It has been some time now since I have sat down with pen and paper (or keyboard and screen, as is currently the case) to put in words the finer, deeper emotions and thoughts of the past year. Every time I have tried, be it personal reflections in my journal, letters to beloved friends or post to be shared with the world, I have found myself staring at blank pages - or pages full of words that are all wrong, wrong, WRONG! I have found, for the first time in life, that the written word has failed me utterly.
But the truth is, how do you put into words the love, the gratitude, the delight, the heartache, the - the - oh! I don't have the words for it! Perhaps it is best expressed as the fellowship that I have experienced this past year. Yes, I think that might be it.
I have grown up some this past year. I am still growing, I know it well! But I have grown up some, this year. And I think, perhaps, it is because of just that fellowship (for lack of a better word) that is so hard for me to put into words.
I know that I have loved more deeply, more freely, more openly, than I have ever loved before. And have felt myself to be deeply loved in return. Oh, I'm doing this so, so badly!
To that girl from Austria; those newly-weds I wrote to over a year ago and have since been brother and sister to me; to those sisters I prayed with, laughed with, cried with every week at college; to those men who are brothers; to all those who have mentored me, prayed for me, led me closer to God through your example; to those at church, at beach mission, from school, and - of course - from college:
Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Thank you for being men and women of God. Thank you for pursuing Him with all your hearts. Thank you for hearing that part of me I have been too ashamed to show the world and accepting me with open arms still. Thank you for sharing your heartaches, your wounds, your scars, your tears. Thank you for sharing your joys, your triumphs, your laughter. Thank you for being open, honest and safe. Thank you for being people who are willing to let God work through you.
I thank God for each and every one of you, for I really, truly have none like you. Each turning page of my life has brought greater joys (and, sometimes, greater sorrows), than the preceding year. Because of you, last year was the sweetest page of my story so far. And because of you, I look to the coming pages with optimism and complete confidence in all the Lord has in store for me.
I know that many of you had a page (or even a chapter) stained with tears this last year. I know that others of you have chapters ringing with laughter. Happy or sad, I know all you - all of us - had pages written perfectly by the hand of the Master Author. And I know that - whilst we may wish things written differently know - each line serves to forward to story of our lives as God's children and ambassadors in this world. I encourage you, my beloved friends, to trust in God's goodness, grace and justice. Trust that our stories, our pages of pain, and our pages of comfort, all have a place in the great Narrative of the universe.
I wish... I really, really wish, that I could put into words just what you mean to me. Just how encouraged I have been by each and every one of you, and just how much I hope to be - or to have been - as much of an encouragement to you. Perhaps a better master of writing than me - or perhaps just one more diligent about practicing the art of writing - could do it, but I can not.
And so you'll just have to trust that you have shaped me and influenced me in my life. You'll have to accept those small things I have been able to do, and will do as often as I can, as proof of a deeper love and gratitude than I am capable of expressing. And I hope that, come Judgment day, when all is made plain before mankind, that you will understand then and give glory to our Father for it.
May God bless you and keep you. May He guide you through life. May His grace be the anthem of your days and His justice your comfort. May His love uphold you and His light brighten the darkest of days. May His mission inspire you and His Spirit embolden you. May you lay down your lives in thankful unceasing worship of Him every day that you draw breath. And may His Death on the Cross, His Resurrection from the Gave and His Ascension into Heaven give you strength, comfort and hope when all else seems lost.
With all my love, prayers and hopes to catch up soon,
Laura
Thursday, 29 January 2015
Monday, 8 December 2014
The Other Side of the Curtain
I was reading Exodus. Exodus 40, to be exact, all about how Moses set up the Tabernacle. How he hung a beautiful curtain to conceal the Ark of the Covenant, marking it "out of bounds" for anyone who was not properly purified. Because that was the Holy Place, the meeting place with God. It was the place where the Lord's presence was going to dwell - or at least, the symbol of His presence with Israel, as He is bigger than that room. It was the place the priest went to mediate with God on behalf of the people.
As I read, I found myself desperately wanting to go behind that curtain. To step into that room, away from the rest of the Tabernacle and worship in that Holy Place. I longed to go into the presence of the Lord, to bend knee at the Ark of the Covenant, to worship my God in the light of His lampstand, surrounded by the smell of the incense offering.
I felt as though I was there, in that camp of the Israelites. And for all my longing, I found my way barred. Barred from entering into my presence of my Lord and Saviour. For only the High Priest could enter in there, could worship in there.
And it hurt.
Not in the "I've been rejected" way, but in a deeper way. A raw sorrow, an ache, a desire for something more. And the sorrow was real. My way to God, I felt, was blocked by my own sinfulness. Because that's what the curtain was - an expression of a separation caused by human sinfulness. It was not there to protect God from us, from Israel. It was there to protect us, to protect Israel, from God's holiness.
And it was so... odd. So strange. I felt odd, off kilter. And whilst my head sought to remind me of Jesus and the curtain torn in two, I still felt sad I felt stuck in this camp. In that day. And I felt so sad. So very, very sad.
Because it wasn't right. It's not how it was ever meant to be.
And I wondered, if I had actually been there that day - not as an Israelite, but as me, a Child of God who trusts in the work of Jesus on the cross - if I had been there and had cried out to God, begging to stand in the Holy Place for just one minute, to worship Him there, would He have allowed it? Or would He have denied it? I had no answers.
But I felt, for the first time, I felt something of what it must be like to be barred from God at God's insistence, rather than my own stubbornness. All my life I have trusted in the One sacrifice that rent that curtain in two. For all my life I have called God Father, and been sure that He called me daughter. I may have avoided Him as a naughty child avoids their dad or mum from time to time. I may have worried that this time I've blown it. But I've never believed that the way to the Lord's throne room was closed to me.
But now, in my heart and mind, I found myself standing before the Holy Place and I found my way was barred by a curtain. A curtain placed there by His orders, not my own guilt. And the loneliness, the agony of separation, was deep. I did not even feel - sitting in my 21st century bed that I could call out to Him. That I could turn and see Him. And so I began to write. I wrote it all down.
