Wednesday, June 6, 2018

8 Ways to Care for your Friends with Anxiety & Depression (and 8 things not to do)

Today, over 56 million adults in the US struggle with anxiety or depression. Yet despite rising awareness, Christians struggle to know how to respond. How do we care for our loved ones who have depression and anxiety?

What's more, the struggle doesn't always look like a struggle. Many people carry on throughout their day to day life, hiding their struggles and managing to pass as healthy, thriving adults. So much so, the term "high-functioning" depression/anxiety has now been coined.

That's certainly been my story. 

Depression and anxiety don't always look like the movies. For me, it hasn't looked like suicidal thoughts, crying all the time, or never leaving my room. For some people it does. But for me, depression and anxiety look less like hollywood and more like being less productive, dishes not done, a bed not made, hitting snooze too many times or staying up too late, avoiding making social plans, or sometimes coming off as emotionally distant or distracted around others. And those are just the things others can see - no one can see the thoughts swirling around my head, reevaluating everything I've said and done and wondering: Is it enough? Is it too much? Do I appear normal? Can they see?

Recently, a couple of people have asked me: How do I care for my friends with anxiety and depression?

Below, I've compiled some of the things that have helped me the most when I'm struggling. So whether you're facing anxiety and depression or whether you know someone who is, I hope this list provides some helpful ways to walk beside loved ones with mental illness.


1. Be normal.

Don't make every interaction about my mental health.
I am still me. You don't need to tread on eggshells around me. You don't need to whip out a PhD in counseling or timidly ask "are you ok?" every time you see me. If I crack a joke, laugh with me. Absolutely send me that funny meme that made you think of me. Hang out and eat pizza with me. If I tell you I'm struggling, it's because I want someone else to know - and because I want you to know that if you notice a shift in my behavior, it's not you, it's me. Really. Know that I love you and that if I'm telling you, I trust you enough to let you onto that page of my life. Just know that it's not the only page of my life. Point out the good and beautiful you see in me and around me, because sometimes I need to remember it too.


2. Invite me to do things - and keep inviting me.

Don't take it personally if I say no.
I'm still alive. And sometimes being around people reminds me of that. Sometimes being around people is too overwhelming. It's going to to depend on the day, even the hour. I may come and be the life of the party. I may come and be quiet or leave early. I may not be able to come at all. But I want to know that I'm still included and wanted, even if I can't do it. So please invite me - and keep inviting me. Also, know that if I say no, I'm probably going to feel bad about it. If you know I'm struggling, give me an out - let me know that me taking care of myself matters to you and that it's ok if I say no. Also, if you want to see me, maybe instead of coffee we go for a walk or watch a movie. (But if I suggest coffee, I definitely want coffee!) Sometimes I need to be with people, but in a way that won't require social pleasantries or situations that will potentially be emotionally demanding.


3. Pray with me.

Don't preach at or shame me.
Sometimes, we struggle to understand how Christians can get depression and anxiety. We think: Doesn't the Bible say to rejoice? Doesn't it say not to fear? And before we know it, we've actually made our friends feel worse by telling them "You really should..." Someone once told me that words like "should" and "supposed to" stem from shame. Depression and anxiety leave you trapped in a cycle of shame so let's not use the Bible to make the burden heavier. Sometimes, I need to be reminded of truth - but remind me that God loves me right where I am today, not that God calls me to rejoice in suffering. Instead of saying "I'll pray for you" - pray with me right here and now. One of the most meaningful things a friend did was tell me that I could call her any time, no matter how late, and she would pray for me. 


4. Help in practical ways.

Don't judge the things that have fallen through the cracks.
Self-care is the first that that goes out the window when I'm struggling with depression or anxiety. Offer to bring over dinner, do my laundry, or wash my dishes. I'm probably going to resist and say no because I'm ashamed of the things that have fallen through the cracks. I won't want you to see my mess. I won't want to be a burden, because I definitely assume I am. Help me understand you won't judge me. I will feel so much healthier when those things are done. It may be awkward, but help me take those practical steps. Know that if I say yes, I will feel extremely vulnerable and will show it by apologizing or thanking you too much. Be patient, let me know that it really is okay. Tell me about your own messes and embarrassing slip ups. But if I don't want you to see the mess, don't force it. Maybe offer to go for a walk with me instead - exercise is yet another thing that falls away and sometimes a walk around the lake is the best thing for my soul and I just need the accountability of another person to help me do it. Understand that I'm not being lazy if I haven't gotten things done and I'm not being selfish if I forgot to ask about you. Know that it feels like cotton has jammed in my gears and it is taking everything I've got just to keep the wheels turning.

5. Ask questions but...

Don't say "Can I talk to you?"
If you tell me any variation of "I need to talk to you/I have a question/can we talk later?" I will absolutely experience an immediate physical reaction - my chest tightens with tension, my stomach feels sick, and my heart starts racing. Even if this is a text followed by another text with said question 30 seconds later, my life with you will flash before my eyes and every painful moment of self-doubt and insecurity will instantly spring to mind as I desperately scramble to think which of my many woeful failures you're about to slam me with. I will pull a Dr. Strange and think of 14 million scenarios in those 30 seconds. The blinking text bubble will feel like the walk to an execution. And if we're at an event and you need to talk to me after - don't tell me that. Just talk to me after. If you really need to make sure I stick around, make sure I know what it's about. Because in your mind, you're probably asking if I'm free for dinner next week. In my mind, you're about to tell me that I'm the biggest disappointment in your life and I will spend the whole meeting bracing myself for it. If you need to ask questions... please do! Ask questions like "how can I support you right now?"  or "what does depression feel like for you?" You can even ask the hard questions like - "Are you seeing a counselor? Are you practicing healthy self-care?" But please help your friends with anxiety and stop saying "I need to talk to you." [Seriously. Stop that. It's getting my heart rate up just writing this paragraph.]


