Mercy and Justice

I am posting portions of a paper I just finished for one of my classes at Fuller Seminary. It was a process paper on signature themes in my learning so far (nine courses) This first section is on mercy and justice.

Section One: Mercy and Justice
“I will sow her for Myself in the land. I will also have compassion on her who had not obtained compassion...” (Hosea 2:3a)

God created me for Himself, to know Him, love Him, worship Him and experience eternity in joyful communion with Him. He created me to become a wife and mother, to be a missional leader, a lifelong learner and to finish well. Before the foundations of the earth, He knew my name and knew when and where He would place me along the continuum of His story of the redemption of His creation. He created me with a purpose and a great plan, for good works in Christ Jesus. He created me in love.

My earliest memories are of fear, chaos, anger and trauma. I do not remember being held or feeling safe. I do not remember being told about God. I do not remember peace. I have a copy of a home movie taken when I was six weeks old, lying on my mother’s lap. As I look at that video now, I know what is to come. I know that little baby will be abused as a little girl, and later will become the object of her father’s drunken chaos; she will, as a young teenager, become the dumping ground for her alcoholic father's emotional emptiness. I know that precious little infant girl will be robbed of her dignity, her sense of value, her innocence and her ability to trust.

Perhaps it was in those early teenage years - after I had begun to develop and my father would come into my room late in the evening, his breath bitter with the stink of hard liquor and life’s disappointments, when he would lay next to me on my bed and fear would ooze out of my every pore - perhaps it was then that I began to seek an understanding of mercy and justice. I met the Lord when I was barely fourteen and begged Him to stop my dad from coming into my room. It would be six more years before the last time my father sought me out to touch me and breathe his bitter breath on me. I did not understand why God did not answer that prayer, or why bad things kept on happening, or why I was trapped in such a hell. All I knew was that somewhere deep in me I wanted to be loved, and maybe, if I just kept quiet and was a good girl, God would love me. Maybe someday I would be free.

What I endured is common for young girls around the world, in the United States, in my little town, and most likely, in my neighborhood. I know that all that God creates is good and that Satan seeks to tear it apart. Satan did not want me to have a successful marriage, or children who would come to know the Lord, nor did he want me to be a missional leader, a life-long learner and finish well. Satan wanted my spirit and all the goodness that God had created me in to die in the bitter breath of an abusing father.

Mercy is defined as “clemency; leniency and compassion shown toward offenders by a person charged with administering justice.” Justice is defined as “the assignment of merited punishments.” In my heart, I was conflicted over both: I secretly wanted justice for myself and yet was dysfunctional enough to desire mercy for my father. The issue of mercy and justice would become a signature theme in my life, personally and in ministry. They would become critical issues for me in redeeming the past as I hoped to finish well as a leader and believer in Christ. Until I could understand them both, and God’s plan in mercy and justice, the past would retain power in the present and impact my future.

In Genesis 16, Sarai’s Egyptian maid, Hagar, call God, “the God who sees” (v. 16). In the theme of mercy and justice, this is a critical concept to grasp. First, I must accept that God saw me being abused in my home as a little girl and a teenager. Then, I must come to terms with whether or not I can trust a God who did not rescue me out of my situation, but allowed it to continue. Can I love and serve this God, who saw the wrong done to me and asks me to give my life to Him? My idea of mercy would have been to never allow me to be born into that home; my idea of justice would have been to punish my father severely for the wrongs committed against me. The tension lies in the place that comprehends that God saw that infant girl, loved her beyond measure, and yet allowed her to be abused; this God remains trustworthy, a God of mercy and justice.

In ministry, I meet with young women every week who have lived a similar story, grown-up little girls who have been abused much more than I. We carry the same question in our hearts: is God really a God who sees? If He does see, then why did He not exact justice against our abuser and grant us mercy by rescuing us? This is a primary question that each will ask in their journey to faith in Christ. I have had many years to come to terms with God’s mercy and justice; most of the time I can articulate what mercy and justice are in God’s economy. Sometimes, in the face of horrific stories of abuse and abandonment, my own spirit slips back into my teenage bedroom where fear overrode all reason, and my heart breaks from the weight of it all.

Lesslie Newbigin wrote, “Missions have never been able to separate the preaching of the gospel from action for God’s justice” (1983:102). As a missional leader, mercy and justice have been two sides of the same coin. I bring God’s mercy to women who have been abused through being transparent about my own faith journey, questions, doubts and discoveries and by listening with a heart open to their stories. At the same time, I advocate for women in my community who have been treated unjustly, whether that be in a medical setting, a domestic violence issue, or for resources to assist in moving out of poverty, including education and employment.

