The Big D: The end is near and the pressure is on

02 October
With my mind on reintegration (we have such an unbelievably short time left--and the date is still holding!!) I've had some strange thoughts swimming around in my head and I've resolved some of them, which has removed a huge amount of pressure I stupidly placed on my shoulders, so I thought I would share some of my stupidity and how I am getting past it:

I am an over-achiever. Let's just get that out there. You might have been able to figure that out through reading my other posts, or if you know me personally. If you ask me to do something, I will not only do it, but I will do better than that if at all possible. I also like order. I like when things make sense and that's a big reason why I am even writing all of this. For so many young wives, enlisting in the army and sending a husband off to BCT makes them feel like their life is a suitcase that's been dropped down the stairs and all the insides have been dumped out and scattered all over the place. I like to walk up behind you, pick up your things, fold them neatly, tuck them back in, then hand you back your suitcase with a smile, having made sense of it all for you.

So now you will understand, maybe, the range of emotion that has been running through my brain at having such a close homecoming date to hold on to. I have gone from "This doesn't feel real yet," to "I've got to drop EVERYTHING and make the house perfect," to "Forget perfect, I need to finish this project before he gets home because he will totally not 'get' why I'm spending so much time on it and I won't be able to work on it much after he's here," to "Crap. What else about the way I've been doing things is going to have to change?"

Let me clarify...it's not "change" that scares me. We've been married a long time and have been through lots of things that have changed us as individuals and as a couple. Change is just a part of the marital package. What's had me all wound up is the fact that I have ordered my life in a very intentional way that makes sense to me. I have priorities--for me, they're spiritual things (church is where we are on a Sunday morning; yes, Bible study is an hour away twice a week but I wouldn't miss it for ANYTHING, if there is a social thing or a service thing going on with church, I do my best to be there). Doing life this way is how I feel I am being obedient to God (maybe if you're not a person of faith you have nothing to relate this to, but maybe you do, so I'm just going to put it all out there).

A couple of days ago, I had this raw, panicky thought: how do I continue to live in what is, for me, a God-honoring way, when I now have to share my daily life and these priorities that I have had the ultimate say in, with another person--a person who hasn't been on the same journey as I have and who isn't where I'm at spiritually? My husband and I make a really good partnership but my walk with God is something about me he appreciates from a distance, y'know? Anyway, this thought really threw me for a loop and I shared my concerns with my bible study friends (who are much smarter and wiser than me, lol) and one of them said to me, "Can I say something? You're breaking my heart a little bit by thinking you have to have everything perfectly ordered when your husband comes home. It doesn't have to be, ok? Just take it a day at a time and quit trying to be everything to everyone." I burst into tears when she said that. It was such a relief to hear someone say those words and I didn't even realize that's what I had been doing in trying to anticipate what my husband's reactions would be to the way I'd ordered our lives (let's face it--it's been a year and a half since we sold our house in Kansas City and had anything resembling a normal life as a family unit so there's bound to be some surprises for him), and trying to fit all the mixed up pieces together beforehand.

So, I'm not doing that anymore and it is SUCH load off! I do anticipate that some of my habits will have to change but I will give them up and not require my husband to conform to my routines because it just shouldn't be that way...in my very old-fashioned opinion, anyway. My husband has never been one to aggressively be "The Man of the House" and he's never played that card with me to get his way, but I think deep down, that's what men really are when they are at their best, God-given potential as leaders, lovers, providers, and protectors. I want him to slip back into that role without being hindered by my whining about what I'm giving up. And even though it feels like what I am giving up is good (and I've been fortunate to have the alone time to develop some of the life-long disciplines I didn't have before), I am resting in the knowledge that by submitting to the way my husband wants to order our lives--it's ok, because God gave me my husband and in being a good, and happy, and undemanding, and uncomplicated wife, I'm still honoring God with my life. It will look a little bit different after the big day but I'm not really losing any ground with Him. He knows.

Wowza. That ended up being really long. I'm sorry if this makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, lol. But I still hold onto the off-chance that there is someone out there who can use this to make sense of their own unique situation and so I'll hit "post" instead of "delete."           