But now my heart is pushing me to read Mark 15. And so I will.
The first thing I notice is the trial with Pilate. In Pilate's question "are you the King of the Jews?" I see something in a way I had never seen it before. Jesus is the God-Man. He is God become flesh, dwelling and interacting directly with humans. But the curtain has not yet been torn. The way to God is still barred. But here He is, standing amongst His people. He has stepped out from behind the curtain - as it were. He has left the Holy Place and joined the world.
He came to us!
He. Came. To. Us.
HE CAME TO US!!
Which is why this time of year - this celebration of His Incarnation - is so important. It is the celebration of the time God stepped out from behind the curtain and joined our world. Joined it not as a cruel, overbearing, powerful king as some might expect, but as a baby. One who would grow up somebodies son, somebodies brother, somebodies friend. One who would weep at the grave of His friend. One who would crack jokes with His friends. One who would live life with the common folk, the rejects. Yeah - that's a mighty fine thing to celebrate!
The second thing I notice is in the irony of the mockery the priests spit at Him. "He saved others, but He can't save Himself!" And for some reason, I'm reminded of that scene in Lord of the Rings when Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli go looking for those cursed souls that help them win the battle for Gondor. Along the way, the are repeatedly told "the way is closed, it is guarded by the dead" - until the dead realize that Aragorn is the one person who can save them.
I'm still not entirely sure why I was reminded of that, but I do know that the priest were mocking Jesus and His ability to save others. Not realizing that He was the One person who could reopen the way to God - saving many. And that He could only do it through His own death. And He did it. He died that death. And because of that, the curtain tears.
Not only did God Himself step out from behind the curtain, God Himself tore apart that curtain. He reopened the way to Himself for us - at great personal cost. And He tore apart that blasted dividing curtain.
And the final thing I noticed - the point I finished on - was verse 36. When the Roman Centurion (of all the people standing there!) understands something of what has happened. "This man truly was the Son of God". It's not the priests with all their Law and Old Testament history and prophecy who finally understand. It's not Jesus' friends and followers piecing together everything Jesus had said and done. It is the Roman officer charged with making sure He dies. He is the one who realizes that this man was no ordinary man and this death was no ordinary death.
And this tells me that not only was God the One who stepped out from behind the curtain, not only was He the One who tore the curtain up and opened the way, He is also the One who reveals the truth to us.
We can't think ourselves to Him. We can't feel ourselves to Him. We can't interpret the Scriptures to Him. He - and He alone - is the One who shows us the truth. Who reveals Himself to us. He is the One who invites us into the Holy Place and invites us to stay there forever.
And I am glad (so very glad!) that I live on this side of the Cross. I am glad that I live now. I am glad that I live in the time when the way is open, the separation is gone. The curtain is no longer barring the way into God's presence. The Holy Place is open for all who choose to enter.
I tried to return in my heart to that moment I had earlier. The one where I felt as though I stood in front of the curtain and longed to move past it. I wanted to see the curtain tear. But something stopped me. Probably God, because the curtain was already gone. And I was already in the presence of the Lord. Why return to then anyway?
And let me tell you, I danced and I sung. And my soul still cries out "Hallelujah! Praise and honour unto thee!"
As I read, I found myself desperately wanting to go behind that curtain. To step into that room, away from the rest of the Tabernacle and worship in that Holy Place. I longed to go into the presence of the Lord, to bend knee at the Ark of the Covenant, to worship my God in the light of His lampstand, surrounded by the smell of the incense offering.
I felt as though I was there, in that camp of the Israelites. And for all my longing, I found my way barred. Barred from entering into my presence of my Lord and Saviour. For only the High Priest could enter in there, could worship in there.
And it hurt.
Not in the "I've been rejected" way, but in a deeper way. A raw sorrow, an ache, a desire for something more. And the sorrow was real. My way to God, I felt, was blocked by my own sinfulness. Because that's what the curtain was - an expression of a separation caused by human sinfulness. It was not there to protect God from us, from Israel. It was there to protect us, to protect Israel, from God's holiness.
And it was so... odd. So strange. I felt odd, off kilter. And whilst my head sought to remind me of Jesus and the curtain torn in two, I still felt sad I felt stuck in this camp. In that day. And I felt so sad. So very, very sad.
Because it wasn't right. It's not how it was ever meant to be.
And I wondered, if I had actually been there that day - not as an Israelite, but as me, a Child of God who trusts in the work of Jesus on the cross - if I had been there and had cried out to God, begging to stand in the Holy Place for just one minute, to worship Him there, would He have allowed it? Or would He have denied it? I had no answers.
But I felt, for the first time, I felt something of what it must be like to be barred from God at God's insistence, rather than my own stubbornness. All my life I have trusted in the One sacrifice that rent that curtain in two. For all my life I have called God Father, and been sure that He called me daughter. I may have avoided Him as a naughty child avoids their dad or mum from time to time. I may have worried that this time I've blown it. But I've never believed that the way to the Lord's throne room was closed to me.
But now, in my heart and mind, I found myself standing before the Holy Place and I found my way was barred by a curtain. A curtain placed there by His orders, not my own guilt. And the loneliness, the agony of separation, was deep. I did not even feel - sitting in my 21st century bed that I could call out to Him. That I could turn and see Him. And so I began to write. I wrote it all down.
But now my heart is pushing me to read Mark 15. And so I will.
The first thing I notice is the trial with Pilate. In Pilate's question "are you the King of the Jews?" I see something in a way I had never seen it before. Jesus is the God-Man. He is God become flesh, dwelling and interacting directly with humans. But the curtain has not yet been torn. The way to God is still barred. But here He is, standing amongst His people. He has stepped out from behind the curtain - as it were. He has left the Holy Place and joined the world.
He came to us!
He. Came. To. Us.
HE CAME TO US!!