Richard de Ridder says “Her (Israel’s) treatment of strangers in her midst...must always be a conscious attempt to practice God’s concern for the stranger....This significant relationship of God’s people to the world is not the passive kind of relationship....it is rather the active participation of God’s people in the affairs of the world. They must maintain...right relationship to God by pursuing righteousness and showing justice to others. Both together complete the covenant obedience of the law revealed at Sinai.” (1983:156)

As I have pondered the theme of mercy and justice, I am continually reminded that my role as a missional leader has not been one of passive relationship with those around me who have been abused. It has always been one of passion, seeking to right wrongs, seeking to give voice to those who have not previously been granted the space to tell the story of what has happened to them. Van Engen writes, “What is the Good News for the women around the world who make up fifty percent of the world population and who are caught in disempowering value systems” (1994:213)? As a woman still recovering from abuse, and as a leader working to bring the healing presence of Christ into the lives of women who have been abused, I believe a primary role in my life centers around mercy and justice for women.

Weakness

The past week has had its moments and I concluded that I was in serious avoidance of some key issues in my spirit regarding the Lord. My week ended with a trip to see my son and daughter-in-law overnight Friday. I found myself in a confusion of feelings, of remembrances of past heartaches, of sharp reminders of current pain, and of hard truths about who I have been and who I am today. I found myself extremely detached from my own soul; yet oddly driven by my desire to survive and show myself to be in control and on top of life’s present challenges.

As I drove the two hours home on Saturday, my heart broke open. As I wept tears and snot at 70 miles per hour, I realized two things. The first is how deeply I was robbed as an infant, small child and young girl of any concept of my femininity, of any sense of protection, of knowing I was safe when I was weak. Much of who God intended me to be was ripped away by abuse, fear, abandonment, and violence. The upshot of it all was that I spoke lies to myself that I had to be strong to survive, strong and almost masculine in order to defend my heart from being hurt and defend my body from ever being purely feminine and beautiful as I was...and am.

The second is that I am created to be weak in a good sense; created to acknowledge my Heavenly Father as my strength. The truth is, I am weak now - incredibly so - unable to carry much of this load, exhausted, afraid, trembling in the dark at 3 a.m. while trying to convince myself that my mistakes and misjudgments won’t be used by the Father I adore to harm me down the road. And yet, God has created my weakness to magnify and glorify Him; created me to be at peace and at rest in Him. I am completely broken and completely whole in my weakness before the Lord. I am safer in my weakness than I have ever been in my so-called strength.

So I surrendered it all to Him, all the shit, all the shame, all the darkness that whispers that I am not and never will be enough – enough for Him to love me, enough for any man to ever look at me again in love, enough for Jesus just as I am. I know that I will not be able to fix what is broken in my life and the lives of my children. I know I will be able to be weak, to cry, to ask for help from friends, to not have the answers that I forever told myself I had to have to be safe. It is enough that God is my Dad and the Dad of my children; that He sees me and loves me as He created me: feminine, weak, beautiful, funny and loving.

I lay on my bed this afternoon tired beyond belief from another bout of 4 a.m. wakefulness; I closed my eyes and knew without hesitation that I am fat woman who is loved and adored by God. It is in this place of truth-telling that I believe God is able to speak into why I eat, why I feel so empty. There is peace in this place.

My plan this week is to create more margins in my life where His joy and Spirit seep into my soul and revives the weak, small, feminine little girl who simply and deeply desires to be filled up by His presence. My plan is to keep saying “no” – to busy schedules, to fear, to being strong, to voices that seek to kill off my soul: and to keep saying “yes” to the tears, sorrow and grief that I have stuffed away for a lifetime. I think as I let them out there will be room to not work so hard at keeping it all contained; room for my body and soul to be weak and at peace.

Consequences

Saturday night was crazy. I was out of sorts already, but didn't realize it; I was simply numbed out to the emotions that were rolling around inside of me, but still driven by those feelings. And all they said was, get away.

I decided to watch a quiet movie when my oldest daughter called to talk. I knew we wouldn't have another chance for a week, so I stopped the movie to visit with her. I felt hemmed in at home, and decided to talk with her while I ran to the store for milk. I let the kids know I was leaving, but a few minutes down the road my daughter had to hang up. I decided to avoid responsibility at home; on impulse I took off down the freeway to see the big fire that had been burning at the local lumber mill. That was my first mistake. I left those rowdy kids home alone. Later I learned that they had been wrestling, and when one jumped on another's back, they fell into a wall. Now there is a body sized dent that will have to be sheetrocked and textured.