The Big D: It's over

18 October
No words. Just.....          

The Woman Who Didn't Belong: A Parable

There once was a very large house on a very large hill that was lovingly maintained and owned by a man of obvious privilege.  The house was surrounded by acres of carefully manicured grass, fruit trees that produced in abundance, and a beautiful marble fountain crafted by a talented artist who loved and revered the master of the house as if he was family, and in fact, he was.

Surrounding this house and its property was an ornate fence of wrought iron.  It stood taller than a man and beheld enough beauty of its own to prompt passersby to admire it.  Between its twisting bars, one could plainly see all of the comings and goings of the fortunate souls who were permitted entry through the gate and allowed to partake of the master's generosity.


During the course of many years, hundreds of those who belonged inside entered through the gate but there were millions who could only stand outside and wonder what it was like within.  Over time, some on the outside grew jealous.  They spat in the dirt and shook their fist at the gate as if anyone inside would be moved by such a display. Most on the outside however, simply walked away and carried on with their little lives in their little houses inside their own humble little gates.

One day the master of the very large house received a very important visitor.  The visitor, a skilled physician, was long awaited and highly anticipated.  However, the good doctor was outspoken in his positions, stirring up the anger of the most prominent of the privileged guests.  They harrumphed and turn on their heels and stomped outside upon his arrival.  Unwilling to depart completely from the safety and comfort of the gate, they sat in the manicured grass outside and pouted. 

This created such a foofaraw that many on the outside returned to the gate with fascination to see what would happen next.  They wrapped their fingers around the iron work and craned their necks to see.  They were slightly disappointed to see the unflappable physician wave good-bye to the ones who didn't want his company and return quietly to the party that was being thrown in his honor.

Later, no one would recall quite how it happened: that a poor woman from the outside came to enter into the house.  It was surmised that she slunk in through a secret passageway for there she stood in the opulent foyer where she clearly did not belong.  And then, in front of an audience of shocked onlookers, she stooped down and knelt in front of the doctor.  She proceeded to lower herself until she was prostrate on the floor at his feet.  Hushed whispers made their way round the room about the condition of the floor and the condition of her soul, that she would humiliate herself so.

"Good doctor," she whispered in a trembling voice, stretching out her fingers and then curling them into her fists, as if she wanted to touch his feet but thought better of it.  "Your skill is renown throughout the land.  I am in desperate need of your services.  You see, my daughter is very ill.  In fact, she is on death's door.  Please. Can you help her?"  When no response was made, she whimpered, letting her tears fall on the expensive tiles beneath her. 

Finally, those who were closest to the doctor spoke, urging him to send her away.  Her begging and whining, they said, was bothering them and spoiling the mood of the party that was, if he needed to be reminded, in his honor.   

"I beg of you, Doctor," she said, ignoring them.  "You alone can save her."

"Woman," the doctor said.  "How can I help you when I came here to give my services to the people who belong in this house?  It is not right for you to take the food from the children's table and give it to the dogs."

Though everyone thought it, no one expected him to say it out loud.  His friends became angry that he would allow himself to be put in this uncomfortable position.  They knew him well enough to know he preferred to err on the side of compassion.  Furthermore, they did not mind doing his dirty work; keeping the riffraff who constantly flocked to him, soiling the hem of his garments in their undignified posturing, at bay.  It was nothing personal.  He wasn't here for them.

What they did not understand was that his response was as much for them as it was for her, for they would learn volumes from watching what she did next.

She did not become angry or indignant, as she surely would have been justified in doing after being compared to a dog and the act of saving her daughter as being the food fit for dogs.  Nor did she shrink away from him and retreat from the house with what modicum of dignity she might have retained after this pathetic show.  

She raised her head slightly and said, "What you say is true, Sir.  I do not deserve your kindness.  But even the dogs under the table are allowed to eat the scraps from the children's plates."

It was painful to watch.  Again, the doctor's friends urged him to send her away, reassuring him that he was not wrong to do so.  He silenced them with a mere look and bent down to the woman, took her hand in his, and helped her to her feet.  "Good answer," he said.  "I will be glad to help you."

And with that, the two departed as if they were old chums reconciled, leaving the mouths of his friends agape with incredulity.



