The Parable of the Two Sisters

Dear Old Friend,

I’m writing this to you Thanksgiving night.  I hope you had a wonderful time with your family.  I know that most of the responsibility falls on your shoulders this holiday, but I hope you were still able to enjoy the day!

I’ve just returned home from spending a lovely afternoon and evening with my son and his family.  I only had a few dishes that I was asked to prepare, and, although I offered my services today, I was set free to have a delightful time with my little four year old grandson while others slaved away in the kitchen.

The parable of Mary and Martha in Luke 10:38-42 crossed my mind a couple of times.  Yes, I said "parable", even though it is a story about real people in a real situation.  A man by the name of Fred Smith used to say that all of life illustrates Bible doctrine, and I happen to agree.  Oftentimes real stories about real people have a deeper meaning than what seems apparent on the surface. 

I am absolutely certain that you would be able to tell me how “The” sermon about the story of Mary and Martha typically goes.  Everyone who has attended church for any length of time has heard it.  It begins by telling us that Martha was too busy worrying about all of the "unimportant" things to be done, while Mary sat at Jesus feet; and, when Martha tried to get Jesus to make Mary help her, Jesus put her in her place and told her that Mary had chosen the right thing, while she had not.  

We are asked to ponder whether we are a Martha or a Mary, with the implication that being a Martha is bad and being a Mary is good. This leaves those who like to serve feeling guilty, while those who prefer to sit around and read feel virtuous.

Then we in the congregation are admonished to be intentional about putting Jesus first in our lives, primarily by having quiet time, preferably in the morning.  And we are encouraged to learn to say “No”, even to seemingly good things, so that our lives will be less busy, and we will have more time to sit at Jesus’ feet.  Right?  You could recite it with me, couldn’t you?

We have a problem, however, if this story was simply intended to be about practical tips for Christian Living.  Hospitality is listed as one of the spiritual gifts and, in real life, Martha was simply trying to be a good hostess, which was the hospitable thing to do.  It would have been rude for her not to do anything for her guest.  

Also, in real life, the right thing for Mary to do would certainly have been to help her sister with “all the preparations that had to be made”.  If both of them had worked together the tasks would have taken half the time and then both of them could have sat down and listened to Jesus. 

It was reasonable for Martha to be upset, because she knew this to be true and she expected Jesus to back her up; and, if this was just a real life story, Jesus would have backed her up.  He would  probably have talked to Mary about how we need to share the load, be sensitive to each other’s feelings and needs, and not just think of ourselves.  He might have pointed out to her that Martha could also have benefitted from sitting at his feet, but that Mary’s selfishness had robbed her of that opportunity.  And, he would have been right. 

So, why didn’t he?  And, what is it that we have missed by telling the story, ad nauseam,  in such a way that we shame all of the real life Marthas for trying to be good hostesses while making the selfish, insensitive Marys the heroines for not helping out?  I believe we have missed the point that this is a parable about works and grace, rather than a practical guide for Christian behavior.

Parable Martha represents all those who live as though they need to do things for God in order to earn his favor; those who believe that they have to have it all together and must work tirelessly in order to prove to themselves, to God and to others that they are genuine Christians.  They worry that if they rest for a moment, they will appear to be displaying a lack of commitment to the Kingdom. They are bothered because they look at themselves and see how far short they fall from what they know they should be and should do.

In that context, Jesus’ response to Martha makes sense, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and bothered about so many things, but only one thing is necessary.  Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her.”

Parable Mary represents those who understand that the “good part” is Jesus.  Not just making him their first priority, but realizing that he is everything; knowing there is nothing they need to or can do for God to earn his favor.  

Jesus has already satisfied every requirement.  We have nothing to prove to ourselves, to God or to others.  God is not looking for a display of our commitment to his Kingdom to be found in our endless good behavior; he is looking for the gratitude and amazement on our faces as we sit in humble awe at Jesus’ feet and finally grasp that when he said “It is finished”, he meant it.  Jesus alone is the “one thing” which is necessary and can never be taken away.

So, I say we need to hear more sermons telling all of the Real Life Marthas it's okay to serve with all of their hearts, souls and might, without shame!  And all of the Real Life Marys should be told to get up off their bottoms and help their sisters!