However, the fire was so incredible. I had to share it with the kids so I called them to meet me in town. My plan was to drive them to see the fire, then head back to town to get the other car. They met me in town as planned and we oohed and aahed over the huge fire. However, on the way back, I realized that no one had put the food away from dinner and the dog was in the house. That was my second mistake. While we were out, that rowdy dog put her huge paws on my new lovely center island table, gobbled up all the shredded pork, and scratched up my lovely table. Now I will have to sand it down and refinish it, or live with the deep scratches.

I was pretty mad after seeing the large hole in the wall and the table scratches. I gave the kids their jobs to do, and was heading down to watch my movie when my daughter-in-law called. She doesn't call very often so I opted to stop the movie and talk privately in my room. That was my third mistake. The kids were still a bit rowdy while they cleaned the kitchen and made cocoa. There was a glass pie plate on a burner, and when one of them decided to heat up the water for cocoa...they turned on the wrong burner. A few minutes later there was a huge crash. The pie plate had exploded all over the kitchen. No one was hurt but glass was everywhere.

The question I often ask my children is, "What did we learn from this experience?" Now I ask it of myself. Yes, I should have not procrastinated; I should have helped with clean up, ensured all the food was away, and that all the dishes were done prior to leaving. I should have waited to go see the fire until I had invited everyone to join me. I should have waited patiently for the right time to leave the house, instead of thinking I could escape without caring for everyone.

What do I do when this part of me that is stressed out from being responsible for other people, this part of me that hides from the pain of my situation or just gets lazy, this part of me that just forgets that I am in charge, when this part of me takes over? I don't often allow this impulsive crazy part of me be in charge; I know it won't yield good fruit but will only create more chaos. I realize that I am in major escape mode. I see it in what I eat, in that I am not sleeping well, in my desire to just forget that I have to figure it all out on my own now.

There is a place in me that can be quiet, can focus, can plan and can succeed. I just sometimes forget about it.

Father, help me to remember You when I feel so crazy inside. Remember Your patience, remember not to lose sight of the prize, and to be kind to myself as I am still growing and learning. Help me remember I don't need to have all the answers, I don't have to figure it all out. And that mistakes are not what define me any more than my successes. It is You who define me. For eternity I am Yours. Thank you.

Letting go

My soon-to-be former husband came over today to help with getting a load of hay in, take our son and a friend to work at the fair, and to pick up our two youngest daughters for a day with him. Why, after all the heartache and time of being separated, do I still miss him, his friendship, his laughter? I know that our marriage could not continue as it was, but after thirty years of being friends and lovers, parents and partners, there is a significant part of me that still gets caught in the grieving.
I know he has turned to another woman; he says because I don't want to live the rest of my life with him, that now he has someone else who does. I know that is a victim statement, blaming me for what he would not seek to restore himself. I know that my own health is dependent on freedom from a relationship with him that was destroying me. But still...the grief continues.
Perhaps it is days like these, where there is so much to do, where I need a partner and friend to talk to, to work with side-by-side, these are the days when I feel so lonely. Lost. Without a companion to talk about the pain I feel for my children, for myself, for our lives. Days when I wish I could just talk about the pain and cry, find comfort in the solace of another.
I question why I continue to feel so tired, why I no longer have the energy I need to be the supermom I was. I simply feel exhausted, achy, overwhelmed. I crave being alone, sitting on my porch or patio, listening to the wind or the soft animal sounds, not really doing anything at all. I feel ashamed to be this way, tired without excuse. And yet I am. Tired. Without excuse.
I know the dreams I dream, the hopes I have. Do I still dream? Do I still hope? It takes so much energy to keep moving forward, to keep dreaming and hoping when on days like these, my tears fall and my life seems to be in tatters all around me.
Father God, You who made me to be in relationship with You, to be Your child and Your friend. You see who I am, my smallness and my insignificance. You know my heart which desires to love You, to serve You, to do great things for You. You know how hard it is today to hope, to hang on to the dreams, to believe in that beautiful future You have shown me is mine. Father, take my sorrow which mingles with self-pity, take my broken heart which has mingled with sin, take my dreams and hopes which are from You and for You. Sift away what isn't of worth and mold the rest into an offering from my heart to Yours. Amen.

Getting Started

I am new to blogging. In fact, this is my first entry. I have been looking for a place to express myself in and through writing and reflecting. I hope to find an audience who will take what I say with a grain of salt, who will perhaps be blessed by what I write, or will walk away with an insight they didn't have before. Bottom line...this blog's for me. But I hope that whoever reads it will find it is for them as well.
I know that some of the things I post here will be controversial, very personal, perhaps even upsetting. I am going to work at being OK with that, at being OK with putting my heart out here for people to see, to read and to have a different opinion about.
So here goes....blogging....blog on.