This parable retelling of Mark 7:24-29 and Matthew 15:21-28 attempts to make sense of the one time in scripture when Jesus comes off as a bit of an insensitive jerk.  Yes, I said it.  Mark and Matthew recorded these events as they happened whether they understood them or not.  To me, this story that  describes for us the first non-Jewish convert in Jesus' ministry, is a stark reminder to every single Christian alive today that He owes us nothing.  We are not entitled to His grace, or even a split-second of His attention, and we have done nothing worthwhile to deserve it.  The woman in this story knew she was undeserving and yet she came to him because she was suffering.  How many of us today approach Jesus because we are hurting and desperate for hope?  Thank God for the blessing of affliction, which prompts us to move when we might otherwise stay at home to wallow in our sadness.  That He stoops down to us in our darkest places and invites us to His table should bring us to fall on our faces before Him.  Never doubt His goodness.

"You do not desire a sacrifice, or I would offer one.

You do not want a burnt offering.

The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit.

You will not reject a broken and repentant heart, O God."

Psalm 51:16-17

Being Blameless

It's cold in here.  That's what I notice first.  I knew it would be.  Places like this are always cold.  It was surprisingly easy to get in this room.  I never even had to show my ID.  But it's just a small county jail.  A couple of heavy doors with a small square of bullet-proof glass at eye level (if you're a 6' tall man) to push through and here we are in the common area.

Monochromatic.  That's the second thing I notice.  The walls, doors, floor, ceiling, even the heavy iron picnic tables that are bolted to the floor are the same shade of pale gray.

Every thing is hard.  There are no soft surfaces.  I glimpse two women who are new to the facility being given their bedding before being sent to their room.  They can carry it--mattress and all--under one arm.  That's the softest thing thing I've seen and it's pretty pathetic.

I stand awkwardly just inside the door as it clangs shut behind me and meet the stares of the women who are such a stark contrast to everything else about this place.  They are soft and feminine and clothed in that obnoxious bright orange that people only wear when they want to be easily found.  Though they wear no make-up and don't have blow dryers or flat irons, there is a beauty in them and I can easily imagine what they would look like if they were dressed for company. 

There are about 17 women in this common area waiting for us; all of them inmates of the Cleburn County Correctional Facility.  We have no idea what they've done to get here but it's probably better this way.  The less we know the less we judge.  This way, all I can see are women who are already paying the price for what they've done.  I don't need to condemn; I am just here to sit with them for an hour.

They stand up and form a line that stretches to the back of the room.  One by one they embrace me, my sister, and my aunt in greeting.  They've never seen me or my sister before and have no idea if we are even worthy of their hugs but the fact that we came here with their beloved teachers, Ray and Esther Clevenger, is enough for them to know we are. 

I am not generally a hugger but I would die before I would refuse a hug from any of these women.  As I wrap my arms around them, I feel the flesh at their back, the unique form and shape and feel of each individual, and though I don't speak I hope to communicate with my touch that I am glad to be here.  No.  I am honored to be here, included in this bible study, wholly accepted by these women--no questions asked.  There are not many groups of women who would do that.  How can I help but do the same?

I find a place among them as we sit at the tables.  Uncle Ray tells them to open their bibles to where they left off last time: Proverbs 29.  Several women slide pictures of their kids out from between the pages of their bibles and lay them down carefully, touching each one tenderly.  "My kids," the woman next to me whispers as she positions the pictures around her bible.  "They're beautiful," I whisper back and I mean it.  They are adorable--all four of them, and I ache a little, wondering who is caring for them in her absense and when she will get to see them again.

I did not bring my bible.  Uncle Ray said they'd share theirs with us, so I sit and watch them find their places.  I am astonished at how much they have written in the pages of their bibles.  I love the sight of scripture that has been lovingly, painstakingly underscored, starred, highlighted, and wrinkled from use and misuse.  Those are words that have been poured over and meditated on.  Words that have convicted and comforted, wrecked and solaced.

The woman who sits across from me, a grandmother I would later discover, slides her bible across the table so that I can look from it and follow along.  Uncle Ray begins with verse 1.  He goes down the page, telling a story from his life to impart the meaning of each verse and how it applies to the lives of these women.  He makes his way to verse 10: "The bloodthirsty hate the upright; but the just seek his soul."  I struggle to understand the meaning of this King James text but the women nod, rapt, transfixed by his teaching.  I have been doing bible studies for a long time--I'm not sure if I've ever seen an entire group so 100% committed to every word spoken.  There are no yawns to stifle, no cell phones to check, no watches to look at, no fidgeting children to quiet, no appointments that cause them to leave early.  Every word he says and reads is soaked in by every listener.  I wonder how they have looked forward to this hour all week long.

