Hands Wide Open

I’ve been gone. Away. Not Here. Please Do Not Disturb.

I had lapses of faith this winter. I had questions of “Why are we in this situation?” and “Where is God in all of this?”.  Questions that I know other people contemplate but maybe don’t admit to others. Perhaps not even to themselves. I tried desperately to get over it, to mask my restlessness by reading one more book, watching one more movie, walking one more mile. It didn’t work.

In this process of my restless questioning, I hit the pause button on faith, hope, and love. I became kind of a hermit, did not want to see all that many people, realized that I didn’t really have all that much to offer anyone (not that anyone was expecting anything out of me).  But who wants to be around someone whose cup is empty most of the time? And all I had was resentment and bitterness. About a lot of things.

My downward spiral began when I started focusing on things that were beyond my control. But the lie was that I could control them. The enemy is sneaky in that way. I believed that I could make my own way and do my own thing and be okay, be better actually.  I soon lost hope and began to despair. Faith and love quickly fled out the back door as well. And some might question if they were really true in the first place if they can leave so easily. Maybe. Maybe not. I just know I was dry and brittle inside. And when I wasn’t angry, I was numb.

I don’t know what triggered release from all of that. If there is one moment or many moments of realization that draw a person back to God, to reality.  Or if my fingers had to be pried open from the idea of control I had grasped onto. I just know a few things happened to me lately that made me gaze up instead of in.

I recently saw an old friend. And she looked so beautiful…and I realized I wanted what she had. I could see it in her eyes. I could hear it in her story. And it’s what I’d been missing but had so desperately needed. And it’s something no medication of any kind will ever bring. Peace…The kind that goes beyond human comprehension…The kind that when the situation looks its darkest, there is still that. And, I realize  it’s not something I can strive for or buy or grasp at. It’s something I receive when everything else falls away. When hands are held up, not in despair, but in gratitude and release.

A while back, Jeff couldn’t sleep one night, and he felt like the Holy Spirit was giving him a word for me and for each of our children…the things that we needed. And the word for me was, “IT will be there.” At the time, I assumed that the IT was money, because that always seemed to be the most pressing need, the thing that I worried about the most, and for some reason, I always seemed to think that money would solve the problem and be the answer, even though I never would say that out loud. Convinced that money was the IT that the Holy Spirit was talking about, I was confused and resentful when the money wasn’t always there when we needed it.

But money wasn’t the IT at all. I didn’t realize that until a good deal later that the IT was peace. “Peace will be there.” And that no matter what happened to me or my family or my friends or my belongings, now or in the future, peace can always be there.

For me, peace is like letting go and twirling in a field on a sunny day with wildflowers all about, face looking up to a cloudless sky with hands and arms that are held out that go higher and higher and become lighter and lighter until I feel like I could touch the face of Abba. And laughter, of course…wild, silly, hopeful laughter.

Oh, Brother

We recently went out to eat for Jeff’s birthday. We went to one of those all you can eat buffets where we enjoyed our time and ate a whole lot of food. During our trip, Jonah, who is 14, went to use the bathroom. Not realizing that Jonah went to use the bathroom, Jesse, 15, also went to use the bathroom when Jesse saw Jonah’s shoes under the bathroom stall. Jesse told us all back at the table, “I didn’t even have to formulate a plan. I already knew what I was going to do.”

So here was the “already formulated plan” that was in Jesse’s head: Jesse went into the stall next to Jonah and started throwing toilet paper over the top of the stall onto Jonah. Jonah did not realize that Jesse was even in the bathroom and got nervous that some stranger was throwing toilet paper over on him. So Jonah started kicking the tp back under the stall with his shoe.  Jesse did not get the result that he was looking for with the toilet paper (it lacked heaviness), so he wet the tp down using clean toilet water (gross) and then threw it into Jonah’s stall. Still, Jonah did not realize until he came back to the table that the person who caused his bathroom agony was his beloved older brother.