But, more than that, I think we need to hear more sermons telling the Parable Marthas that they can stop their striving to earn God’s love and approval and allow themselves to become like the Parable Marys who joyfully rest at Jesus’ feet, knowing that, because of what he did, the love and approval they have always longed for is already theirs.

I need to hear that every day! 

Love Always,

Bonnie

Naked

 Dear Old Friend,

Do you remember the Hans Christian Andersen story of The Emperor’s New Clothes?  It’s about a vain king and the two swindlers who decided to take advantage of his vanity.  These swindlers claimed to be able to weave magnificent clothing which would be visible to all who were wise, but invisible to fools.  They put on a great show of fashioning and creating these clothes, which no one could see, since there were no clothes; but, no one in the kingdom was willing to admit that they were unable to see the garments, for fear that they would be exposed to everyone else as the fools they now believed themselves to be.

The charade culminated with the king leading a grand procession through the kingdom, naked, while his courtiers carried his invisible train and the people ooohed and aaahed at the king’s magnificent attire.  No one wanted to confess the truth because of what they believed it would reveal about them; until, finally, a little child, who didn’t have a need to protect his reputation, stated the obvious, “But he hasn’t got anything on!”

 

There’s something about the way Christians have presented the concept of Sanctification that reminds me of this story; and, because I’m old and I’m tired of pretending, I’m finally willing to state the truth:  I’m naked.  And I’m definitely not the only one!  

I have been told my whole life that I not only had to get better, but that I most assuredly would get better as I got older, because I am a Christian and God wants me to be transformed into the image of Christ. To not get better would be the equivalent of either denying the power of God to change me, or admitting that I was choosing to block that power in my life. Fear of acknowledging either of those things has kept me from being honest.

But, the truth is, I don’t see that I’m much better than I ever was. As a matter of fact, I was better at pretending that I was good when I was younger.  The older I get the less able or interested I am in putting forth the effort to hide my faults.  I am still not as loving as I wish I was, I’m still arrogant and I’m still impatient – maybe more now than when I was young! My New Year’s Resolutions to be more generous or thoughtful have fallen by the wayside.  When I take a step forward in one area, I lose ground in another. It’s not that I don’t want to change, I truly desire to be the person I have always believed God wants me to be, but I just don’t see it happening.

I confess that my apparent lack of progress has been a growing cause of concern for me over the years, specifically because, as I mentioned above, I believed that God wanted and expected me to improve, and that he, therefore, must be offering me the power to improve, which must then mean that I have been disappointing him by stubbornly refusing that power, even though I didn’t mean to or realize that I was.  When I was young it was much easier to keep believing in the hope of personal Holiness, that next year or the next I would see real growth; but, at this stage of my life, it seems prudent to explore alternative possibilities. 

I hope that God truly has been working in me and that, in his wisdom, he has hidden his work from me because he knows I would just destroy it by being proud of it if I was aware of it.

But, primarily, my hope rests in the understanding that being “conformed to the image of Christ” (Romans 8:29), or “transformed into his image” (2 Corinthians 3:18), has more to do with the change that happens in my heart as I behold in humble gratitude and amazement what he has done for me—that he has satisfied all of God’s expectations on my behalf and has paid for all of my failures—than it does with outward changes in my behavior. As I continue to look at him and not at  how I’m doing, gratefully accepting my complete and continued dependence on him as my savior rather than expecting that I will need him less and less as I get better and better, I believe that his image will begin to shine through as my own recedes.

I don’t want to keep trying to appear wise and good by pretending to be something I am not.  I don’t want to boast about my own beautiful clothes when I am really naked.  I want to cast my lot as a fool with the Apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 1:26-31 when he says,

²⁶ For consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. ²⁷ But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; ²⁸ God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, ²⁹ so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. ³⁰ And because of him you are in Christ Jesus, who became to us wisdom from God, righteousness and sanctification and redemption, ³¹ so that, as it is written, “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.”  (ESV)

The only wisdom I have is Christ and the only clothing I have or need is the robe of His righteousness. I would be a fool not to admit it!  What boundless relief!