Which is why this time of year - this celebration of His Incarnation - is so important. It is the celebration of the time God stepped out from behind the curtain and joined our world. Joined it not as a cruel, overbearing, powerful king as some might expect, but as a baby. One who would grow up somebodies son, somebodies brother, somebodies friend. One who would weep at the grave of His friend. One who would crack jokes with His friends. One who would live life with the common folk, the rejects. Yeah - that's a mighty fine thing to celebrate!
The second thing I notice is in the irony of the mockery the priests spit at Him. "He saved others, but He can't save Himself!" And for some reason, I'm reminded of that scene in Lord of the Rings when Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli go looking for those cursed souls that help them win the battle for Gondor. Along the way, the are repeatedly told "the way is closed, it is guarded by the dead" - until the dead realize that Aragorn is the one person who can save them.
I'm still not entirely sure why I was reminded of that, but I do know that the priest were mocking Jesus and His ability to save others. Not realizing that He was the One person who could reopen the way to God - saving many. And that He could only do it through His own death. And He did it. He died that death. And because of that, the curtain tears.
Not only did God Himself step out from behind the curtain, God Himself tore apart that curtain. He reopened the way to Himself for us - at great personal cost. And He tore apart that blasted dividing curtain.
And the final thing I noticed - the point I finished on - was verse 36. When the Roman Centurion (of all the people standing there!) understands something of what has happened. "This man truly was the Son of God". It's not the priests with all their Law and Old Testament history and prophecy who finally understand. It's not Jesus' friends and followers piecing together everything Jesus had said and done. It is the Roman officer charged with making sure He dies. He is the one who realizes that this man was no ordinary man and this death was no ordinary death.
And this tells me that not only was God the One who stepped out from behind the curtain, not only was He the One who tore the curtain up and opened the way, He is also the One who reveals the truth to us.
We can't think ourselves to Him. We can't feel ourselves to Him. We can't interpret the Scriptures to Him. He - and He alone - is the One who shows us the truth. Who reveals Himself to us. He is the One who invites us into the Holy Place and invites us to stay there forever.
And I am glad (so very glad!) that I live on this side of the Cross. I am glad that I live now. I am glad that I live in the time when the way is open, the separation is gone. The curtain is no longer barring the way into God's presence. The Holy Place is open for all who choose to enter.
I tried to return in my heart to that moment I had earlier. The one where I felt as though I stood in front of the curtain and longed to move past it. I wanted to see the curtain tear. But something stopped me. Probably God, because the curtain was already gone. And I was already in the presence of the Lord. Why return to then anyway?
And let me tell you, I danced and I sung. And my soul still cries out "Hallelujah! Praise and honour unto thee!"
Sunday, 2 November 2014
An Open Letter to my Sisters in Christ
Hey there, beautiful,
Yeah, I'm talking to you. Yes, you, beautiful woman. I was wondering if you'd like to join me for a bit of a heart to heart over a cup of apple cinnamon tea. And, just in case you were wondering, yes, I do have a mug of apple cinnamon tea here.
How are you? Are you doing well?
If you asked me that, my automatic response is probably "yeah, I'm fine". I'd probably add something about being tired. Is that yours too?
Isn't it funny how rarely we think about how we answer that question. Although, I guess we probably give it as much thought as the amount of sincerity from the asker normally demands.
But enough with the small talk. I'm going to cut right to the chase. I've invited you in to have this little heart to heart because I realized - once again - during the week, just how much the world is conspiring to make us feel worthless. And, yes, it's doing the same to men, but I'm not a man, so I'm not really in a position to speak to them.
But I can speak to you, my fellow women. Because I'm figuring (from my entire 18 - nearly 19 - years of experience) that what goes on in our hearts is not as different as what goes on in our lives.
And here's what I guess goes on in your hearts: some days, are fine. On these days it's easy to believe you are loved. Easy to believe that you are beautiful. Easy to believe that you are worth something - perhaps even more than your weight in gold.
Some days, though, some days are plain hard. On these days, it's easy to believe that not only are you not loved - you are unlovable. Easy to believe that not only are you not beautiful - you don't even rate on the passable scale, just the ugly one. Easy to believe that you are worth nothing - or less than nothing.
Believe me, I know. I really do know.
And, if you haven't experienced those hard days yet, I envy you. But it's been a good long while since I was naïve enough to believe you never will. And, beautiful, I want you to hear what I'm going to say now, and I want you to hear what I'm going to say then, and every single day of your life. Both the fine days and the hard days.
To the rest of you, I'm sue you know exactly what days I'm talking about.
For me, a hard day was triggered on Thursday. At a talk about pornography. As I sat listening to the statistics about porn (and the people who view it) I could feel my heart breaking, my eyes welling up and a little bit of a voice telling me "whatever makes you think you'll ever be good enough? Especially when you have to compete with that?" And my heart broke because I know the truth - but so few people do. My heart broke because the world just keeps throwing things in our faces to make us feel worthless.
And believe me, the world throws us everything.
The way we dress. (You're either too prudish or too slutty - seriously, if you try pleasing the world with the way you dress, you'll tick somebody off. Probably multiple somebodies.)
The things we like, the things we dislike. ("You're such a tomboy, why can't you be more girly?" "You're such a girly girl, why can't you be tougher"(??) "Oh my word... you like that??" "What do you mean you don't like this?")
The things we do - or don't do. ("Erm, stay at home mum? I thought we abolished that with the giving you the right to work." "You work? But don't you have kids to look after?")
Our relationship status. ("Don't you have a boyfriend yet?" "I could never imagine being tied to one person so young (early twenties alert)")
The quality of our work ("You're too smart" "You're not smart enough" "Can't you cook?")
The amount we worry about stuff ("Don't you care at all???" "Gee... calm down")
To list just a few of the things we getting measured against (am I getting a few nods - and maybe a chuckle of "oh yeah, I know that" yet?)
And that's just the things we get measured against.
Don't get me started on that friend who betrayed us. Or the abuser who took advantage of us. Or the person who pushed us into something we didn't want to do (and most definitely did not thank them for it later. Unless it was in very sarcastic tones for the counselling we've been through as a result). Or the husband who struggles with fidelity. Or the child who just never, ever obeys. Or whatever else has happened to you, is happening to you and will happen to you.
