Starting Points

Back in August I bought a house. I've worked in the mortgage industry for roughly 18 years now (with a little time off during the bubble, thank you United States Economy for bouncing back from what we did in the early 2000's), and thought at the ripe young age of 36 it was about time for me to get one of my own. So get a mortgage I did. Which, of course, two months later, means I'm still unpacking boxes that are stored not so neatly in my garage.

Packed away in one of those boxes was a stack of spiral bound Bible Studies I had received from a church I went to twenty years ago. Daily In the Word, Proverbs In a Year, etc. There were even a few of my notebooks from college when I did New Testament and Old Testament surveys. I stopped and looked through the pages (this is probably why it takes months to unpack), and thought to myself, "What if, this is an answer to prayer for you? Right now?"

See, lately, I've been really struggling. There are so many voices through Social Media that just simply didn't exist in my life twenty years ago. So many voices, crying out in hurt, or fear, about what we should be angry about today. Can I be honest and say that the topic du jour sometimes breaks my heart, and sometimes makes me want to stand up and say "enough is enough". But either way, each time, I keep my mouth shut.

I try hard to not explore conversations meant for living rooms in chat rooms. I bite my lips and try not to present an opinion one way or the other because I know that there is a heart on the other end of my screen, and that heart can't see the hurt in my eyes, or the confusion in my voice, and I would never, ever, want to be so trite as to handle a heart with my keyboard. This is not a statement of judgment against those who choose to be a voice on a platform to reach many, many people. It's just a statement that I think if I ever tried to do it that way, I'd botch it for sure. And I care too much to be that careless, knowing how clumsy I can be.

Why do I have that fear?

Because I have so very often been the heart on the other end of the screen. And my heart has been broken by someone's keyboard.

When my theology loving friends tell my Darwin loving friends that they are a "mutant" for believing in evolution, I wonder if God would make fun of me for my beliefs too?

When my liberal minded friends tell my conservative minded friends that their friendship is over based on a vote, I wonder if these relationships I hold so dear would end too if I opened up about my political bent one way or the other. When my conservative minded friends tell my liberal minded friends that they are trying to deliver our country to hell in a handbasket, I wonder if they would think me evil too if I shared my heart about helping the helpless. Then I wonder which is worse? To lose a friendship, or be thought an idiot? Either way, I think I lose.

When churches choose URLs that decry who God hates, or when blog after blog after blog seems to be more a platform for the latest Tyson vs Holyfield Theological Smackdown, I wonder along with the words of Andrew Peterson If the church isn't anything more than the second coming of the Pharisees. Scrubbing each other 'til their tombs are white, they chisel epitaphs of piety (Come Lord Jesus on the Album Carried Along).

And I log off, and cry.

Because that is not the God I see in the pages of Scripture.

I see a God who in His omniscience, knows that we are not.

I see a God who self discloses as "compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in loving kindness and truth" (Exodus 34:6).

I see a God who thought sparrows and lilies were important enough to be memorialized for all of eternity.

And I see a God who said "It is finished" NOT "Now it's your turn".

But then I wonder who has it right? I mean, we're reading the same book, right? Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I don't know who God really is. Maybe I'm twisted, or manipulating Scripture, or just a bleeding heart sinner who so desperately is clinging to a God who just might, just maybe, could love me Just As I Am, and hoping with all the strength I have that those aren't just song lyrics to lie to the masses as they approach the altar.

And these men and women, well, they hold Masters degrees or PhDs that make my silly little Bachelors look elementary. These are published authors, and pastors, and folks that can quote Augustine and read Thomas a Kempis alongside their Wall Street Journal, while I am lucky to make it through Garfield without getting a little emotional at times. I mean, I once read Amos nine times in one sitting and still couldn't tell you what the heck it was about, other than PLEASE don't stick your hand on any walls...apparently snakes live in walls (Amos 5:19). That's more than a little traumatic, and confusing.

So, I decided, enough is enough. I'm going back to what the Word says, and honestly, desperately praying and searching for What If He Loves Me.

I've been mulling over this for years really. See, I read something, get SO very excited and passionate, have this incredible conversation in my head, and then let out a satisfied sigh, bask in the warm and fuzzies, and go back to my daily life. And for years I've thought, I need to get out of my head and get on to my keyboard. I need to share it. Because I so desperately hope that in doing so, someone, just one, can also look up and see a God who isn't ready to tell them how they failed, but to look at them with mercy. Because HE IS MERCY. God doesn't just love, He IS LOVE.

Don't worry, I also believe in wrath and judgement and all of the other stuff folks are SO very fast to throw out there. I just also believe that that work is finished for those who put their hope in Jesus and not their own resume.

So that's it. I'm taking this little spiral bound notebook someone poured their heart and soul into a couple of decades ago, and I'm using it as my starting point. Because that's where I always got stuck. Where do I start?

Today, I start here. With my confession of confusion. With my Thomas like tears saying "Lord, I believe, just please, please, help my lost heart". Just me, a Bible, and a notebook I packed away without ever dropping a dot of ink in. Because it wasn't meant for 18 year old Kelly. It was meant for 37 year old Kelly, and she's going to wrestle with the Word until her hip or her heart breaks. Or maybe just mends.

Maybe that's the ironic thing. Maybe we're all a bunch of people walking around with broken hips pretending to be marathoners?

Man if this happens every time I try to empty a box, I'll NEVER finish unpacking.

And you know what? I think it'll be worth it.