Love Always,

Bonnie

Mutual Blindness

 

Dear Old Friend,

Have you ever heard of the Johari Window Model?  Back in the touchy feely ‘70’s, I went on a weeklong workshop where I learned all kinds of things about myself.  Much of it I considered to be valuable insight, some of it was garbage; but one thing I learned about was Johari’s Window and it made such an impression that it keeps coming back to me all these years later, with a more biblical slant.

Joseph Luft and Harry Ingham, two psychologists, developed this model to help people better understand their interactions with others.  Picture a window with four panes. 

One pane represents what both you and others know about you; this is called the Open area.  Next to it is the Blind area, which represents what others know about you, but you do not know about yourself.  Then there is the Hidden area which represents what only you know about yourself.  And, finally, there is the Unknown area, which represents what no one knows about you, not even you (I would say this is what God alone knows about you).  The purpose of this model, according to the creators, Joe and Harry, is for you to increase the size of the Open area in your relationships, by sharing what you know about yourself with others, and receiving feedback from others as to what they see which you do not.

On the surface, that sounds like a great idea, but what bothers me the most about this window is the Blind area. I’m not comfortable with the thought that there are things which other people see about me of which I am unaware.  Since Johari’s window is a psychological window, these “things” aren’t physical, like how I look when I am walking; they are behavioral and relational things which others have identified as “that’s-how-she-is”, of which I know nothing. The very thought of it makes me feel vulnerable and self-protective.  I have no control over what I don’t know about myself.  On a feeling level, my assumption is that these “things” are negative and that I’m being misunderstood, misinterpreted and judged unfairly.  And, it occurs to me that, the reason for this assumption is because that is what I do with others.  We all do.

In every interaction, whether it is a onetime encounter or in a close relationship with a friend or family member, we observe and evaluate data.  If an unknown driver of a red car speeds up and cuts us off, he’s a selfish jerk.  If a so-called friend does all the talking and never seems to be interested in listening, she’s a narcissist and is soon no longer considered a friend. 


Sometimes, after observing and evaluating, we take it upon ourselves to expand the other person’s Open area by enlightening them with our knowledge.  In the case of the driver of the red car, it may be by a prolonged horn honk, or a brief hand gesture.  In the instance of the so-called friend, we may unceremoniously dump her and no longer return her calls; or, we may go the other direction and explain her faults at great length, complete with examples and illustrations, with the goal of opening her eyes to her Blind spot and “fixing” her to a degree where we will then be comfortable with keeping the relationship.

The problem with expanding someone else’s Open area by revealing what we believe we know of their Blind spot is that we could be wrong; we might misinterpret because of what the other person has kept Hidden or because of something that is in the Unknown area.  The red car might be on the way to the hospital due to an emergency; the person who is doing all the talking might be desperately lonely and have no one else who will listen.  The less than ideal actions we observe in others are only the outward manifestations of each person’s internal struggle.

The fact is, when it comes to our own Blind areas, we want others to be understanding and compassionate with what they see in us.  We don’t want them to simply assume the worst, but to view us through the eyes of love, or at least to give us the benefit of the doubt.  But when it comes to the Blind areas of others, our initial response is usually to observe, evaluate, judge and then to either reject or attempt to fix them.  We have very little patience with the inconvenience of another’s blindness.

The problem with that is, of course, we all have Blind areas which can be used against us.  No one is exempt; yet we cling to our double standard. Jesus, understanding that we are all broken and that the only faults which we can see clearly belong to others, told us that we are not qualified to expand anyone else’s Open area (Matthew 7:1-5).

Then he took all of our brokenness, both known and unknown, and died so that one day we could be completely whole; relieving us of the burden of "fixing" and freeing us to simply offer his grace and mercy to each other in our mutual blindness.

Thank you, my precious friend, for always being gentle with my blind spots!

Love Always,

Bonnie

Limitless Forgiveness

Dear Old Friend,

Ever since I wrote my last letter, where I talked about shame, I’ve been thinking about how God made us so that we will feel bad about ourselves when we “miss the mark” and do things which we know are wrong, as an alert to wake us up and turn us to him. Conversely, he made us so that we will feel good when we do what we know is right, particularly when we offer grace to someone, which makes us want to do it more often.  That led me to think about how I have been acting lately.