For some of them, this might be the first time they have heard these words and I marvel at the life-transforming power of them.  There is no stumbling block of good deeds that gets in the way of their salvation.  They know their wrongs and they know what a precious gift grace is.  They are taught that they are blameless now, that they are the ones Jesus died for, and they do not take it for granted like so many of us "good Christans" who have never found ourselves in this confining world of orange and gray. 

While they listen to Uncle Ray's preaching and concentrate on the scriptures laid out in front of them, they are probably more spiritually sure of who they are as daughters of the Most High than at any other time in their lives.  This is their safe place.  They are safe from the bad friends and temptations and stupid decisions that landed them here.  They are safe from the psychological devastation of being judged--or worse--the self-loathing that probably haunts them day and night.  They probably walk back to their cells after this hour of bible study with new promises in their hearts and new confidence that they will do things right next time because they serve a God of second and third chances. 

I know how it feels to hear the powerful message of redemption and be so full of love and gratitude to God you're nearly bursting.  And I know how it feels a few days later when the memory of the message has faded, the glow has waned, and the confidence wavers. 

They leave the safety of the gray walls so abruptly.  When the court date arrives they are walked from their cell to the judge, not knowing what the outcome will be.  If they are freed, they are turned out without even enough warning to call for a ride.  They go right back to the environment that got them here.  No more Ray and Esther.  No more godly women flanking them at those cold gray tables, encouraging them, keeping them in the Word, keeping the flame lit.

It's a miracle more of them don't find their way back.

I think about these women all the time. I remember their faces and I wonder about them.  I lift them up in prayer and hope they find themselves surrounded by godly women on the outside who will continue to pour into them. 

A few days later, my mind still on the verses Uncle Ray explained to the women, I look them up in my own NLT bible.  I want to understand them better.  I zero in on Proverbs 29:10 which says, "The bloodthirsty hate blameless people; [as for the upright, they seek their life.]"  Suddenly I realize who the blameless are.  They wear orange, condemned by the county, but considered blameless by a loving God.  I get to choose who I will be.  Will I be the bloodthirsty who hate them?  Or the upright who seek the same new life they now possess?

It's an easy answer.

Responding to Grace

Tis not the work of force but skill

To find the way into men's will.

Tis love alone can hearts unlock.

Who knows the Word, he needs not knock.

Richard Crashaw - 1652

Grace loved Chester but Chester didn't love Grace in return.  She knows it.  You can feel her insecurity in the letters she wrote to him in the summer of 1906. 

My Dear Chester,
...I think I shall die of joy when I see you, dear.  I will try not to worry so much and I won't believe the horrid things the girls write...

You can also tell that Chester wasn't a very good person but Grace didn't mind.

...You have said you would come and sometimes I just know you will, but then I think about other things and I am just as certain you won't come....

She loved him anyway and held onto the hope that he would come for her.  She had given him everything there was for a girl to give to a boy and she waited anxiously for him to respond to her proclamations of love.  He never spoke affectionately in the 3 letters he wrote back to her dozens.  She even apologized in one letter for how affectionate she was in hers and tried to mimic his curt, businesslike tone.  But by the next letter, she was back to worrying over why he hadn't written, and proclaiming her love again, and wondering when he would come.

Unrequited love is so unfair.  I see Grace as a young woman who has taken a gamble by baring her soul to a man who may or may not love her back.  She stands there trembling and naked before him, while he remains fully clothed and buttoned up, from his hat all the way down to his boots, arms firmly crossed over his chest, revealing nothing, risking nothing.  That way she is the only one who stands to lose.

This happened once in the bible.  Not in a romantic way but the risk was no less inherent in the gamble Jonathan took when he proclaimed his undying loyalty to his friend, David.  1 Samuel 18:3-4: "And Jonathan made a solemn pact with David because he loved him as he loved himself.  Jonathan sealed the pact by taking off his robe and giving it to David, together with his tunic, sword, bow, and belt."  We don't know what David's response was because the bible doesn't give it.  The scene shifts abruptly and Jonathan is left standing there, naked and defenseless, and without a response to this lavish display.

