothing like the reality of living life with honesty and integrity – which leads to messiness.

But messy is good. Messy is important, and real. Standing in coffee time after church with tears running down my cheeks means an unmasking which gives others permission to give of themselves, too. It means a sharing of lives marred with brokenness, an honesty about suffering which still crushes us, an authenticity about those times we just don’t get it.

Because a life lived with God does not mean a life lived without pain. And if we can learn to be honest about the pain then we can reach out to each other so much more. We can listen to one another and make the world a less lonely place, even if for only a moment or two. We can reach out and catch hold of the work of the Spirit among us as God brings healing through our willingness to open ourselves up. Even when it hurts.

We’re allowed to shout at God

I’ve had to go through a journey of being real with God, as well as with others. I got too good at pretending that everything was fine. That I didn’t mind when others were healed and I wasn’t, that I was good with it, that it was okay because I wanted those people to be happy. I told God that I was fine with my sick body if that was who I was supposed to be. I plastered a grin on my face and carried on.

Some of this was authentic. I found joy in worship, and felt that I had come to a place of acceptance of where I was. I’d lived with it forever, after all, so had known no other way, so perhaps it was easier for me than for others who suddenly get sick or become disabled. God was so much more than my feelings, and I found that I could take hold of contentment in God’s presence rather than in my circumstances.

But in all of this, I forgot to actually acknowledge my feelings.

I forgot that it is important to tell God how we feel.

I forgot about lament.

The Bible is an incredible model of how to be authentic. Right through all the books, we see broken people responding to God from out of their brokenness. We see people shouting at God, moaning, weeping, screaming. We see people battering their fists into God’s chest.

We even see Jesus in the deepest grief, sweating drops of blood as He asks God to take this great burden away from him. We see in Jesus’ desperation the most profound authenticity, an honesty not afraid to express His fears and His pain, while always saying Yet not my will. Yet not my will, but yours be done. Jesus had no need to put on a mask before His Father, no need to say that He was fine thank you, that He was really okay with what He knew He had to do.

Because He really wasn’t okay. He was sweating blood.

In the psalms, the writers so often share their brokenness in the most raw words, ragged and haunting poetry which expresses their pain. How long, O Lord, how long?… Why, my soul, are you so downcast?… Do not hide your face from me! The writers don’t hold back from God, because they know that God can take their grief and their shame, their agony and their hatred. They give us a model for how we can be genuine in our prayers. How we can share the depths of our hearts with God, even when those depths are so very dark, because there is no darkness that cannot be lit up with God’s dazzling light. Those psalmists always move on from laying out their brokenness to trusting in God, even when things look bleak. And it’s in their active decisions to remember God’s work in their life and to praise God anyway that they find their healing, that they find their mourning turned to dancing and their lives lifted from the pit.

Their unmasking leads to their healing.

This is my experience, too. Pretending does nothing, before God and before people, because pretending leads to superficiality, and there is little point to that. Honesty – even in all its raw brutality – does so much more. It lays bare truth and its vulnerability speaks to battered hearts and crushed lives.

‘Are you feeling better, now?’ the person praying asks of me.

I begin to speak, but stop myself for a second.

‘I’m still in pain. So much pain. Why can’t God take my pain away?’

And we weep together. We weep in the waiting and in the brokenness, but our weeping is seasoned with hope, the hope we both know, the reason we keep on asking.

The hope that will never let us go.

Liz lives in Shropshire with her Rev. other half and two teens. She loves writing more than most other things and blogs here. Her Bible study book about Beauty and the Beast is available here or you can get an e-copy for free on her blog. Liz’s first book is about contentment living in a broken world and will be published by IVP in 2018.