I’ve been under a lot of pressure at work, feeling like I am being crushed by all of the demands and expectations. Because of the nature of my job, I end up spending a great deal of time, which I don’t have to spare, fixing problems which other people have created by making, what I view to be, careless mistakes.  My tolerance for these ‘careless mistakes’ has become virtually non-existent. All too often I have found myself snapping and snarling at my co-workers, sometimes in front of others; or, I have fired off critical emails detailing what they have done wrong and exactly how they need to do things differently from now on. 

The thing is, I love those people, and when I am in my right mind, I want nothing but good things for them; so, as a result of my behavior, I haven’t been feeling very good about myself.  Here I am, touting grace, but doing a pretty poor job of being gracious to the people I spend more time with than anyone else. 

So, I made a decision last weekend that I would stop trying to beat my co-workers into submission; and, instead, I would be patient and forgiving in the face of their errors.  I imagined their grateful and relieved faces as I showered them with mercy and kindness, instead of berating them for their failings.  I knew we would all feel better!

On the day I returned to work, however, that resolve disappeared before I ever made it to my desk, as I was swarmed by people with issues the minute I walked in the door.  Soon I didn’t even remember that I had intended to be a kinder, gentler version of myself, as I huffed and puffed at people who, as I saw it, were making my life miserable with their inattentiveness to important details. 

In my car on the way home that night, shame at my failure swept over me.  Guiltily, I remembered the parable of the Unmerciful Servant found in Matthew 18.  The chapter begins with Peter, Jesus’ disciple, asking how many times he was required to forgive his brother, and offering the number seven as a generous estimate.  Jesus’ response was, “Not seven times, but seventy seven times”, which didn’t really mean that at 78 Peter could cut his brother off; that number actually represented limitless forgiveness. 

Then, Jesus told Peter a story to illustrate his answer.  He said that the Kingdom of Heaven was like a king who wanted to settle accounts with his subjects who owed him money, so he called in a man who owed him the equivalent of many millions of dollars.  The point was, it was so great a debt that it was completely beyond the realm of possibility for the man to ever repay it. Because the man couldn’t pay, the King gave the order that the man, his wife, his children and all that he had, were to be sold to repay what little could be repaid of the debt.

The man fell on his knees and begged for mercy, saying that, if the king would be patient, he would pay back everything he owed.  Instead of taking that worthless offer, the king felt sorry for him and, in an act of extreme compassion, cancelled the entire debt and let him go!

Then, when the forgiven man left the palace, he “found” one of his fellow servants who owed him a couple of bucks.  Jesus doesn’t say he ran into him, there’s the inference that he went to look for the guy, and he grabbed him and began to choke him, demanding that he pay him the two dollars he had borrowed.  The fellow servant (I translated that as co-worker) begged him to be patient and promised to pay him back, but the man refused and had his ‘debtor’ thrown into prison until the debt was satisfied.

Miserably, I thought of myself as being like the bad guy in the story.  I know how much God has forgiven me; and most assuredly it was a debt I could never repay.  And, yet, there I was, being a jerk at work! Then, suddenly it struck me that this was the point Jesus was making:  We are all like that man to some extent.  Jesus wasn’t telling Peter the story to make him feel guilty; he was simply describing what all of us do.  We are all capable of being grateful for the tremendous miracle of forgiveness which we have been given and being, simultaneously, unforgiving toward others; and, we are so dim-witted we usually don’t even recognize we are doing it. 

Jesus told the story so that one day, after Jesus' death and resurrection, Peter would “get it”.  Peter, and everyone who understands that Jesus paid our entire debt on the cross, can clearly see, through this story, the absurdity of wanting to put a limit on our forgiveness of others, since we have been the recipients of such lavish pardon.  I realized that, although I am similar to the man in the story, by God’s grace I am more like Peter.  Thankfully, God is teaching me that the antidote to a hard heart is not more guilt, but a deepening understanding of the boundless love and mercy I have been and am being given.