A couple of days later, brotherly love came around again when Jesse took Jonah and Jake’s doorknob off and switched it around, so that the lock was on the outside of the door, making it to where he could lock them in their room from the outside.  Apparently, Jonah and Jake did not like being locked in their own room and started yelling, so Jesse switched the doorknob back around before anyone else was the wiser.  To be honest, his misplaced creativity boggles my mind.

But, apparently, this is how Jesse shows love. And he often goes too far.  He tickles Jeremiah until he can’t breathe and teases Julia until she really can’t handle it anymore and sometimes wrestles Jake to the floor, which is really funny to watch two big kids with long legs and long arms rolling around on the floor laughing.

We just watched the movie Warrior which I really liked. One of the themes was families but more specifically brothers. It was about love and anger, betrayal and forgiveness. I loved how they beat the crap out of each other, only to compassionately walk with each other in the end. The younger brother was finally willing to let go when he heard his older brother say that he loved him, and that was when the  I got tears in my eyes and a really large lump in my throat, like I sometimes do around here.

Jesse recently got his air soft gun out and threatened Jonah and Jake with it. I thought everyone was having a good time. Jeff had the hose out, trying to soak Jesse with it, and I was laughing my head off. Jonah and Jake were way out in the backyard, while Jesse stood near the house shooting his air soft gun in their direction (it can’t shoot that far, and they both wear glasses, so I thought they were okay). They weren’t okay. In fact, they were angry and scared. At some point, Jesse realized that they weren’t okay with his game.  Without saying anything, he walked inside and put away his weapon. Walking away at that moment was Jesse loving his brothers; it was Jesse showing compassion. And that is the way of this brother.

The Best Worst Birthday Ever

Recently my third son (which shall remain nameless) turned 13, which to me is such a big deal age. Entering teenage-hood. Big stuff. But this kid doesn’t like any attention drawn to him ever. He’d just rather blend in with his environment. He doesn’t really like to be hugged or touched and acts like he’s being electrically shocked when he is touched. I hug him anyway and sometimes make him hug me back just because I believe everyone needs physical touch. And we play the game of him being electrocuted by my touch. I’m cool with that.

But, a week before said son’s birthday, he started saying that he didn’t want to have a birthday. Once again, I’m sorry, he’s going to have a birthday. This is just how it is. We celebrate birthdays. They’re important, no matter what age. And it wasn’t like I invited 50 people to come celebrate. We have a very simple birthday with our immediate family only. We have cake and ice cream, sing happy birthday, and open presents. That’s it. No big deal. Really.

So I backed off a little in talking about his birthday and bought a few presents anyway, even though he said he didn’t want presents or cake or ice cream. What kid doesn’t want presents or cake or ice cream? I understand not wanting to have people watch you open your presents or having a short song dedicated to your day, but it only happens once a year, so really, just suck it up.

So “the day” arrives. And it slowly unraveled. Cake and ice cream and singing did not go well. I thought I remained calm and didn’t push, not all that hard anyway. It was kind of like a big joke to me, for a while, thinking that he would eventually give in, act like he was being electrocuted and then open his presents.

His presents sat on the piano bench all day long. Second son could hardly stand it because he is such a party person. He lives to plan parties and can’t understand why someone would choose to not open their presents. So second son tried to entice third son by carrying presents around and putting them in close proximity to him.

It didn’t work. He still didn’t want to open his presents or eat his cake and ice cream that we had all gotten into several hours earlier. I had no idea this child was this stubborn. Or really, that I cared that much.

I finally lost it. Badly. Very, very badly. He had finally gotten to me, and I exploded in anger and unwrapped his presents and showered the wrapping paper all over the floor and put his now-opened presents back on the piano bench. And then, I proceeded to cry my eyes out, because I don’t know how in the world to love this kid, to really, really love him. He had just broken my heart, and I realized how rash and angry and how wrong I had been and how I had made his birthday about me.

He came downstairs and saw his opened presents sitting on the bench. And ran back up the stairs, crying like a wounded animal.