And it all just adds up. And really, it breaks my heart. And it isn't breaking my heart because it's true and what hope is there for womankind. Oh no, little miss, don't you ever think that's what breaks my heart. It breaks my heart because it is absolutely, most definitely not true. Never, ever, ever.
And here's why I invited you to this heart to heart over tea (even though it's taken me so long to get this words out that my tea got stone cold and all drunk up long ago): the world is just plain WRONG! And I said it on Thursday, to a friend who shared my pain. To a friend who knows the deep, intense pain of feeling inadequate:
One day, one day we will stand before God. And for the first time ever we will believe with every part of our being that we are loved, we are beautiful and we are of worth.
But until that day, we will struggle. We will struggle with those voices (those sometimes - often - overwhelming voices) that tell us we're not good enough. We're not pretty enough. And we're definitely not loved. And in that struggle, my darling, beloved women friends, I all we can do is cling to the truth: the truth that we are good enough - by the grace of God. We are pretty enough - by the grace of God. We are loved - by the grace of God.
And did you see that mug I had my tea in earlier? It's my favourite. Printed round and round again with those verses that's so important to remember - 2 Corinthians 12: 9 - 10. Go read them. Read them. And then, when you've read them, read John 3: 16. Go on, read it. Don't just summon it from memory. Read it. And the verses around it. And read 1 John. And, of course, Romans 8.
Always remember: we have worth because God has declared we have worth. We are beautiful, because God has declared we are beautiful. We are loved because God has chosen to love us. And really, who has the right to make that call? The created world or the Creator God?
Linked up with Coffee for Your Heart at http://holleygerth.com/
Yeah, I'm talking to you. Yes, you, beautiful woman. I was wondering if you'd like to join me for a bit of a heart to heart over a cup of apple cinnamon tea. And, just in case you were wondering, yes, I do have a mug of apple cinnamon tea here.
How are you? Are you doing well?
If you asked me that, my automatic response is probably "yeah, I'm fine". I'd probably add something about being tired. Is that yours too?
Isn't it funny how rarely we think about how we answer that question. Although, I guess we probably give it as much thought as the amount of sincerity from the asker normally demands.
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But enough with the small talk. I'm going to cut right to the chase. I've invited you in to have this little heart to heart because I realized - once again - during the week, just how much the world is conspiring to make us feel worthless. And, yes, it's doing the same to men, but I'm not a man, so I'm not really in a position to speak to them.
But I can speak to you, my fellow women. Because I'm figuring (from my entire 18 - nearly 19 - years of experience) that what goes on in our hearts is not as different as what goes on in our lives.
And here's what I guess goes on in your hearts: some days, are fine. On these days it's easy to believe you are loved. Easy to believe that you are beautiful. Easy to believe that you are worth something - perhaps even more than your weight in gold.
Some days, though, some days are plain hard. On these days, it's easy to believe that not only are you not loved - you are unlovable. Easy to believe that not only are you not beautiful - you don't even rate on the passable scale, just the ugly one. Easy to believe that you are worth nothing - or less than nothing.
Believe me, I know. I really do know.
And, if you haven't experienced those hard days yet, I envy you. But it's been a good long while since I was naïve enough to believe you never will. And, beautiful, I want you to hear what I'm going to say now, and I want you to hear what I'm going to say then, and every single day of your life. Both the fine days and the hard days.
To the rest of you, I'm sue you know exactly what days I'm talking about.
For me, a hard day was triggered on Thursday. At a talk about pornography. As I sat listening to the statistics about porn (and the people who view it) I could feel my heart breaking, my eyes welling up and a little bit of a voice telling me "whatever makes you think you'll ever be good enough? Especially when you have to compete with that?" And my heart broke because I know the truth - but so few people do. My heart broke because the world just keeps throwing things in our faces to make us feel worthless.
And believe me, the world throws us everything.
The way we dress. (You're either too prudish or too slutty - seriously, if you try pleasing the world with the way you dress, you'll tick somebody off. Probably multiple somebodies.)
The things we like, the things we dislike. ("You're such a tomboy, why can't you be more girly?" "You're such a girly girl, why can't you be tougher"(??) "Oh my word... you like that??" "What do you mean you don't like this?")
The things we do - or don't do. ("Erm, stay at home mum? I thought we abolished that with the giving you the right to work." "You work? But don't you have kids to look after?")
Our relationship status. ("Don't you have a boyfriend yet?" "I could never imagine being tied to one person so young (early twenties alert)")
The quality of our work ("You're too smart" "You're not smart enough" "Can't you cook?")
The amount we worry about stuff ("Don't you care at all???" "Gee... calm down")
To list just a few of the things we getting measured against (am I getting a few nods - and maybe a chuckle of "oh yeah, I know that" yet?)
And that's just the things we get measured against.
And it all just adds up. And really, it breaks my heart. And it isn't breaking my heart because it's true and what hope is there for womankind. Oh no, little miss, don't you ever think that's what breaks my heart. It breaks my heart because it is absolutely, most definitely not true. Never, ever, ever.
And here's why I invited you to this heart to heart over tea (even though it's taken me so long to get this words out that my tea got stone cold and all drunk up long ago): the world is just plain WRONG! And I said it on Thursday, to a friend who shared my pain. To a friend who knows the deep, intense pain of feeling inadequate:
One day, one day we will stand before God. And for the first time ever we will believe with every part of our being that we are loved, we are beautiful and we are of worth.
But until that day, we will struggle. We will struggle with those voices (those sometimes - often - overwhelming voices) that tell us we're not good enough. We're not pretty enough. And we're definitely not loved. And in that struggle, my darling, beloved women friends, I all we can do is cling to the truth: the truth that we are good enough - by the grace of God. We are pretty enough - by the grace of God. We are loved - by the grace of God.
And did you see that mug I had my tea in earlier? It's my favourite. Printed round and round again with those verses that's so important to remember - 2 Corinthians 12: 9 - 10. Go read them. Read them. And then, when you've read them, read John 3: 16. Go on, read it. Don't just summon it from memory. Read it. And the verses around it. And read 1 John. And, of course, Romans 8.
