Will you be made whole?

Dear Reader,

I’ve been struggling lately with what it means to have a lifetime disability, and have found myself pondering the events of John 5, so grateful that the Bible includes stories of people like me.  I believe Jesus’ offer of wholeness is one that is extended to all of us. This post is told from the man’s perspective who was healed at the Pool of Bethesda. I also included a note at the end about a new book I recently read called Whole by my friend Steve Wiens.

Enjoy!

_______

What’s it like being disabled for 38 years?

It feels different at 38 than it did at 28 and so much longer and dismal than when I was young.  It’s one thing to know there is no cure, it’s another thing to feel it. Increased fatigue, limited function, chronic pain.  Time itself seems weighty like compounding interest on a large debt.  At first the burden seems bearable, but over time you become consumed and broken.  Day after day, like earning pennies on the dollar, you believe with increasing amounts that your life is very hard and things will never change.

Self-pity is a pool you splash in and you never want to get out of that pool, even when your lips start to turn purple, even when your family and friends are standing there with a towel, ready to embrace you the moment you chose something different.

Change is hard because wallowing distorts your point view.  You forget that you live at Bethesda, the House of Mercy, and that the five porches around the pool are supposed to remind you of the five books that comprise the Torah; those details just fade into the background as your eyes become green with envy.

Envious of the people who make it into the Pool of Bethesda before you.  The water is spring-fed and every so often an angel comes and stirs the water.  Whoever makes it in first, gets healed.  I’ve sat here and watched year after year, while someone else gets healed, someone else gets blessed, someone else goes on to find the pleasure of a relationship, a body restored, a life filled again with joy.

That’s why when people talk to me, my only response is complaint.  There is no one here to get me into the pool.  Someone else always gets there before me.

Then one day, Jesus shows up and asks me one question:  Do you want to be made whole?

I muttered to Him my standard response before even thinking.  There is no one here to get me into the pool.  Someone else always gets there before...me.

My sentence faded out.  Jesus looked at me and I began to fathom the depths of his question.

Did I want to be made whole?

Jesus was asking me if I wanted to flourish.  Did I want my soul to become like the mist that sprang up from the earth to water the ground at the dawn of creation?  Did I want to discover the well of water within me that could spring up to everlasting life? 

Could I really believe the ancient words of Isaiah were for me too: The LORD will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.

What Jesus was offering me was so much more than healing from the waters in the pool.  He was inviting me into a new way of life.  One that set me free from self-pity and envy.  Jesus was giving me access to the power I needed to stop wishing I had someone else’s life and start living my own. 

That’s why, when Jesus told me to get up and walk, I found the strength to stand on my own two feet and take the next steps forward in my life--a life that was becoming whole.

-----

I recently finished reading an advanced copy my friend Steve Wiens’ new book Whole:  Restoring What is Broken in Me, You, and the Entire World.  Steve has a beautiful way of illustrating scripture, both through his own creativity, but also through clear teaching of the Bible and its original language. Steve is a unique teacher who can bend down and scoop up the dirt of life, feel it’s gritty quality, acknowledging the pain that we all face is very real.  But, somewhere in that sifting process, he also sees hope, and helps readers see it as well. His book is about discovering where you may be at on your own journey towards wholeness, and what questions may be helpful to ask along the way.

You can pre-order his book today on Amazon. Stay tuned because I am going to be giving seven copies away on Facebook August 1st-7th with a fun trivia contest!  You can learn more about my friend Steve, his books, and podcast on his Website https://www.stevewiens.com/

When Peacekeeping is a Shut Mouth

Last year, I wrote a guest post for a blog called The Ruth Experience.  I wrote about what it means to be a woman when you are single, childless, and sans high heels.  You can read the post here: http://www.theruthexperience.com/2016/04/what-does-it-mean-to-be-woman-guest-post.html

The gals who author the site have written a book called Grace for the Misfits and will give one copy away to the first person who e-mails me at walkingwithtension@gmail.com.  You can read more about their 31 day devotional on Amazon.

I hope you find this post a reflective experience.

__

I adamantly disagreed with the conversation I unwittingly had become entrenched in. Struggling to know what to do, I glanced around the room, looking for a way out before my face gave away my internal emotions.

Part of me wanted to speak up, but I also knew anger was welling inside of me, and I was sure that what would come out of my mouth would not be very kind. Instead, I got up from the table and left the room.