At this point, all I wanted to do was crawl in my bed and go to sleep and forget this day forever.

But somehow, I gathered the courage to go talk to third son. He was crying on his bed with his blanket covering his head, and I managed to blubber out how sorry I was that I opened his presents and how much I really do love him. I felt like he had rejected our attempts to love him, as poor as they were. And both of us just kept crying. And I’m not really sure what happened at that moment. But something broke in me. And whatever it was, that same thing also seemed to break in him.

I hauled his opened presents up to his room, and he pulled them out of the bag that I had stuffed them in and looked at each one of them and said, “Thanks, Mom.” They were all the kinds of things my third son loves.

I just stood there with my heart so gushy with all the sadness and the happiness and the love I didn’t think it was capable of after such a day. I had made such a mess of his 13th birthday, but we’d seemed to have made a break through in our moment of brokenness, making each of us perhaps realize that it wasn’t all about him or all about me. I’m afraid, it may be his most memorable birthday. It will definitely be mine.

A few days later, his grandparents brought over a cake and wanted to take us all out for pizza. And they made such a big deal over third son, I thought that he might crack under all the pressure, but he actually smiled shyly and took it. I wouldn’t say that he enjoyed being the center of attention, but he endured it in a very brave kind of way that if we hadn’t had his hell-ish birthday of confusion and clarity, he might never have withstood it. But he did great, even down to the singing of “Happy Birthday” in the middle of Pizza Hut. Wow.

Driving Miss Crazy

Jesse, my 15 year old, is now driving. He’s pretty good. He knows he’s not when I grab the van door and the armrest at the same time and hold tightly until my knuckles turn white.

This letting go stuff is hard. Really hard.

With Jesse learning how to drive and living in Nashville, where roads are busy most of the time, it feels a little out of control, and it makes me want to hold my breath a little. You either drive on interstates or back roads, and I think some of the back roads are scarier than any highway, especially with someone just learning to drive. It makes me think about all these student drivers on the roads and freak out just a little. And knowing that I have four more kids to go through this driving thing with.

When I was learning to drive, I drove around our little city of Anderson, no big deal (okay, for me looking back it was no big deal, but I’m sure there were times when my dad wanted to hyperventilate, and my mom was never involved in that process, lucky her). Ten minutes pretty much covered where you wanted to go. My dad, in teaching me how to drive, had me drive routinely to the DMV so that I could practice my parallel parking, which, to this day, I never would have passed if he hadn’t figured out that I could line up the middle of our car with a telephone pole across the street. I still don’t parallel park. Mainly because there’s no telephone pole. And for me, parking in general can be a problem. Good thing I like to walk.

My dad never let me drive on the interstate, which was safest for everyone involved. He did, however, let me drive in the Everglades in Florida when we went on vacation down there one summer. I guess he figured the worst that could happen would be for me to hit some kind of wildlife. I didn’t cause any injuries or fatalities, but, I did manage to go the wrong way, which sent us an hour in the wrong direction. Things have not changed much with me. I now have my beloved GPS, so direction doesn’t matter so much.

Jeff and I approach the driving thing a little differently. He doesn’t talk to Jesse at all unless to give some kind of warning, like “brake, brake, Brake, BRAKE.”  And I’m the running commentary, all the while pointing out the mailboxes that he’s getting way too close to as well as the oncoming traffic and telling him not to roll his stop signs (which I consequently did and failed my first driver’s test at the very first stop sign coming out of the DMV) but also telling him to “gun it” because it’s hard to see around some corners (crazy Tennessee back roads), only to tell him to slow down again because I don’t particularly like the combination of steep hills and old vans and speed so much. But I’m also throwing those “When I was learning to drive” stories in there too for comic relief. Jesse tries to listen to the radio while driving with me, which he doesn’t try with Jeff. Jeff says he doesn’t need to be distracted. Which makes me the fun parent.

