I’m sorry she says. Im sorry,- I really am those were the words that continued in streams out of her mouth like a broken record between silent sobs and deep breaths. I continued to watch as tears rolled down her cheeks leaving a glistening trail before they were swiped away by a tissue. As I stared down at her half-eaten tray of eggs and glanced at the hospital bracelet that adorned her arm, all I could do was allow my tears to flow freely with hers.

Cancer. That was the word. It was a powerful one that was wrecking her world. It left her weak, hurting, and partially blind.  Yet in that room, I felt this almost blind woman saw more than most of us.  I realized I had nothing to offer this woman.  I could not cure her nor did I have words that would be of true value.  Instead, all I could offer her was my presence and a safe space to cry.  As I held her hand between tears, I felt the Lord telling me to let her cry. Often we don’t know what to do with tears. Generally we turn to humor, a story, or diversion to make them stop, but in that sterile room, I knew she needed it. Her soul needed it. So I told her the very words Jesus spoke to my heart at my weakest moment. Don’t apologize for those tears. Tears are good for your soul. Those tears aren’t going to scare me away, and you know what, they won’t scare God away either. He’s big enough for them.  Her eyes met mine and I saw those tears that were once despised now flow freely turning into healing rain.  Ive tried to be strong, so strong. Ive fought, but im weary now.  These vulnerable words tumbled out in broken streams and I saw how courageous, brave, and strong this woman before me was.

I realized something in that moment of admittance, I never once saw weakness. Instead, I saw a place for the Lord.  I saw a woman with a battle much too large to fight on her own but faith in a God who could handle it.  She never once blamed Him or questioned it although she had every right to. And in that confession of weariness, I felt space was made in that room for God. There was a holy meeting in that room.  One much grander and beautiful than any I’ve ever witnessed.  There were no pews, big screens, flashing lights, or eloquent sermons delivered.  Instead, there was a woman who humbled herself before the Lord and brought her tears as an offering before the Lord.  Her confession became her song, and as He filled the room, healing was brought to her soul.

As I left the room that day, I realized that holy meeting wasn’t just for her. God used that room and that beautiful woman to show me that I can let go.  I do not have to have all of the answers or do everything on my own.  Until now, Ive felt that if I trusted God, I had to be strong.  If I grew weary or discouraged, it would just show people that I didn’t really trust God could do it. The truth is that it is when I am weak the Lord is strong.  I’ve heard that phrase for as long as I can remember and I’ve written on many bathroom mirrors and post-its. Yet after I left that room, I saw it in a different way.  I realized that sometimes my own failure is ok.  If I cannot do it, people wont judge my lack of faith or relationship with God. Instead, they will see that I am human and in need of a savior as much as the next person.  I do not have to have it all together.  Some days, I can cry and feel the full weight of my human limitedness and use those tears as an offering to God. If anything good comes from my life, it is not because I am a good student and work hard, or because I try to be nice to people, or even because I deserve it.  It is only because the Lord moved in my life.  I cannot stop thinking about that woman and praising God for her.  She felt the Lord in such a beautiful, intimate way that has rocked me to my core.  She allowed him into that space with all of her brokenness, pain, heaviness, and worries on the table.  It all laid out before her right next to the half-eaten eggs and stale biscuits and instead of cowering shamefully behind it, she opened her heart that day and let him take everything on that table.  She gave it to him freely and trusted Him with it.  She didn’t ask him for a bargain or for an answer.  She just praised Him and let me hold her hand while we worshipped Him in that place.

Living in Surrender

I think I’ve spend much time trying to live a good Christian life.  You know, the kind where you sign up for 3 Bible Studies, wear those great Christian logo T-shirts, instagram pics of the morning's psalm, tweet the latest jesus calling, and drink coffee like its water.  For the majority of the past 20 years Ive spent on this earth, I learned the motions and cool songs for VBS, I donned my "I'm a princess and Daughter of a Great King" T-shirt, I advocated "Modest is Hottest" and I remained single because I was dating Jesus. These things alone are not bad but this year I realized that this is not exactly what I am called to. These are not the foundation and essence of my walk with the Lord. I think I always knew some aspect of this was skewed.  As a child, my mom forced me to put on the little red vest and attend Awanas at a church wherever we lived. I remember failing at every game during rec because some part of me has never been coordinated enough to play kickball.  At every "sword drill" I was one of the last to find the book called out- I mean what kids knows where Haggai is anyway? Week after week I would try to recite the memory verse but I somehow always messed up a word or line and never could make it past the first few pages. I would walk dejectedly out of the room with my crown which contained only one jewel I got for completing the introduction book while I stood next to my friends who had enough bling to blind someone.  I swear one girl had to buy another vest to hold all of her crowns. After a year, I begged my mom to stop making me go. There were tears, pleading, and eventually after many weeks, she packed my red vest away in a box on the closet shelf and I was free. 

Please hear my heart when I say that Awanas really was not awful and it is a great tool for teaching kids about the Bible. It wasn't the program itself but my heart and attitude in doing it.  There are many times I wish I had continued but I have realized something.  I have spent the last 5 years living my life as if I was still in Awanas instead of surrendering my life to a King.  I will not get jewels in my crown in heaven based on how many verses I memorized or how many friends I brought to church. My membership in the body of Christ is not based upon my abilities, my knowledge, or my actions to abstain from "worldly" things. Jesus certainly is not my homeboy and I was never "dating" him.  He's much grander and Holier than that.  He doesn't just want my participation in church events or my pledge to listen to only Christian music- He demands my absolute allegiance to his sovereignty.  I do not have to pretend my life is perfect or that I am without sin. His love is not depended upon me simply living a "good Christian" life. 

 No matter how much effort I put into it, I will always fall short of good because there are days when sin is rampant and I am inherently not good. So although this sounds great in theory, in reality it only leaves a wake of hypocrisy, masking, and guilt. Instead, I think I just want to live a life. One that some Gracious God called me to before my first heart beat. I’m listening to this song and the line says “tomorrow’s freedom is today’s surrender”. I think that’s the way I want to live. In surrender. Because in surrender, you recognize the sin that keeps you from joy, and you look it in the face, and hand it over to an outstretched hand of a Lord. And sometimes when its hard to tare your gaze from that sin that won’t let you go, you avert your eyes and in perfect divine timing, your eyes land on those outstretched hands. And you notice there are scars. Scars made to die for that sin. Scars made to die for you. I think as long as we try to pretend to live a good Christian life, we miss this act of surrender because we convince ourselves we have nothing to give up.  But if that were the case, then those scars are for naught.