Always remember: we have worth because God has declared we have worth. We are beautiful, because God has declared we are beautiful. We are loved because God has chosen to love us. And really, who has the right to make that call? The created world or the Creator God?
And, I know I've rambled. But I hope that something I've said has touched you. Feel free to contact me if you have questions or comments. Because you are so wonderful, beautiful and loved. And as hard as it is to remember, it's true. Not because I said so, but because GOD said so.
With love,
Laura Ruth
Linked up with Coffee for Your Heart at http://holleygerth.com/
Tuesday, 28 October 2014
Unadoptable?
So, I'm a massive fan of Laura Ingalls Wilder and her story. I always have been. She shared my name and her life was one of adventure - why wouldn't that appeal to a young girl? So, when I noticed that some friends of mine had some of the seasons of the Michael Landon's TV series adaption of the books, I immediately asked to borrow them.
Today, I was watching some episodes - right about season 5 (please note: the seasons I have borrowed are incomplete, I've only got about half of the first five seasons, so being at season 5 is not actually impressive) - when I noticed two of the actors shared a fairly unusual surname. I was intrigued. Clearly, they were related. Maybe even twins, they looked close enough in age for it not to be unlikely. So I went looking.
And I'm very glad I did. Because the history I found for them was far more interesting, and far more touching, than just being twins. And it's been bringing a smile to my face all day.
Patrick and Matthew Labyorteaux (usually spelt with the 'y' dropped) are the adopted sons of Ron and Frankie Labyorteaux. Which, is cool enough, after all, two people deciding that they had enough love to share with children "not their own" seems to be an increasingly rare thing. But as I kept reading, I discovered something else very quickly:
Both boys had been, at a very early age, deemed to be unadoptable.
I am unsure, from what I've read, whether it was at three weeks or three months that Patrick was diagnosed as being psychotic. He couldn't keep food down and was nervous around people. So, yeah, the agency figured nobody would ever want him. It was not long after that Ron and Frankie came along. They were looking for an older boy who hadn't yet had a chance at adoption (this is the group that finds it the hardest to be adopted), but in the process, they heard about this unadoptable baby boy and decided to adopt him.
Within two years, Patrick was far enough along that his parents decided to adopt another child. This time, it was 10 month old Matthew. He had a hole in his heart, was autistic and a liking for temper tantrums. Few of the doctors held out hope that he would ever be "normal". He didn't learn to walk until he was three. He didn't speak until he was 5. And there were always the tantrums. I've heard of people who have walked away from their adoptive children (even their biological children) for less.
And yet, Ron and Frankie decided to stick it out. I saw an interview with Frankie where she is quoted as saying "spent months on the floor with Matthew screaming and me holding him down telling him that no matter what he did I would love him". Then Patrick started acting therapy. He began working on commercials. At one of his auditions, Matthew was asked if he wanted to test too. And so began their acting career. From all accounts, the acting worked wonders for them. Both boys went from being shy, to being confident. And Matthew learnt to control his temper.
Matthew is now the most prolific actor of the two, and Patrick is married. They may not be super famous, or celebrities (although, they appear to have come close to this status during their Little House days), but if you'd told the agencies looking after them as babies where they'd end up, you would probably have been laughed at. These unadoptable baby boys have grown to be men with successful, love-filled (from all appearances) lives. And all because two people decided that they were worth more than others thought and chose to extend love to them.
I think you can probably see why their story has brought a smile to my face. But I'm not sharing it with you just because it is a sweet story. I'm sharing it with you because as my mind has been turning this story over, I began to notice something.
It's so very familiar.
Troublesome kids considered to be unadoptable and not worth much, given a second chance at life? Shown unconditional love and support from people who owed them nothing? If you haven't yet twigged to the fact that I began to see myself (and the rest of the human race) in Baby Pat and Baby Matt, and that I began to see something of God in Ron and Frankie, we might have a bit of a problem.
But really, the parallel was just too strong to miss. After all, there I was, a rebellious, sinful human being who wants nothing to do with the God who Created her and is only hurting herself. Who any righteous and holy person could quite justly cast aside - and most definitely would not adopt - when boom! along comes the aforementioned God who Created her (and everything else), and adopts her. At an enormous personal price. Then, while I'm busy kicking, screaming and having a right old tantrum, there He is, holding me and telling me that no matter what I do, He will always love me.
And so, I don't know about you, but today, I'll be going to bed with a smile on my face. Not just because across the world, may decades ago, two loving and compassionate people adopted two unadoptable boys and never gave up on them. I will be going to bed with a smile on my face because of what the story of this family has reminded me about God. His character and His love for me.
I will be going to bed grateful because God adopted the unadoptable, loved the unlovable, and declared worthy what would otherwise have been unworthy. I will be going to be grateful because God is no petty mortal (or Greek god) that He would be turned aside by my foolishness and faithlessness. I will be going to bed grateful because God is God and
"those [he] foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his son, that he might be firstborn among many brothers and sisters. And those he predestined, he also called; and those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified" (Romans 8: 29 -30 - go read the rest).
Today, I was watching some episodes - right about season 5 (please note: the seasons I have borrowed are incomplete, I've only got about half of the first five seasons, so being at season 5 is not actually impressive) - when I noticed two of the actors shared a fairly unusual surname. I was intrigued. Clearly, they were related. Maybe even twins, they looked close enough in age for it not to be unlikely. So I went looking.
And I'm very glad I did. Because the history I found for them was far more interesting, and far more touching, than just being twins. And it's been bringing a smile to my face all day.
Patrick and Matthew Labyorteaux (usually spelt with the 'y' dropped) are the adopted sons of Ron and Frankie Labyorteaux. Which, is cool enough, after all, two people deciding that they had enough love to share with children "not their own" seems to be an increasingly rare thing. But as I kept reading, I discovered something else very quickly:
Both boys had been, at a very early age, deemed to be unadoptable.