I kind of like to drive, and it’s been hard for me to give up my driving time for this kid of mine, only to be scared half to death a few times.This doesn’t sound like a good exchange. But this parenting thing, it’s very rarely an equal exchange. I’m going to have another student driver next year and then again the next year after that. I may not ever get to drive or breathe again.

I’m enjoying my family more than ever these days. Some days I really wish I could freeze time, just for the moment. But probably not when Jesse’s behind the wheel. Not yet anyway. Right now, I just have to remember to exhale and not hold onto the door quite so tightly.

the fake lay-down

I didn’t mean to lay them down, only to take them up again. That certainly wasn’t my intention. And I honestly thought I laid them down. I thought they gone for good…lack of trust, fear, anger, blame.

For some reason, they seem to vanish when my circumstances change and things don’t look quite so grim, when the bills are paid and there’s money in the bank and groceries in the fridge.  I’m overwhelmed when God provides and applaud Him for His amazing miraculous provision, but what happens right before the provision comes? When the bills aren’t paid and there’s no provision in sight? Then things get a little desperate, and I go a little nuts with worry and fear, and the things I thought I laid down are staring me right in the face again.

The fear and the doubt take over, and everything in me screams for relief, praying like crazy that He would provide once again, even though I’ve seen Him provide again and again. And begging Him for my circumstances to change. But if they did, I know I wouldn’t need Him quite so desperately anymore. So I’m still here, circling around again, and the same stuff is being revealed. Big surprise.

I look at the children of Israel wandering around in the wilderness year after year after year, and they didn’t get it either. And I know I wouldn’t have been any better; I haven’t been any better.

They were people in dire circumstances…out in the desert for three days with no water. They complained. Of course they did. I would have thought I was dying.

Then, the Israelites didn’t have food. I can imagine their little ones with their parched mouths and hungry stomachs and their cries of “Give us food before we die.” They complained and blamed Moses. And I complain because I have to eat the same food.

They constantly begged to go back to Egypt, where they built things up as being better than they were. This too sounds familiar.

I’ve had my 40 years in the desert, and I don’t want to keep wandering around here for another 40. This time, I really, honestly want to lay this stuff down. I don’t want to continue this pattern of circling around and around, while I try to learn the same lessons over and over again.

I want to be different. I want to trust and look above my circumstances at Him, knowing He is the Giver of all good things, including circumstances that make us grow and change. And yet, sometimes, my eyes just fall back to my circumstances and my need only. And I become fearful and angry and start pointing fingers because things aren’t different, like I think they should be.

I’m officially eliminating the word “should” from my vocabulary. Because unfortunately it has taken on a life of its own. I have used “should” to put expectations on God and other people for what they “should” have done for me. And “should” was never good when I used it for myself either, as in I “should” have done this or that…heaping on guilt and shame.

So with “should” gone, I feel freedom from my past as well as lowered expectations (let’s be honest, they probably haven’t completely vanished with a speech change). But maybe this time, I will lay these things down, and I will have victory.

I want to do it better this time. And if I have to continue to wander here, I want to wander better. I want to complain less and not be so stinking fearful but to hope in Him, not for what He can provide but because of Who He is.

All Being Equal

I really like to camp. I love the family time and being around the campfire eating good food and the talking and the hiking and the camping equipment. I like everything about it (well, except for the packing up, maybe). I recently found myself in a Coleman store filled with camping “must-haves,” and I lost myself for a while.

A few weeks back, we went camping with some friends. During this trip, I realized something about myself. It was like a voice, not necessarily God’s, but I don’t discount it, because I heard truth. In my head I heard, “You’re not as laid back as you think you are, or as much as you would have people believe.” And I realized that I have not been honest with myself or with others about the persona I sometimes portray.

During this trip, my friend talked about one of her relatives being like “whatever” about everything. Her description of this person gave me clarity about who I’m not, realizing that I’m not totally relaxed about everything like I would like to think I am. And that that’s ok. And that in realizing this about myself, that I have expected that in others and that I need to cut people some slack, especially those closest to me.

