He knows my Name

A terrible tragedy happened just down the street from where my husband and I used to live in Stockton, CA.  A bank robbery and a high speed chase that ended in three people losing their lives.  My newsfeed blew up yesterday with friends who had taken video of what was happening, posted updates on locations to stay away from, and shared news reports to give the latest details on who was involved.  I read through them all.  Searching… praying… praying that I didn’t recognize any of the names. 

 

This was my city, my community, my neighborhood.  My heart hurt for the families who had to be notified of a loved one’s death and when it was all over I was relieved.  Relieved.  Somewhere in that city there was a husband, son, family grieving because that Wednesday had easily become the worst day of their lives and I… was relieved.

 

I was notified last night by a friend in youth ministry that one of their students was the son of the hostage who had lost her life.  Immediately I began to pray for this boy who would never again get to share a hug with his mother, never get to tell her he loved her face to face, never get to fight with her over curfew, and never get to see her face as he said “I do”.  I prayed and thought about it a lot last night.  It kept me up too late and as I drug myself out of bed this morning it was the first thing on my mind.  Yesterday it was just a story that I was reading but last night it was a face, a name, a voice of someone who was living out that nightmare.  The feeling of relief had left me and was replaced by a deep sadness as I looked at my own boys and hugged them a little tighter.

 

I started my day not knowing any of the names on that report; I started that day hearing about a story.  But then God reminded me of something- that story was someone’s reality and while I don’t know their names- He does.  He knows every one of them.  He knows the very details of their lives.  He has thought of them more times than there are very pieces of sand on the shore.  They were His creation.  HE knew their names.

 

Now I am not saying that I should be guilty for my initial feeling of relief but I was made quite aware in that moment of how different “stories” and “realities” are.  Stories are distant; realities are ever present.  Stories are impersonal; realities are so painfully personally. Stories impact us for a moment; realities impact us for the rest of our lives.  We read stories, but we live realities. 

 

We read stories, but we live realities.

 

May we never forget that God is not a story, He is a reality, and He knows our names.

 

In the midst of our struggles, in the midst of our pains, He calls us by name.  He loves us.  He is for us and not against us.  He fights on our behalf.  He strengthens our weakened bodies with His power.  And He carries us through the seemingly never ending days.  

 

God is our reality, and we are His.

 

 

 

 

Psalm 139:1-18
 O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me.  You know when I sit down or stand up.  You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.   You see me when I travel and when I rest at home. You know everything I do.  You know what I am going to say even before I say it, Lord.  You go before me and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head.  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too great for me to understand!  I can never escape from your Spirit! I can never get away from your presence! If I go up to heaven, you are there; if I go down to the grave, you are there.  If I ride the wings of the morning, if I dwell by the farthest oceans, even there your hand will guide me, and your strength will support me.  I could ask the darkness to hide me and the light around me to become night— but even in darkness I cannot hide from you.  To you the night shines as bright as day. Darkness and light are the same to you.   You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb.  Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.  You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb.  You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book.  Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. How precious are your thoughts about me, O God. They cannot be numbered! I can’t even count them; they outnumber the grains of sand! And when I wake up, you are still with me!

 

 

 

Just Keep Swimming

On a visit with Pastor Lori, the very last one I would unknowingly ever have, I got to talk with her about this blog.  It wasn’t on my agenda of things to talk about as she lay in her bed Duck Dynasty playing quietly in the background.  In fact, at that particular moment it was one of the furthest things from my mind.  I was thankful to be having a conversation with her, cherishing every moment I had in the warmth of her own home.  My last visit was vastly different and it had left me a little shaken, but this visit- this one was different.  My prior conversation with her in the hospital was quiet and unfamiliar.  I was so caught off guard that I did what I seem to do often these days when facing unknown territory.  I wrote.  I wrote about her fight with cancer, and a few weeks after it had posted a visiting friend had read it aloud to her. 

 

Pastor Lori looked at me over dinner, our personal conversation being over for some time, and brought back up how she just loved the blog.  She loved the parallel from something she had taught me while I had lived there as a teenager to our everyday Christian walks and it was so heartwarming to hear her speak of it.  I didn’t feel that special, that important.  It felt meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but to her it was beautiful.  “You are a great writer” she told me, “you should keep writing”. 

 

There are many things Pastor Lori is but a sarcastic encourager is not one of them.  She would not be the type of friend often referred to on talent shows such as American Idol after someone truly terrible gets up to sing and says their friend thinks they are great.  Their friend told them to sing on National Television.  Their friend knows they should win.  Well, I hate to break it to you- but that person is not your friend.  They might just hate you.  Or want to humiliate you.  Either way, not your friend.  Those auditions make me cringe (and make my husband happy inside, which makes me wonder what that says of him). 

 

Pastor Lori was not one of those types.  She meant every word of it.  I was so humbled in that moment that I was unsure how to respond, so naturally I smiled and kept eating because food solves a multitude of uncertainties (kidding of course- for the most part). 

 

“You should keep writing.”

 

Last summer after she passed away I stopped.  I stopped writing because it was too hard.  I didn’t want to encourage anyone else because I was hurting and needed a friend myself.  I considered stopping altogether, walking away from the path I was once so sure of.  I could do it.  I could stop.  No one would even notice.  No one would even care.  Have I done anything that has made any kind of a difference anyway?

 

Angry.  I was so angry.

 

A month had gone by and I had posted once, and then a few more months and I had posted only a few more times.  It wasn’t something I wanted anymore, I felt like it was doing no good in the grand scheme of things.  No one would even notice if I just stopped.  And then while visiting a church very dear to my heart I had an interesting conversation with a father who had read a post after his daughter had shared it.  “Are you still writing” he asked.  I wanted to say “unfortunately, yes” but instead just said “when I can”.  He looked at me and said, “that’s great because you are really good at it.”  The words came from his mouth but I heard it in her voice.  I didn’t feel great at it.  I wasn’t even sure if I could do it anymore but for that moment I could hear her voice and I knew if she was still here she would be saying the same thing. 

 

As I sit here and write today I remind myself of her words.  I don’t always “feel” like it.  I don’t always “feel” like anything I write makes any sort of difference but even if it is for one person for one day, then it must be worth it.  That post was for her.  That post made her day in that hospital bed and that was worth the pain of writing it. 

 

All throughout scripture we find God speaking to us, reminding us to keep going.  Keep making right decisions.  Keep trusting Him.  Keep loving the sometimes unlovable.  And it sucks.  Yep, it sucks.  Because we don’t always feel like it.  We want to stop.  We want to ask what kind of a difference it is making anyway.  We wonder if anyone would even notice our not being at church.  Would they?  Would anyone even care?  I could stop, you think.  I could walk away from everything.  And the sad truth is that many have.

 

If you feel like you are fighting a losing battle then hear me out… keep going.  One more day.  One more choice to do right.  One more prayer.  One more church service.  Just one more.  Because it won’t always “feel” easy and full of rainbows and butterflies.  Sometimes (most times if we are honest with ourselves) things get hazy and hard, but we must choose to keep going.  Keep believing.  Keep trusting.  Keep loving. 

 

God somehow always sends the right people at the right time to remind us… to just keep going.  So this post is for your Pastor Lori.  I am still writing and still trusting that it is worth it... even for the one.

 

Ephesians 3:16-19

I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources He will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit. Then Christ will make His home in your hearts as you trust in Him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep His love is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.