I am unsure, from what I've read, whether it was at three weeks or three months that Patrick was diagnosed as being psychotic. He couldn't keep food down and was nervous around people. So, yeah, the agency figured nobody would ever want him. It was not long after that Ron and Frankie came along. They were looking for an older boy who hadn't yet had a chance at adoption (this is the group that finds it the hardest to be adopted), but in the process, they heard about this unadoptable baby boy and decided to adopt him.
Within two years, Patrick was far enough along that his parents decided to adopt another child. This time, it was 10 month old Matthew. He had a hole in his heart, was autistic and a liking for temper tantrums. Few of the doctors held out hope that he would ever be "normal". He didn't learn to walk until he was three. He didn't speak until he was 5. And there were always the tantrums. I've heard of people who have walked away from their adoptive children (even their biological children) for less.
And yet, Ron and Frankie decided to stick it out. I saw an interview with Frankie where she is quoted as saying "spent months on the floor with Matthew screaming and me holding him down telling him that no matter what he did I would love him". Then Patrick started acting therapy. He began working on commercials. At one of his auditions, Matthew was asked if he wanted to test too. And so began their acting career. From all accounts, the acting worked wonders for them. Both boys went from being shy, to being confident. And Matthew learnt to control his temper.
Matthew is now the most prolific actor of the two, and Patrick is married. They may not be super famous, or celebrities (although, they appear to have come close to this status during their Little House days), but if you'd told the agencies looking after them as babies where they'd end up, you would probably have been laughed at. These unadoptable baby boys have grown to be men with successful, love-filled (from all appearances) lives. And all because two people decided that they were worth more than others thought and chose to extend love to them.
I think you can probably see why their story has brought a smile to my face. But I'm not sharing it with you just because it is a sweet story. I'm sharing it with you because as my mind has been turning this story over, I began to notice something.
It's so very familiar.
Troublesome kids considered to be unadoptable and not worth much, given a second chance at life? Shown unconditional love and support from people who owed them nothing? If you haven't yet twigged to the fact that I began to see myself (and the rest of the human race) in Baby Pat and Baby Matt, and that I began to see something of God in Ron and Frankie, we might have a bit of a problem.
But really, the parallel was just too strong to miss. After all, there I was, a rebellious, sinful human being who wants nothing to do with the God who Created her and is only hurting herself. Who any righteous and holy person could quite justly cast aside - and most definitely would not adopt - when boom! along comes the aforementioned God who Created her (and everything else), and adopts her. At an enormous personal price. Then, while I'm busy kicking, screaming and having a right old tantrum, there He is, holding me and telling me that no matter what I do, He will always love me.
And so, I don't know about you, but today, I'll be going to bed with a smile on my face. Not just because across the world, may decades ago, two loving and compassionate people adopted two unadoptable boys and never gave up on them. I will be going to bed with a smile on my face because of what the story of this family has reminded me about God. His character and His love for me.
I will be going to bed grateful because God adopted the unadoptable, loved the unlovable, and declared worthy what would otherwise have been unworthy. I will be going to be grateful because God is no petty mortal (or Greek god) that He would be turned aside by my foolishness and faithlessness. I will be going to bed grateful because God is God and
"those [he] foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his son, that he might be firstborn among many brothers and sisters. And those he predestined, he also called; and those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified" (Romans 8: 29 -30 - go read the rest).
Saturday, 25 October 2014
A Note From the Heart to Some Newly Weds
You two got married today. I can't quite believe it. But at the same time, I am ridiculously happy for you both.
I mentioned to someone today that I remembered that very first "it's not a date!", Brushy, and how you were teased mercilessly that it was. I guess, in some ways, you were all right. After all, it ended with wedding vows today.
No, not ended. It led to this new stepping stone, this new beginning for you both. Oh! I'm so very happy!
My dear sister, it was a joy to spend the last three years of high school with you. To sit in class and see the "I don't know how to respond to this" expressions from our French teachers as you and Amber combed each others hair with forks or staged coups in Biology. To sit under Stath's guidance in Bible study and discuss the word of God. And to go on missions with you was such a great privilege! Your gentle, loving, wisdom and your godliness and desire to see God glorified have been an encouragement for me to witness. I know that you are God's and that He will see you safely home. And, my word, didn't you just look spectacular today?!
As for your husband, he has gone from being your faceless boyfriend to a man I respect and fully believe will holdfast to his faith. It was a privilege to get to know you at the beginning of the year, Jake, and knowing you I can celebrate your marriage to Brushy (although, I guess we can't really call her that any more) with even more joy. Because I know that you (both of you) will work to have Christ at the centre of your lives and your family.
And so, there isn't really too much else to say but this: congratulations, my beloved brother and sister in Christ. I pray that you will walk with God always and grow together until the final day. May your marriage come through the fires of life stronger and more secure. May you always treasure it as the gift from God it is - even on the days when you wonder if you should have ever made those vows! And may your children (if and when you have them) know Christ as Lord, Saviour and Brother.
With all my love,
May God bless you richly in His love for you and your love for each other,
Laura Ruth
I mentioned to someone today that I remembered that very first "it's not a date!", Brushy, and how you were teased mercilessly that it was. I guess, in some ways, you were all right. After all, it ended with wedding vows today.
No, not ended. It led to this new stepping stone, this new beginning for you both. Oh! I'm so very happy!
My dear sister, it was a joy to spend the last three years of high school with you. To sit in class and see the "I don't know how to respond to this" expressions from our French teachers as you and Amber combed each others hair with forks or staged coups in Biology. To sit under Stath's guidance in Bible study and discuss the word of God. And to go on missions with you was such a great privilege! Your gentle, loving, wisdom and your godliness and desire to see God glorified have been an encouragement for me to witness. I know that you are God's and that He will see you safely home. And, my word, didn't you just look spectacular today?!
As for your husband, he has gone from being your faceless boyfriend to a man I respect and fully believe will holdfast to his faith. It was a privilege to get to know you at the beginning of the year, Jake, and knowing you I can celebrate your marriage to Brushy (although, I guess we can't really call her that any more) with even more joy. Because I know that you (both of you) will work to have Christ at the centre of your lives and your family.