Because heaven help Jeff if he takes a tone with me or is not as relaxed as I think he should be. And my seemingly favorite words to a couple of my kids are, “Chill out” or “Relax already.” The irony being that at the moment these words are uttered through gritted teeth, I myself am neither chilled nor relaxed. I happened to catch myself saying this just a few minutes ago to the one who looks a lot like me.

And that’s where the problem lies…thinking others should be as relaxed as I think I am…

I lost my keys the other day for a few minutes. I have a habit of laying things down places and not having any idea of where I’ve put them. But when I use to lose stuff, it would make me angry, and I would have these outbursts of rage, unable to believe that I had actually lost something, meaning that someone else must have taken the thing and put it where I couldn’t find it.

After I located my keys, Jeff complimented me by saying that I didn’t rage nearly as often as I used to. And I commented that I never did do it very much. However, he kindly refuted my statement about myself by saying, “Oh, no, you used to do it every couple of weeks.” I had to chuckle because I think he’s right; he remembers these outbursts well because they were so over the top and apparently because they occurred more often than I recalled.

So rather than pretend I’m a totally relaxed, fly by the seat of my pants type of person or try to be this “whatever” type of person, I need to embrace who Abba has created me to be. Not perfect, not altogether laid-back, but not exactly uptight either about most things. Just me, trying to be grateful for the people gifts Abba put in my life, embracing them and allowing them to be who they are and realizing that one type of person is not better than another.

What Got Into You?

At times, I feel like I’m just like Peter who was so quick to jump out of the boat to walk to Jesus in the middle of the storm, only to take his eyes off Him and begin to notice the wind blowing hard around him. And then, I too, look down and notice the waves churning around my feet, and I realize I’m not safe. I’ve left safety behind in following Him, and now that I’m out of the boat, what in the world do I do? 

Doubts about His goodness creep in and overwhelm me, and I begin flailing my arms and fighting against Him in an attempt to save myself. And I begin to sink lower and lower in worry and self-pity and discontent. And the little girl inside me is throwing things…and more flailing occurs.

“Master, save me.” That’s what Peter said. And I too say that, but what I really mean is “Get me out of this stinking mess.”

But Jesus, what did He do for Peter? What does he even now do for me?

He didn’t hesitate. He reached down and grabbed his hand. Then he said, “Faint-heart, what got into you?”

Pride. Arrogance. Doubt. Fear. Anger.

And I realize I don’t want to necessarily be emptied of myself…die daily to self…to really be rescued, but what I want is relief from the struggles I find myself in. I need a breather…I want to be able to relax and have things the way I want them for a while and life not be such a struggle.

But as I wrestle through all of this,  Jesus reminds me that this training I’m in is not in vain…that I’m in the same race that Jesus was in.

Fix your eyes on Jesus, who endured the cross, shame, etc…When you find yourselves flagging in your faith, go over that story again…So don’t feel sorry for yourselves...This trouble you’re in isn’t punishment; it’s training. God is doing what is best for us, training us to live God’s holy best. Keep a sharp eye out for weeds of bitter discontent. Watch out for the Esau syndrome; trading away God’s lifelong gift in order to satisfy a short-term appetite. (parts of Hebrews 12, MSG)

And so, I stop flailing long enough to really say “Master, save me.” In those three words, I finally admit my own weakness and my need for Him and Him alone and submit to Him in trusting- obedience.

When I look at what Jesus went through for me, it’s hard to feel sorry for myself, but in His kindness He doesn’t beat me over the head with it, He gently reminds me to focus on Him and not grow weary and lose heart.

Hungry and Thirsty

For a long time, I never really understood the Bible. I grew up memorizing verses to earn ribbons and trophies that have long since been thrown in the trash. My motivation for learning Scripture was not out of love for God and His Word but was only for my own recognition and my desire to be the best. The trophies and recognition I received only served to fuel my pride, not create in me a hunger for God. I’m thankful, however, for the parts of the Bible I memorized, because even though my motivation was wrong, Abba uses all for His glory. Many of those verses that I didn’t really understand at the time now come back to me when I have needed them most. Nothing is wasted.