My coworkers know that I love them and that as soon as I finish yelling at them I forgive them and go back to loving them again; and, blessedly, they generously forgive me for my rants.  My hope and prayer is that grace will finally so completely saturate my heart that my rants will stop before they start; but, until then, I will gratefully rest on the promise of God’s limitless forgiveness, made possible through his Son.

Love Always,

Bonnie

 

 

Splashed Shame

Dear Old Friend,

Since I started writing to you about my childhood, you’ve mentioned several times how sad you are that, even though we were close back then, you didn’t really know how I felt about what was happening to me because I didn’t talk with you about it.  The truth is, the reason I didn’t talk with you about it was that I was ashamed and hiding.  Sin splashes shame on us in the same way a convertible going through a mud puddle splashes mud; the driver isn’t the only one who gets covered.  There’s plenty of mud to go around.

I can still picture lying on the bed in your room listening to you talk about your life and your feelings, and being envious of your freedom to be so open.  I longed to share with someone, but I remember being terrified that you might ask me to, and when you did, I became quite adept at deflecting your questions and turning the focus back to you. 

My shame wasn’t because of what I had done.  The decisions my parents had made caused me to view myself differently, and to fear how others would view me if they knew the ugliness of my situation; so, I covered myself with fig leaves, hid in the trees and pretended, even to myself, that I was fine.  I want you to know it wasn’t your fault that I didn’t open up to you!

As you might guess from my biblical references above, I was reading Genesis chapter 3 this week.  That’s the chapter where Adam and Eve ate the fruit from the one and only tree God told them not to touch.  What fascinated me most was their reaction after they did what they knew was wrong.  There was no society which had conditioned their response; there was no religion which had brainwashed them; their reaction to breaking a rule was unadulterated, immediate and innate: they were ashamed. 

Their first reaction was not simply guilt over what they had done; shame immeditely affected how they viewed themselves and each other. Scripture says they realized they were naked, 

so they sewed fig leaves together to cover themselves.  The very first sin made them feel exposed and vulnerable, and they became self-protective. Think about it, from whom were they hiding their nakedness?  There were only the two of them!  They were ashamed, so the first thing they did was to hide from each other.

Then, their shame led them to hide from God.  When they heard him coming, they tried to conceal themselves among the trees.  The reason they gave for hiding was not, “I hid because I did something bad”; they hid because they felt that they were bad: “I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked, so I hid.” That is the difference between guilt and shame.

And, finally, their self-protectiveness caused them to hide even from themselves.  When questioned about what happened, Adam blamed God for giving him the woman, and Eve blamed the serpent for deceiving her.  They each pointed away from themselves and hid from the truth. Shame is what keeps us from being able to admit we were wrong.

Sin, whether ours or someone else’s, always isolates us: from each other, from God and from ourselves.  We are all hiding, in our shame, feeling vulnerable and fearing exposure. Not one of us is unaffected.  But, the problem is that we are powerless to remove our own shame.  We can say that it doesn’t exist and act as if it isn’t there; but, in the end, that is just another form of hiding. 

God knew the depths of our need, not just to be freed from the guilt of what we have done, but also to be freed from the prison of our disgrace; so he sent his Son to bear all of sin and its consequences, including our sin-splashed shame.  Because of what he did for us, we are free to come out of hiding.  We can live without the pretense that we are whole and undamaged.  We can proclaim the truth of our mutual brokenness, and the message of the One who has met us there with love, grace and forgiveness, and brought us comfort, healing and freedom.  We can begin to relate to each other without shame because of the one who took our nakedness upon himself and clothed us in his righteousness.

I wrote a poem about this, and I want to share it with you:

 

 UNASHAMED

You examine your humanity

Under a microscope

And feel ashamed.

Your tender conscience

Cannot bear

The imperfections

You find there

And so you hide,

Like the first man

After the fall,

Afraid of exposing

Your nakedness

To all.

Yet all are naked...

Most unaware.

Sometimes you envy


The oblivion

That is theirs,

To walk unclothed

Denying shame,

To live without accepting blame.

Yet

Awareness is a gift of God

Which draws you to the cross,

Where Jesus bore


Your nakedness

And gave to you


His righteousness

Which covers all.