I went outside to watch my kids play. Still feeling upset about what was being discussed, I wondered if I’d done the right thing by just leaving the conversation.

Later on that evening I told my husband what had happened. As I explained my non-response, I told him, “You know, I’ve certainly regretted things I’ve said in anger, but I have never regretted keeping my mouth shut. Not once.”

As several days have now passed, I have not been able to stop thinking about how good it feels to know that I kept my mouth shut when I wanted to say something (potentially) hurtful. How, sometimes, choosing to keep my relationships intact is more important than sharing my opinions or even being right.

This doesn’t mean there haven’t been times I’ve needed to go back and have discussions with people about conversations I’ve quietly left. I’m certainly not an advocate for avoiding issues that need to be brought up or hashed out, but I’m learning that speaking in anger often accomplishes little more than hurt feelings and resentment. At least, for me it does. Usually I just end up saying things I later regret and then have to go back and apologize anyway.

Being a peacemaker often means watching my tongue, caring for another person's heart and well-being more than my ability to be free to say whatever I want.

My mouth is a powerful tool, and I choose if I’ll use it for good or bad.

Blessed are the peacemakers,

    for they will be called children of God. Matthew 5:9

I’m learning that Jesus's words are compelling and not to be taken lightly. He said that peacemakers would be called children of God, and that is what I want to be called. More than anything else. More than I want to be able to share my opinions. More than lashing out in anger. More than even getting my own way.

This way of Jesus may garner friction when it's at odds with what my flesh desires, but it’s the quiet calm my spirit knows and rests in that draws me more to Christ and his way. It's that calm that reminds me: This is right--this watching my words, speaking peacefully and not harshly.

Sometimes the easiest way to keep the peace is just to keep my mouth shut.

Kendra Roehl is described by her father as a “defender of the weak,” and is always looking for those who fall through the gaps and are in need of help. Her natural inclination towards the hurting has segued into first a career as a clinical social worker, then a foster and adoptive mom, and now a writer and speaker. She and her cohorts believe wholeheartedly that loving God and others should shape all aspects of their lives and are certain that small acts of kindness can truly change the world. Kendra writes and speaks regularly in her community and home church, as well as volunteers as an advisor for Bridging the Gap, a Christian women’s organization in Minnesota that offers godly support to women through resources, conferences, and leadership development. You can find Kendra writing honestly about topics such as marriage, motherhood, foster care and adoption, and social justice at The Ruth Experience.

Her new book, Grace for the Misfits: 31 Days Pursuing the Unconventional Favor of God, is available now! This book will offer encouragement and hope for anyone who has ever felt like they didn’t quite fit in, walked through hard times, or wasn’t sure God could use them--all while discovering the upside-down ways of Jesus, his kingdom, and what (and who) he says matters.

Professor Pain

Worst. Semester. Ever. 

I signed up for a course called Christian Living, and was hoping to get a good professor.  I’d heard great things about Professor Joy, “One of the most pleasant people to be around,” they said.  Professor Grace also had a good rep, “He gives his students all kinds of things that they don’t even deserve.  Unbelievable.” 

I had high hopes as I sat in the desk on the first day of class, taping my fingers, waiting for my mysterious professor to arrive.  In she walked, uncomfortably late, wearing black shiny heels that would have made me scream for a podiatrist.  She wore a spiky choke collar necklace to accent her scarlet dress.

“My name is Professor Pain,” she explained, “I’ll be teaching your course this semester.”

“Oh no.”  Groans erupted from around the room.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”  Students shifted in their seats nervously and some of them got up and walked out the door. 

Her syllabus seemed reasonable enough.  There were a few books to read including The Problem of Pain, along with other texts.  Mainly though, we were just supposed to keep a journal as we lived our lives, paying attention to where we felt pain and where we felt the presence of God. 

Time passed quickly as time does and suddenly I found myself alone in her office during finals week giving my oral exam.  We sat across from each other on hard wooden chairs, her eyes locked onto mine.

“So,” she said, leaning into me, “What did you learn?”

I leaned back in my chair, wanting to choose my words carefully before I spoke.  I reflected on all the times I had fallen: backwards, forwards, in public, at home, needing ice, and x-rays, and compassion. I had lifted my body up each time after I had stumbled while my soul remained defeated on the ground. 

I thought about the morning I woke up to discover I could hardly take another step because it felt like something was stabbing me in the heel.  