For me, reading the Bible was often done out of the same motivation as memorizing. Since I couldn’t really be recognized in the same way I could with memorization, I pretended I read the Bible more than I really did.  I did it for man’s approval. I also did it out of fear because I felt like I might be punished by God if I didn’t do it, so it was done in order to make God “good” with me.

By His grace, I don’t look at any of it that way anymore. Jesus made me good with God because of what He did on the cross for me…for all of us. I realize that God’s Word is about Him and what He’s done for us and what He wants to do through us. It’s about relationship and life and love. For those reasons and seeing Abba at work in me, I find myself hungering for Him and for His Word as well.

And not only are we blessed to have God’s Words, but we have the Holy Spirit within us to help us understand the Word of God, but too often we find Scripture boring, which we only secretly admit to ourselves, or we find it not easily understandable. So I found that I would rather go to books that explain about the Bible and the walk with Christ, rather than really living it myself.

I’m not a Bible thumper, and I don’t use the Bible as a weapon, at least not as a weapon against man, not anymore. I often think about people who live in countries who don’t have access to the Bible and what they would give to have one of their own to read and how fortunate we are to have the Words of God at our fingertips. When I watched the movie The Book of Eli, I was drawn to the fact of how the character Eli treated the Word of God. He desperately consumed it each night before he would sleep, which ended up serving a great purpose.

I know I have often only run to God and His Word when I’m in serious need. And then, when life is no longer spinning out of my control, I return God and my Bible to their designated shelf.

But the funny thing is that Abba has kept my life spinning out of my control for over 4 years now, so I have had no choice but to run to Him and remain there and have found rest in the process. I recently admitted to myself and God that I don’t want the times of testing and trials to stop until I know Abba so well that I can’t and won’t go back to the way my life was before I really began the  process of knowing and resting in Him.

For me, I no longer use the Bible to gain knowledge so I can sound like I know what I’m talking about, but because I want to know Him better.  Scripture is truth and it points us to the Truth. How can I not run to it because in it are the words of life to draw me into relationship with God Himself?

Every part of Scripture is God-breathed and useful one way or another—showing us truth, exposing our rebellion, correcting our mistakes, training us to live God’s way. Through the Word we are put together and shaped up for the tasks God has for us.  (2 Tim. 3:16-17, MSG)

This isn’t a post to make anyone (including myself) feel guilty or better about themselves because of reading the Bible or not reading the Bible. We shouldn’t try to do better.  Because then all we have is striving in our own flesh, which means nothing.  Our lives are all about the relationship with Christ…hands wide open to receive what He has for us. I want to say with all of my heart, “O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you.”

The Real Super Power

It’s the middle of the night, and I really should be sleeping now.  My lack of sleep will cost me dearly. But right now, I don’t care. The little girl inside me can’t stop jumping up and down because of Jesus. If the almost forty year old woman that houses the little girl attempts to jump and keep up, she might sprain an ankle, so writing is where it now manifests itself. (But, please by all means, continue to picture the little girl jumping and twirling because that’s what I’m really doing in my spirit).

Remembering and sharing…that’s what I’ve been doing the last few days. We have a sort of family reunion/Kuzin Kamp for the kids, and the unique thing about Jeff’s extended family is that many profess to be believers, which is an amazing thing. I realize what  a gift this is when I talk to friends who have very little family who are believers. So we get to share for three days about what God’s been doing in our lives for the last year.