Now you walk in freedom,

Unashamed,

Wearing Jesus' robe

And bearing Jesus' name.

 

I’m so grateful for the freedom he has given me to come out of hiding!

 

Love Always,

Bonnie

 

The Paths

 

Dear Old Friend

Since my last letter, I’ve thought a lot about who Jesus chose to hang out with when he was on earth, and why.  For much of my life, I’m pretty sure I would not have been one of his first choices, which is ironic, since I worked so hard to be who I thought he wanted me to be.

I wasn’t surprised when you told me that you also remember the chapel speaker from our freshman year in high school; the one who worked us up into an emotional frenzy until most of us felt compelled to publicly confess our sins, and pressure others to do the same.  Since writing to you about that experience, I have concluded that it marked the beginning of my insecurity with God. 

Up to that point, I had never really worried about whether or not God loved me.  As a child, I was told that he loved me, and I simply believed that he did. But that week of chapel services came at a vulnerable point in my life, when I already doubted everyone else’s love for me, and that speaker tore at my exposed emotions by telling me that God wished he could love me, but I had disappointed him with my bad behavior and separated myself from his love.  However, in his mercy, God was waiting for me to give up my wicked ways so that he could open his arms and welcome me back.

There I was, feeling completely abandoned by my family, thinking that God was the only one on whom I could still depend, but what I heard was, “God wants to help you, but you have removed yourself from his care.  You have turned away from him in rebellion. Repent of your sins and he will be with you again.”  I knew how desperately I needed God, so right then I believed I had no other choice than to try to be worthy of his love.

The fact of the matter is, I was at a pivotal moment in my life, and things could have gone either way. I could have chucked it all and turned my back on God because he had turned his back on me. I could have given up and run as hard and fast as I could from him, and my life would have taken a different course.  You shared with me that this was the path you ultimately chose.  But, because I couldn’t face the thought of being without the One who gave my life its only semblance of stability, I didn’t.  Instead, I chose the path of the neurotic rule keeper.  I wanted to appease the deity so that he would not leave me, and it became the pattern of my life.

Because I was also a people pleaser, I set out to be a super sweet, helpful rule keeper.  I was normally too insecure to be blatantly obnoxious about my righteousness, although I can recall some occasions when I managed to be embarrassingly insufferable.  Overall, however, I’m pretty sure that I achieved a rather saintly aura.  I’m not implying that my efforts to be a good person weren't genuine; I was both quite sincere and highly motivated to succeed!

My motivation was two-fold: I had made a vow to myself, when my parents divorced, that I would not fulfill the prediction I read in a magazine article, that I would be badly damaged as a result of being a child of divorce; and now I added to that the belief that I had to be good in order to keep God’s love.

The problem was that, despite my sincerity and motivation, I was operating under a total delusion.  As I mentioned in a previous letter, no matter how hard I tried not to be damaged, I was. We are all damaged by life in this world. Pretending we’re not is exhausting and we eventually run out of steam. The other part of the delusion involved thinking that I had to, and might actually be able to, appease the deity by being good enough to keep him from leaving me. 

In a twisted sort of way, that chapel speaker, and many others like him, was partially correct: sin does separate us from a holy God who demands perfect obedience.  But the speaker got it terribly wrong from that point on!

The truth is, this holy God, who demands perfect obedience, knew that no matter how sincere or motivated any of us might be, we could never fulfill what he required, and he loved us so much that he could not bear the the idea of our separation from him; so for that reason he sent his Son to perfectly obey every rule on our behalf.  As a result, he can now promise, without reservation, that he will never leave us or forsake us, not because of what we do to appease him, but because he, once and for all, appeased himself!

And that finally leads me back to what I was thinking about the kinds of people Jesus liked to hang out with when he was here.  He went straight for the people like you who, at their pivotal moment, ran hard and fast, believing they weren’t good enough; those who had turned their backs on the One they thought had turned his back first.  Jesus sought them out because they weren’t delusional; they knew they didn’t have a shred of righteousness to recommend themselves to God, so he didn’t have to hack his way through their pretenses.  He simply loved them the way they were, and because they knew it was genuine, they gratefully loved him right back.

