Sometimes the simplest lessons can be the most profound.
…
It was probably 10 years ago.
I was in the midst of emotional confusion and relational chaos. My then, husband and I were nothing short of broken. The alcoholism had become the monster in our marriage. I was trying everything to move it, so that we could get back on track and return to something that even remotely represented some normalcy in life.
In my searching, I ended up at a friend’s kitchen table.
A kitchen table that would change the course of my life.
It was a chilly mid-November morning. I remember it well. The air was brisk and the sky was overcast. Who would have known that I had so much to be grateful for at this time of Thanksgiving. Gratitude was the furthest thing from my mind ~ and certainly from my heart.
After all, I was writhing and sputtering, trying to keep my head above water. My marriage was falling apart and I had no idea what to do.
Every day was an exhausting battle to find answers.
To make things right.
Until that visit….
She poured some tea. I found comfort in wrapping my hands around that warm, and inviting mug. I rested in the experience.
The steam softly rose to meet my weary face, and tears rolled from the corner of my eye. Quietly, we looked out the window to see the first tastings of winter.
Wispy, white flakes fell silently outside beyond the glass.
We talked.
And she listened with her heart.
I wept as I felt the burden of my marriage stealing my joy. Smothering our lives.
Then she opened her Bible.
We read verse after verse of inspiration and hope. The unfailing love of God woven throughout those pages. That same love was searching for me. Calling me near. It all sounded so wonderful. In that moment I longed to feel the gentle caress of Christ. But I was so consumed with my misery that I wasn’t able to receive it. My mind was in constant motion.
Blocking out the pain.
Fending off the fear.
Then my friend said, “OK, it’s like this.” She took what was on the table, right there in front of me, and used it to speak volumes.
Loud and clear.
All in love.
“You see ~ you and your husband are these two coffee mugs. And God is this planter. You’re so busy trying to work everything out, that you’re missing God in the process.”
“You need to get out of the way and let Him do His work with your husband.”
“Back up and be still. Your job is to pray.”
That was one of those teachings I’ll never forget.
It’s embedded forever on my soul and I will carry it with me through this lifetime. I apply the wisdom over and over again when I find myself struggling. Closing out life. Blocking the pain, again.
You know how it is.
There are so many opportunities in our lives to use the lessons. So often, walking one foot in this physical world, I lose sight of the Cross. I start shifting my focus downward. Inward toward myself. My problems.
Then, control seemingly becomes the only option. The only way out. Our thinking becomes distorted.
How can I make things right?
What can I do to fix this?
Maybe if I just tell them in another way, they’ll get it?
Or if I hold on a little tighter they won’t go.
The problem with this is that our ability to see the ‘whole’ of life is limited. We try to change that which we can see. The things that don’t seem to be working in this life for us. The people. The circumstances. We want them to work in our favor. The way we think that they should go to bring our happiness.
But the paradox ~ our joy is inextricably linked with surrender.
I have trouble with change.
With letting go.
Watching my Sweet Louise growing up and moving beyond my arms is truly a learning experience for me.
Just this past week, God offered great joy.
But the question was there, out in the open…
Was I going to surrender my fears to Him and accept the potential for joy that He was extending? Or was I going to walk the old, worn, and familiar path of what felt ‘safe’?
Emma had the opportunity to go to camp for a week. 5 overnights. No phones allowed. New place. She didn’t know anyone. Nor did I. The only thing we had was that it was a Christian camp recommended by a friend.
When you take it for face value, typewritten there in black-and-white, it seems so benign. People send their kids to camp everyday. What’s the big deal?! That’s what swirled around in my head. The logical, reasoning part of me.
But somewhere deep in the core of my being, there was fear.
Great fear.
And the enemy knows that. He preys in those cold, dark caverns of hurtful experiences. He feeds on pains of the past, wanting to keep us down in the mire. For a time I contemplated those old, buried memories. The ones that reminded me….
When she was just a baby, you left her alone with a family member and they hurt her.
Remember the time she needed you? It was after the divorce. She was at her father’s house and was desperate to see you but you weren’t there.
Or the time she left a note in the mailbox. Another strained visit with her dad. He wouldn’t let her see you, and she drew a picture of herself crying. Her little 6-year-old handwriting read “I miss you so much, Mommy.”
Then, I stopped and listened.
And louder than these voices.
Bigger than the fear.
I heard Christ calling to my heart, and He said,
“Trust me.”
“I’m holding her.”
Peace washed over me. And Emma was thrilled to have the chance to go to this camp. There was no looking back for her! The day I told her, she had her bags packed. Her heart swung open to God ~ awaiting the adventures He held for her.
So, I pulled that experience from the kitchen table, out of my back pocket again.
I got out of the way.
I prayed.
And waited while God did His work in her life.
When I picked her up that Saturday morning, she was exhausted, but glowing.
The heat had been brutal and the mosquitoes in force.
But there was nothing that was going to keep that girl from running into the goodness that awaited her that week. Arms open wide, she took it all in. Community, laughter, sunshine, water, worship, and her own learning. Learning to ‘get out of the way’.
Before we unpacked the car and took her things down to the house, she had a story she needed to tell me.
…
There was a girl in her cabin who was extremely shy. Emma watched as she stayed in the back of the group. As she hung her head. Beyond the shy, my Sweet Louise sensed that there was more to her. More to Katie.
There was something different about her.
Katie’s broken heart must have sensed Emma’s tenderness. For she reached out to Emma in confidence one afternoon. When everyone had gone out to swim, and the two of them were still left walking behind, under the canopy of trees in the summer heat.
Emma was heartbroken as Katie told her the story of her family’s life at home. The brokenness and despair. Her mother’s illness. Her father’s absence. And a sibling with great disability.
Later in the week, Katie shared with Emma and another peer.
She had a secret.
Crying out to someone who genuinely seemed to care, she pulled up her sleeve, and moved her bracelets to the side. There were the scars.
She was a cutter.
With her fingernails sharpened to a point she would cut her wrist in a desperate attempt to release the sadness, the loneliness, the angst when it all got to be too much. It was her attempt to control the pain of her life.
To try to make it stop.
…
They prayed over Katie, asking God’s protection and blessing on her.
Emma told me that later she found a quiet space and she called out to her Jesus. She had never met someone like this. She had never seen this desperation. She herself, felt lost. She didn’t know what to do. Or what to say anymore.
So she surrendered.
She cried, “Lord show me. I can’t fix her life. I can’t make it better. But I know You can. Show me what to do.”
Then she prayed.
And waited.
Late that night…everyone else was asleep in the cabin. Everyone but Emma and Katie.
Emma went to get something from her suitcase and saw a bottle of nail polish.
She pulled it out of her bag and went over to her new friend’s bunk. She whispered, “Hey, Katie. I wondered if I could do your nails for you?”
Katie wept.
She paused, then replied.
“Yes”
…
So, in the silence of that night, in the loving arms of Christ, Emma gently filed those bitter, wounded points smooth. She lovingly held the delicate hands of a girl who was lost and felt so desperately alone. Perhaps warmed by the love of Christ that evening ~ because Emma was willing to surrender and let God do His work.
He worked through her to meet Katie where she was at.
He met her with unconditional love and a kind heart.
Emma knew she couldn’t change Katie’s life.
But God could.
And maybe…just maybe, this was the start.
…
My Sweet Louise 
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