Falling Down an Escalator

Okay we learned the physical form of this lesson the hard way. Our middle child is on the end of a very trippy phase of her life. Meaning she always had some bump or scratch from her latest encounter with the ground. She is also notorious for her brilliantly curious bad ideas.

So it was on an escalator ride in downtown Tulsa (on one of our tunnel tour/lunch with daddy days) that I first realized how dangerous those things can be. I held my youngest in a baby carrier dubbed "the pouch" as the five of us stepped on the climbing stairs. We did our usual one...two...threeeee to let everyone know what's coming. About half way up my three year old decides to try hanging from the banister (which moves) but gets her shoes all up on the glass and metal side (which stays) and in about half a second she is tumbling down the thing.

I was mortified. I was terrified. I was also still pouched with a 10 month old!

My reflexes kicked in and I grabbed her, first by her jacket which began to slip off of her, and then by the only other thing I could reach with out sending me and the baby tumbling after...her hair! OUCH! I quickly snatched the rest of her up and began with whispered comfort and apologies. I was sorry for grabbing her hair but I knew that I had to do it or she just would have kept falling. I had actually seen the picture in my mind, it was awful, the rate at which she normally regained balance was no match for the slow but unrelenting pulling of the ground from underneath her.

A few months later after moving to Chicago, the memory returned to me as a picture. This time it was me falling. Right in the middle of a bad day that represented a bad month which stood for a whole lifetime of should haves and what's wrong with mes.

Failure after failure had me feeling this way. Meditating only on the failures and the past (even just the past few hours) is a sure way to keep those feelings coming.

From this angle all my decision making becomes clouded with echos of my previous choices. Shame. Regret. Shouldhaveknownbetter. These sit like grease and banana peels on each step as it rises beneath me and I try to get a grip and plant my feet.

This can apply to any failure or perceived failure really; Catastrophic or basic, sinful or simply absent minded. Failed to get up on time, lied on that form I filled out, forgot to return something to the library, acted cruel towards my child, couldn't complete a task, didn't pray, let the morning pass...can't...get...up.

As I tumble, bump and scrape, how I wish these were normal stairs where I could give up striving and just hit the bottom. Or could someone push the emergency button and stop time before I make another mistake? Give me a chance to get my bearings.

There are yellow signs near the escalators here that say "hold on to your children" Like a child, I need to be held onto.

kids

I learn much from these small people.

A place to begin (part 2)

"Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God."

Hebrews 12:2

For more on shame see part 1. It took a bit longer for the word "joy" to jump out at me.

When I first discovered the meaning this verse carried for me I felt as if there were an entire book to be written based on the realization. Whenever I heard another story like my own of someone that had been trapped by shame and used for her dark purposes I imagined myself asking them for permission to use pieces of their story in my book. I became drawn to these people and overwhelmed with love for them, with compassion for their years of service to that cruel master, and with joy at their courage and new found freedom. I never wrote anything down. I did open up a blog account (this one) which sat in-active for maybe 2 years.

Back to joy though.

After nearly three years of listening to stories of lives transformed; Hearts once solidified that had been pierced by light tenderly pouring fourth their own hidden pain as balm for the hurting listeners, I noticed that there was astounding treasure in each of these that stood to tell their story.

Twice I have been asked to stand before hearts in various states of brokenness and reveal my own journey. I shook as I approached the stage. I wondered if what I spoke was even true, I wondered if anyone really cared what happened to me. Was there treasure there?

I still wonder about my own worth sometimes;

when I can't get it right,

when I am not the mom they deserve,

when I'm lazy and selfish,

when I remember old hurts. (both my own and those caused by me)

But I can't bring myself to doubt the treasure I have seen in those tender hearts that once were stone and their complete surrender to Christ that made them alive again.

I count myself among them. And when I do, I see that we are the joy that was set before Him.

Even more than being high king of heaven and sitting on the right hand of God, Jesus was looking forward to us when he endured the cross. He was looking for that treasure that can only come through a redemption story, cleansed by fire. He was looking for surrender that comes out of brokenness, powerlessness, and pain. He was looking to put shame to shame by freeing her captives and revealing their true worth.

Let us give him what he paid for.

A place to begin (part 1)

I am intimately acquainted with shame. The reasons may be revealed in later posts. Or maybe you simply know the feeling. In which case reasons matter little. The shame that has directed and haunted many years of my life is tangible, immobilizing, and destructive. Shame is a vicious captor; a parasite. She wraps herself around her victims heart and assumes control. She is no respecter of persons. She works on victims and perpetrators alike. In her hands they become one in the same. Her dark inky lies seep in from various sources and stick like tar around the tender places of heart, soul, and spirit; blocking the truth, breeding more lies, hardening and settling.

Ok so maybe I am taking a dark and dramatic tone, but the bottom line is; I hate her (Shame). And in one beautiful moment, during a period of much brokenness that was beginning to mend, I came across a truth that has begun to free me from her grasp. Yes this truth is the good old fashion gospel laid out plain and simple in a very familiar verse, how could I have missed it? Well I did. Maybe some of you did too. So here it is:

"Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God."

Hebrews 12:2

What I found here is that 1) I am not the only one that hates shame. Jesus despises shame he does not ever approve of her work. God's discipline and conviction look nothing like her. Their fruit is life and not soul crushing guilt that leads to more wrong doing. 2) In order to hate shame He must have experienced shame. Wait... how does the sinless Son of God feel shame? Because shame is not about what you have done. It is a black cloud of lies meant to darken your sky and convince you that God has forsaken you. Did Jesus Christ experience something like that? I believe he did, and it must have been just as real and deafening and terrifying as the way we sinners experience separation from God when we are trapped by shame and sin and shame... and 3) What joy was set before him? Well that's part 2.