And so, there isn't really too much else to say but this: congratulations, my beloved brother and sister in Christ. I pray that you will walk with God always and grow together until the final day. May your marriage come through the fires of life stronger and more secure. May you always treasure it as the gift from God it is - even on the days when you wonder if you should have ever made those vows! And may your children (if and when you have them) know Christ as Lord, Saviour and Brother.
With all my love,
May God bless you richly in His love for you and your love for each other,
Laura Ruth
Sunday, 28 September 2014
By the Grace of God
It's been one of those weeks.
Well, it's been whole months of them. But these last two weeks have been "one of those weeks" even more so than usual.
One of those weeks when "chin up and charge the mountain" is a distant rallying cry scratched down on a piece of paper and looks really good sitting there, all inked up and fancy-like but just isn't possible. One of those weeks when keeping "head down and keep ploughing" is the painful reality.
Keep your head down, blink back the tears, push down the pain. "Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know." (Frozen, anyone?) Keep your head down and do your job. Sweep that floor, hug that child, answer that text, make that phone call. I know it hurts, but, honey, you've got to keep on loving because if you can't do that, then you're not worth the love others give you. (Cue the cracking whip).
And Sunday last week I sent a friend a text, my heart was there and was screaming in pain. I begged her and her husband to pray for me. It was a whisper. A loud one full of desperation. I'll share it with you here, cause I don't think I'm the only one who feels this way:
And all week, both sermons, I've heard since then. Books and blog posts that I've read, they all say the same thing:
I can't be good enough. Ever. Never, ever, ever will what I do be good enough.
That's the bad news.
But right on its heels comes the Good News: I don't have to be... Jesus did that for me. God who became a baby, who became a man who died and returned to life, defeating death and sin - yeah, Him, He covers all my flaws, all my inadequacies and He makes my life an offering worthy of God. All I have to do is give it to Him.
And today, today I read these words and they've been ringing around my head all morning. I've shared them with my mother, my friends. Because it's something I hadn't realized before, and, oh boy is it freeing. Cause Holley Gerth she got it right when she typed these words out:
And sure, it'll be head down and keep on working many days - because life is hard. But life doesn't have to be a burden. Not when the grace of God is coming down in torrents.
Well, it's been whole months of them. But these last two weeks have been "one of those weeks" even more so than usual.
One of those weeks when "chin up and charge the mountain" is a distant rallying cry scratched down on a piece of paper and looks really good sitting there, all inked up and fancy-like but just isn't possible. One of those weeks when keeping "head down and keep ploughing" is the painful reality.
Keep your head down, blink back the tears, push down the pain. "Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know." (Frozen, anyone?) Keep your head down and do your job. Sweep that floor, hug that child, answer that text, make that phone call. I know it hurts, but, honey, you've got to keep on loving because if you can't do that, then you're not worth the love others give you. (Cue the cracking whip).
And Sunday last week I sent a friend a text, my heart was there and was screaming in pain. I begged her and her husband to pray for me. It was a whisper. A loud one full of desperation. I'll share it with you here, cause I don't think I'm the only one who feels this way:
I've been feeling very tired in the bone weary, muscle aching, head empty, shoulders weighed down kind of way. And God keeps telling me to let it all go, but I don't know how, and if I did, I don't know if I could. I'm just... I feel like I'm carrying a burden so heavy it is forcing me to my knees in the mud and on the one hand I have a hideous task master cracking a whip and pushing me to keep going. And on the other hand, I have God telling me He has cut the straps and I can just up and walk away and into His arms. And there are moments when I can feel it happening. Moments when the burden is eased. But then something will happen. The whip will crack and the burden will come back in full weight and I'll feel trapped and the worse for knowing the taste of freedom.You all know what I'm talking about, right?
And all week, both sermons, I've heard since then. Books and blog posts that I've read, they all say the same thing:
I can't be good enough. Ever. Never, ever, ever will what I do be good enough.
That's the bad news.
But right on its heels comes the Good News: I don't have to be... Jesus did that for me. God who became a baby, who became a man who died and returned to life, defeating death and sin - yeah, Him, He covers all my flaws, all my inadequacies and He makes my life an offering worthy of God. All I have to do is give it to Him.
And today, today I read these words and they've been ringing around my head all morning. I've shared them with my mother, my friends. Because it's something I hadn't realized before, and, oh boy is it freeing. Cause Holley Gerth she got it right when she typed these words out:
You can't disappoint God, because disappointment is about expectations. And expectations are about an unknown future. But God already knows everything, so He doesn't have expectations.And if I don't need to worry about being a disappointment to God, why should I worry about being a disappointment to man?
And sure, it'll be head down and keep on working many days - because life is hard. But life doesn't have to be a burden. Not when the grace of God is coming down in torrents.
Friday, 5 September 2014
Justice, Injustice and the State of the World
Have you ever wondered why the rape victim gets blamed for it? Or why they blame themselves? I have.
Have you ever wondered why a bully victim is told to "just toughen up and they'll back off" as though it somehow their fault the bully chose to target them? I have.
And have you ever wondered why an abused spouse gets so little support from so many people? I definitely have.
Did you wonder, as I did, reading about the Rotherham report why the police looked the other way? Or why sex abuse victims of Asian background stay silent because of the shame they'll bring on their family?
Or do you hear about the recent sex crimes (let's call it like it is) against celebrities such as Jennifer Lawrence and wonder why on earth everybody is blaming her? I did.
Then I read an article on Psychology Today addressing exactly that issue. Are we blaming the famous victims of the nude photo thefts? And, after I read it, I understood the world a little bit more. And saw more clearly just what the affects of sin has had on the world.
Turns out, there's this thing called the Just World Phenomenon. This is essentially our instinctive belief (or need to believe) that the world is a just and fair place. Humans have such a strong reaction against injustice that in order to create the perception of justice, they find reasons to blame the victims of injustice. The greater the injustice, the stronger the reaction of blaming the victim. This, therefore, eradicates the injustice of the world and everything is right and fair and proper again.