But along with this remembering and sharing, Abba has revealed a couple things to me in the past few days. First, that I like to surround myself with people who are similar to me and have the same faith I do. (that’s why church can be such a crutch for me…I feel important there, and it’s not supposed to be about me; it’s supposed to be about Him) I get my “God talk” there and feel no real need beyond that to share anywhere else . Second, that I have a hard time reaching out to people who are not believers because of my fear of rejection and not wanting to be presumptuous. And the combination of those two things has left me paralyzed.  I don’t want to presume on people’s time, and I can’t face them anyway because of the lies I’ve believed about myself. Sadly, it has left me voiceless to those who need Christ so badly.

 I recently read the fiction book, A Voice in the Wind by Francine Rivers, which took place in Roman times, but applies a great deal to how we live here and now.

We must remember we are not called upon by God to make society a better place to live. We are not called upon to gain political influence, nor to preserve the Roman [American]way of life. God has called us to a higher mission, that of bringing to all mankind the Good News that our Redeemer has come…” (341)

Honestly, I have done very little of this. I have this Message of freedom, and I see so many around me in bondage, and I’ve failed to attach myself in relationships and tell of this freedom in Christ. However, I don’t look at myself with condemnation or judgment or shame or strive in my own flesh to knock down people’s doors and become the neighborhood menace, because that’s not done in relationship. It’s not about guilt or fear or shame or about doing better. It’s not the grim strength of gritting your teeth but the glory-strength that God gives that allows you to endure the unendurable. (Col. 1) It’s about listening and following Him and where He leads. It’s allowing people to look into our lives and the Spirit revealing Jesus’ power to heal and save.

Thankfully, God looks at me and sees Jesus and His righteousness. I am worthy because He makes me worthy.Which makes my spirit leap inside me (hence the jumping up and down/writing) Which, in turn, makes me want to know Him better. I’ve seen His power in my own life…power to free me from pits that I had no hope of ever getting out of in my own strength, power to love people I had no power to love, power to provide when there was nothing, and I’ve barely scratched the surface.  But when people begin to see His power and His love and not just Jesus talk (although that certainly has its place) but actual living proof of who Jesus is and what He can do in people’s lives, then that not only becomes worth living for but also worth dying for.

God’s Way is not a matter of mere talk; it’s an empowered life. (I Cor. 4:18, MSG)

seeing past the bedroll

Jesus healed a man on the Sabbath, a man who had been crippled for 38 years. This man had been waiting by the pool at Bethesda for the angel to heal him. But he had no one to put him into the water. So he waited, alone.

Jesus passed by one day and told the crippled man, “Pick up your mat and start walking.” And he did.

Some of the Jews happened to see this healed man walking around with his bedroll on the Sabbath. And they scolded him because he wasn’t following  the lengthy list of rules that they had concocted of what could and couldn’t be done on the Sabbath (ie. not carrying your bedroll around).

They weren’t happy that this man, who had suffered his whole life, could now walk. They didn’t care that this man had been waiting at the pool alone.  They were only interested in everyone following their rules and their agendas because, in their minds, that’s what made them and everyone else good with God, or at the very least, good with them.

So they looked past the healing that had taken place in this man and saw only the bedroll that he was carrying around and the rules he was breaking.

And this is what Jesus says to them, “You search the Scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life…But I know that you do not have the love of God within you.”

Jesus knew that they didn’t really know God because of their lack of love…their lack of care for those around them.

But I realize that seeing only the bedroll,  isn’t just about religious rules that  people try to inflict on each other, it’s about a lack of compassion that encompasses a whole host of things, such as my own need to be right which leads me to compare myself with others and ends in a judgmental, critical spirit that pervades everything at times.

Isn’t everything you have and everything you are sheer gifts from God? So what’s the point of all this comparing and competing?   (I Cor. 4, MSG)

In the Gospels, when Jesus saw the people around Him,  He was often ”moved with compassion.” He realized they were sheep without a shepherd…broken, lonely and desperate for His healing touch.

Jesus understood people’s hearts and motives and loved them, and His love changed them. It still does. 

For me, seeing past the bedroll is about compassion…loving the people around me right where they are, not trying to fix them or change them or judge them. And realizing, too, that they are gifts Abba has so generously given me.