I thought about the pain of fatigue, and loneliness, and disappointment, while I sat on my couch, pondering singleness. 

I thought about how much I wanted to get out of pain whenever I was in it.  I leaned forward, stared Professor Pain in the face and said,

“You are relentless.”

Pain cocked her head back in a laugh. “Tell me more,” she said with a smile. 

“No, seriously,” I said, suddenly at ease, “You’re worse than Facebook notifications and texting combined.”

“What can I say?” she replied, throwing up her hands.  “I want more than office hours and email exchanges…. I prefer to walk with my students while they learn.”

She paused just then, leaning even deeper into me with a penetrating gaze, “I didn’t ask if you liked me as an instructor, most students don’t. I want to know what you learned in Christian Living.  What did you learn about God?”

The words of C.S. Lewis fell from my lips: "We can ignore even pleasure. But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”

The room fell silent.

“I really want to be held by God.”  As I began to speak, tears filled my eyes and my voice began to quake.  “I want to be close to Him, and of course, I want to be away from pain.  It hurts.”

Professor Pain nodded her head knowingly, urging me forward.

“Those mornings when I was in pain, that’s when I really cried out to God, that’s when I found it in my heart to confess, I really need you.  I felt close to God.  I felt His comfort.  It was in the most painful moments where I realized that when I walk with pain, God is walking with me too--

--every step.”

Photo Credit

The Healing Question

“My sister has multiple scoliosis,” she confided in me.  “This year she transitioned to using a scooter.  My family has had different reactions.  My mom is taking a class on miraculous healing; my dad is trying to get everyone to accept it.  I don’t know what to think.  I finally just asked my sister, “How do you want me to pray for you?”

The healing question.  It’s a BIG one.  I’ve found myself on the listening end of conversations like these lately, and it’s usually at this point that I ask people if I can give them a copy of Walking with Tension.  I’ve wrestled with the same questions myself, and while I haven’t come up with an answer, my hope is that my story is a companion to them on their own journey of faith.

I cannot offer an explanation of why some people are healed and not others.  Although, I did ask my friend and pastor Steve Wiens about it and I highly respect the answer he provided on his blog.

Looking back on my own journey, I do, however, want to offer this. 

Like it or not, your situation is forming you.  Most days, I don’t really think too hard about the fact that I have CP, but some days it is not ignorable.  It makes me tired, dictates the clothes I wear, and on occasion causes people to stare.  At times, I have felt defeated by fatigue, unpleasant in the face of my wardrobe options, and evaluated by piercing glances.  I do, however, agree with Charles Swindoll, “Life is 10% what happens to you, and 90% how you react to it.”  When I take the time to slow down, reflect, pray, write, drinking deeply of my life experiences, I’m learning that more is being formed in me than frustration, ugliness, and pain.  My fatigue is teaching me how to value rest, my wardrobe limitations have ignited more creativity in my sense of style, and being stared at has light a fire in me to ensure I see others well. 

It’s really okay to wrestle with God.  I didn’t think so at first.  He is God after all, right?  Shouldn’t I be at least as polite and controlled with Him as I am with a stranger?  And then, I read this fabulous quote by Phillip Yancey, someone who watched his father die from polio because he thought it was a greater act of faith to pray for healing than use an iron lung. 

"One bold message in the book of Job is that you can say anything to God. Throw at him your grief, your anger, your doubt, your bitterness, your betrayal, your disappointment--he can absorb them all. As often as not, spiritual giants of the Bible are shown contending with God. They prefer to go away limping, like Jacob, rather than to shut God out."

What has helped me is to Google a picture of Jacob wrestling the angel.  There are many different artistic renditions, but after a while, you have to ask, “Are they wrestling or hugging?”  At least when you wrestle with God you are being held in his embrace.  You are face to face.  The lines of communication are wide open.  He is our high priest who understands, come boldly before Him.

There is going to be a day when this is all over.  Your pain right now is very, very real.  I love what Paul writes in 2 Corinthians.  Outwardly we are wasting away….the wrinkles are real.  The extra 10 pounds surrounding your midline is real.  The stamina that you enjoyed a decade ago that seems to have gone mysteriously missing—that actually happened. 

Yet, while aging and pain is at work, so is the eternal nature of God in us!  Don’t lose heart my friend!  There is more to the story:

…. Yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.