Except that it isn't. Because children are still being abused. Women (and men) are still being taken advantage of. Private property is still being stolen. And now, not only is the unjust act happening, it is also being encouraged as people look the other or blame the victim.
And the great irony of this entire phenomenon is that the very desire for justice, the need for justice, is what causes some of the greatest injustices.
It's what says that prostitutes must enjoy their work or they would leave - allowing extreme sexual, emotional, psychological and spiritual abuse to continue unchecked. It's what leaves abused husbands and wives trapped in their abusive circumstances. It's what leaves a child feeling drained and empty as they are being bullied - because let me tell you, as someone who spent years of my life being bullied, it is the thought that you deserve what is happening to you that hurts the most. As though somehow my white skin, funny accent, strange religion and intelligence gave the bully a license to bully me.
And here's what I have realized: it is only when we recognize that the world is an unjust place that justice can be served. It is only when we can wrap our heads around the contradiction that is our world - the belief in the existence of justice and the undeniable presence of injustice - that we can begin to heal the wounds of the hurting.
Because it's true - justice is a fundamental part of the design of the world. Injustice was never the intention of our Creator. I'm starting to think that the longing for, the desire for, justice is part of what it means to be created in His image. Our world was designed to be a place of justice. And humans were designed to be just and fair.
Only something went very, very wrong. One split second of desiring something more than perfection has led to a whole world of imperfection. One split second of desiring something more than justice has lead to a whole world of injustice. We sinned. And the world became an unjust place. And people became an unjust people.
And so we can understand a little more of the state of the world. We were designed for justice, so we long for it and see the world through the lens of "is this just?" But we sinned, so we live in the middle of injustice, dishing out injustice.
But, hey! Good news. Our perfectly just God will do something about all the injustice. It hurts Him even more than it hurts us. He will rectify injustice. He will bring justice to all those who perpetrated injustice. He will punish them, severely.
But in His perfect justice, He is also perfectly merciful. So He has provided an escape from His punishment. By passing the punishment to One who did not deserve it. To Jesus. Injustice merits death. Just Jesus died (and then came back to life!) so that unjust humans could live. And this escape? It is sufficient for everyone. But it is efficient only for those who choose to take it.
And it's when we realize that a) the world is unjust, b) justice will be served and c) mercy has been given that we can begin to heal the wounds of injustice. Because we're not pointing fingers or pretending that injustice doesn't exist. Instead, we're acknowledging that injustice is rampant - and offering the solution.
Have you ever wondered why a bully victim is told to "just toughen up and they'll back off" as though it somehow their fault the bully chose to target them? I have.
And have you ever wondered why an abused spouse gets so little support from so many people? I definitely have.
Did you wonder, as I did, reading about the Rotherham report why the police looked the other way? Or why sex abuse victims of Asian background stay silent because of the shame they'll bring on their family?
Or do you hear about the recent sex crimes (let's call it like it is) against celebrities such as Jennifer Lawrence and wonder why on earth everybody is blaming her? I did.
Then I read an article on Psychology Today addressing exactly that issue. Are we blaming the famous victims of the nude photo thefts? And, after I read it, I understood the world a little bit more. And saw more clearly just what the affects of sin has had on the world.
Turns out, there's this thing called the Just World Phenomenon. This is essentially our instinctive belief (or need to believe) that the world is a just and fair place. Humans have such a strong reaction against injustice that in order to create the perception of justice, they find reasons to blame the victims of injustice. The greater the injustice, the stronger the reaction of blaming the victim. This, therefore, eradicates the injustice of the world and everything is right and fair and proper again.
Except that it isn't. Because children are still being abused. Women (and men) are still being taken advantage of. Private property is still being stolen. And now, not only is the unjust act happening, it is also being encouraged as people look the other or blame the victim.
And the great irony of this entire phenomenon is that the very desire for justice, the need for justice, is what causes some of the greatest injustices.
It's what says that prostitutes must enjoy their work or they would leave - allowing extreme sexual, emotional, psychological and spiritual abuse to continue unchecked. It's what leaves abused husbands and wives trapped in their abusive circumstances. It's what leaves a child feeling drained and empty as they are being bullied - because let me tell you, as someone who spent years of my life being bullied, it is the thought that you deserve what is happening to you that hurts the most. As though somehow my white skin, funny accent, strange religion and intelligence gave the bully a license to bully me.
And here's what I have realized: it is only when we recognize that the world is an unjust place that justice can be served. It is only when we can wrap our heads around the contradiction that is our world - the belief in the existence of justice and the undeniable presence of injustice - that we can begin to heal the wounds of the hurting.
Because it's true - justice is a fundamental part of the design of the world. Injustice was never the intention of our Creator. I'm starting to think that the longing for, the desire for, justice is part of what it means to be created in His image. Our world was designed to be a place of justice. And humans were designed to be just and fair.
Only something went very, very wrong. One split second of desiring something more than perfection has led to a whole world of imperfection. One split second of desiring something more than justice has lead to a whole world of injustice. We sinned. And the world became an unjust place. And people became an unjust people.
And so we can understand a little more of the state of the world. We were designed for justice, so we long for it and see the world through the lens of "is this just?" But we sinned, so we live in the middle of injustice, dishing out injustice.
But, hey! Good news. Our perfectly just God will do something about all the injustice. It hurts Him even more than it hurts us. He will rectify injustice. He will bring justice to all those who perpetrated injustice. He will punish them, severely.
But in His perfect justice, He is also perfectly merciful. So He has provided an escape from His punishment. By passing the punishment to One who did not deserve it. To Jesus. Injustice merits death. Just Jesus died (and then came back to life!) so that unjust humans could live. And this escape? It is sufficient for everyone. But it is efficient only for those who choose to take it.
And it's when we realize that a) the world is unjust, b) justice will be served and c) mercy has been given that we can begin to heal the wounds of injustice. Because we're not pointing fingers or pretending that injustice doesn't exist. Instead, we're acknowledging that injustice is rampant - and offering the solution.
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