We know a little bit about Chester's response to Grace through her letters.  He accepted her affection enough to get her pregnant before almost totally ignoring her.  She begged and pleaded with him to take responsibility and not be a coward, to come to her parent's house where she was burdened with her secret--his baby--and take her away.  She worried to the point of making herself ill and confessed to fainting when she received a letter from a girl Chester knew, admitting to things that Chester did in Grace's absence.  But it was too late for her to walk away with any dignity.  She needed him to come for her and she desperately wanted him to love her. 

Forget for a moment that life was different for an unwed mother in 1906.  These are things we all long for.  When we have physically, emotionally, and spiritually given all we have to give, we want it to be given back in full measure.  We will be forever incomplete and feel cheated if it's not.

In the surprise of the young century, Chester did show up at Grace's door, told her to pack her bags, and took her away.  You can just bet that everything about that day got instantly brighter for Grace, can't you?  The twinge of morning sickness evaporated.  The shadows on the front lawn, which once seemed so ominous and foreboding, were now merely dappled evidence of the sunshine which was finally going to beat down on her face as she joined her savior on the front stoop, carpetbag in hand, future secure.  I imagine the relief, the feeling of pure joy, that must have seeped through her veins at the sight of him standing there before her.  I imagine the way she must have thrown her arms around his neck and basked for a wonderful moment in the assurance of his love for her. 

They went to a resort in the Adirondacks and stayed in a hotel for the night.  Grace must have assumed he would take her to a chapel or to a Justice of the Peace to marry her quickly and quietly.  But he didn't.  The next day he killed her and dumped her body in Moose Lake.

Tragically, Jonathan lost his life too in a senseless killing.  Not because of David, though.  In fact, we learn in 1 Samuel 20 that David fully reciprocated Jonathan's friendship and loved him just as fiercely.  They often risked their lives for one another and kept each other alive when King Saul would have killed them both.  It was the original bro-mance!  So why did the prophet Samuel, author of his first book, leave us hanging for two whole chapters, wondering at David's response to Jonathan?  Maybe what's left out of the bible can be just as telling as what's left in.  Maybe by leaving David unresponsive, Samuel is giving us a sneak-peak at the coming of a Savior who would give of himself so lavishly, all that would be left would be his naked body, trembling, and dying in front of people who didn't know what to make of Him.  He still evokes a range of responses in us.  Some of us fall on our faces in a twisting anguish of undeserving gratitude.  Some of us weep quietly and make a simple promise to start going to church again.  Sometimes there is no response at all.  He knew this was a risk He was taking but it didn't stop Him from coming and giving everything there was to give.

What's your response?  Are you preoccupied like Chester?  Are you too busy living life, and having fun, and skirting responsibility, and doing things your own way to stop and notice what's already been given to you?  You can stand there with your mouth shut like David in chapter 18 and leave Him hanging.  You can even turn away from it and ignore Him.  That's your right as a human being who was made to choose.  But it's been done so you have to choose one way or the other.

You can choose to respond like Chester did when he dumped his gift in the lake, preferring life without it.  But your choice won't be ignored forever.  Grace was known by the people in Chester's life.  She was missed when she was gone.   The authorities drug the lake and recovered her body.  The truth could not stay hidden and Chester would have to answer for his choice.  He went to trial in a case that captivated America.  Grace's letters were read to the jury and when they heard her plaintive cries for his love, and felt her vulnerability as she sat and waited for him, it moved them to recommend execution for young Chester, who only ever wanted to have fun.  He died by electrocution on March 30, 1908.

Friends, if you think there is nothing more to this life than having a little bit of fun before you die, go ahead.  No one will stop you.  You may not go to the extremes Chester did to cling to that thin thread of independence, but you know your life will one day come to a grinding halt.  Maybe tomorrow.  Maybe in 70 years.  But know too that you have been given a lavish gift.  Consider it with awe and wonder.  Respond to it.  Reach out to Grace now.  Take its hand, and then let it throw its arms around your neck and say into your ear, "Finally.  I've been waiting for you."



Quotes from Grace's letters come from the book, "A Northern Light" by Jennifer Donnelly.  Information about Chester's execution comes from (I know, I know) Wikipedia.