The toughest nuts to crack were the ones, like me, who were desperately trying to earn God’s love; particularly if they thought they were succeeding in pulling it off.  He had to pound on them until he brought them to a point where they finally realized they couldn’t earn his love, and they weren’t pulling it off, and that it was okay for them to admit it and simply accept his love as an undeserved gift. That is a very hard sell for us people-pleasing, deity-appeasing types; but once we get it, our relief and joy knows no bounds!

We have all headed down one or the other of those paths, at diferent times, for varied reasons. On the surface, one way appears to be the path of rebellion and the other the path of righteousness; but, in reality, both lead away from God and his grace. 

I am so grateful, my friend, that God brought the two of us back, as adults, to the simple faith we had in his love as children!

Love Always,

Bonnie

EPILOGUE: Refocus

 Dear Old Friend,

You asked me why I decided to write to you about these formative chapters of my life.  For many years I would have had no other motive than a desire to talk about what I had suffered.  I would have tried to make myself the hero, the innocent victim, who nobly triumphed despite my circumstances; an inspiration to all.  The problem is, as I mentioned in my first letter to you, it would not have been true.  I exhausted myself trying, but I never managed to triumph despite my circumstances.

We all believe that we are the heroes, or perhaps the anti heroes, of our own life stories; regardless of whether I’m the good guy or the bad guy, I think the story of me is about me; but the gospel teaches that there is something much more profound going on in every life chronicle than first meets the eye.  Once I allow myself to consider the possibility that the central figure of my life may not be me, I can begin to see things I never saw before.

When my children were young, one of them got a 3D Stereogram Trapper Keeper in which to carry their schoolwork. At first I had no idea there was anything to look at on the binder cover other than a lot of colorful geometric designs, but then I was informed that there was much more to that glorified notebook than I could ever have imagined.  My children told me that if I looked at those designs long enough, in just the right way, a 3D image would appear.  All three of them could look at those colorful patterns and see the picture.  I, on the other hand, could see nothing but the colorful patterns no matter how I tried.  I asked my children to tell me what the 3D picture looked like, in the hopes that, if I knew what I was looking for, I could make myself see it.  I had them try to explain to me exactly how they refocused their vision and then, after they went to bed at night, I would stare at the Trapper Keeper.  Finally, one glorious night, I squinted and focused my eyes in just the right way and suddenly the image popped out at me!  It was amazing!  I couldn’t understand how I had missed it all the times before. 

The reason I decided to write these letters is a lot like that. From what I know about God and his grace, I knew that the experiences of my childhood were more than just a pattern of pain and fear, abandonment and loss.  I knew that I needed to reexamine the shapes and designs of my past through the eyes of grace.  I needed to refocus so that what popped out at me was the image of the only true Hero of any and every story, who was with me every floundering moment, comforting and carrying me, strengthening and sustaining me.  I needed to see how God used the times when I was the weakest and most afraid, to teach me to depend on him and to show me that he would always be faithful.

I also needed to see that God’s faithfulness to me never has depended and never will depend on my faithfulness to him. Thankfully, God’s relationship with me is not based on “this for that” because I could never produce enough “this” in order to get “that” from God!  Instead, because God loved me (and you) so much, he sent Jesus to satisfy every “this”, so that he could give me (and you) “everything for nothing”.   We have nothing to give him but our need, and God freely gives us everything to supply that need.  We don’t have to deserve it and we can’t earn it.  It is gift.  It is grace.

I knew, by faith, that God’s grace was to be found, hidden within the pieces of these experiences, I just had to refocus in order to see it.  God loved my mother as she struggled, in her brokenness, to find her way; and he loves me as I do the same.  He whispers forgiveness and reassurance to me, when I weep with regret, in the same way he must have whispered to my mother. Writing to you has helped me to finally see God, not myself, as the central figure of my story. 

I know that my letters have brought up your own painful past.  We have all suffered to one extent or another; certainly many have suffered far greater tragedies than I have! But I pray that God enables you to see, through your own story, that he can take every single experience, whether painful or joyful, beautiful or ugly, righteous or rebellious and use it to draw you to him.  We all need to know that nothing is able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:39)

Love Always,

Bonnie