6. Let me lead. But also initiate. 

Don't force me to talk about it.
Sometimes I want to talk about how I feel. Sometimes I just want to send you a funny tweet and drink good coffee and hear about your life. Affirm that you're my friend, that you're here for me and willing to listen, and then move on - don't make me talk about it if I don't want to. If I need to talk about it, I will. Trust me to take the lead. Sometimes talking about it is a relief, like making it to the bathroom when you've been holding out too long. But sometimes it is more like peeing your pants and now you're uncomfortable and embarrassed. Sure, the end result was the same - but one of these feels good, the other does not. I know when I need to talk about it. If you think I might need to talk but you're not sure, ask: "Do you want to talk about it?" Or if you haven't heard from me, instead of asking if depression is bad, try: "I was thinking about you! How are you doing?"


7. Understand I may not seem like myself.

Don't think our friendship is over.
I may not laugh when I normally I would. I may seem distant. Conversation may grind to an awkward halt. That's okay. It just means today is a hard day and you didn't do anything wrong. I may even be annoyed by something you said when you were trying to be helpful. Know that it probably wasn't anything you said. It was probably because my emotions are out of whack. But it's always good to ask so if something was hurtful, I have the chance to tell you. And because you're my friend and I care about you, even if I feel out of whack, I'm going to tell you honestly if I was hurt, and I'm going to tell you I love you. But even if I forget to tell you I love you, know that I do. Also know that I'm going to be afraid that you're going to leave me. I'm going to be afraid that you think this is how it will be forever - because inside, it seems like I'm going to feel this way forever, even if it's only been a couple of days. Remind me that you know this isn't my norm and that you're with me for the highs and lows, however long or short they may be. 


8. Take care of yourself.

Don't be my unpaid therapist.
I need you to be my friend, not my counselor. I know that loving people with anxiety and depression can take a toll on you too. That's part of why I'm so afraid to ask for help. I'm afraid that the hurt inside me is going to spread like the flu - and if feeling bad is hard, making others feel bad is worse. Know that I am responsible for my own emotions. I am responsible for getting myself care, whether it means exercising and eating healthy or seeing a counselor and taking medication. Support me in taking steps to get the help I need but don't try to be the sole source of that care. If I share things that are too heavy for you, admit that to me - but be gentle. Suggest alternative ways I can talk to you about what I'm going through. I want to share with you, but sometimes I won't know how much is too much. Don't just pull away from me. Be honest with me about the conversations we can and can't have. Know that it may hurt a little, but that somewhere in the void that is depression, I know that I care about you and your well-being too. Know that I want you to thrive and have wins - I even want to hear about them. I want to hear about your losses and disappointments too. Know that, sometimes, your wins may sting a little or my emotional capacity to respond to your losses might be little to none. Know that I still care and I still want to hear them, even if I'm feeling emotionally constipated or disjointed. If you text me a paragraph and I just send you a happy emoji because that's the most I could muster, know that little emoji represents all the love I wish I had the words to say that day. 

Most of all, friend, know that I love you and I see that you are trying to love me, even if it's imperfect and messy - but I appreciate it all the same because you're choosing to enter into my own imperfect and messy life.

*If you want to learn more or are concerned about your friend's well-being, contact the suicide hotline. They are a great 24/7 resource for advice. 
If you think your friend might be in immediate danger, call 911.

Friday, March 30, 2018

The Look


Senses heightened, heart hammering. The charcoal fire burning in his nose. Hands clammy, tingling, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Even as the words left his lips, the cry ripped through the air, breaking through the silence and crackle of the fire – the rooster, heralding the quickening of dawn.

The others did not notice. The sound caused no disturbance, did not draw them out of conversation. But he heard it. It was all he heard. His chest tightened, as if he had forgotten what it was to breathe. The words came rushing back now:

“Before the rooster crows today, you will deny me three times…”

Had he not sworn this could never happen? That he would stand beside Him no matter what, even if all others fled?

He look up as the realization of what he had done washed over him. And then he saw Him – the Rabbi, Master, Lord. This Teacher, hands bound, turned and looked at him. Their eyes met.

It was more than he could bear. He turned and stumbled out of the courtyard, legs weak. He staggered as one drunk, collapsing into an alley as the cries broke free, no longer able to contain his wails as he wept bitterly.

Those eyes.

Those eyes that had locked with his. He could not forget them.

When had he first seen those eyes? Wasn’t it the day his brother had told him “We have found the Messiah!” He had met this man they called the Messiah. The Rabbi looked at him then and gave him a new name. He had called him a rock – so why did he now feel so weak?

And then he had met the Rabbi again – fishing with his father and brother. He knew then he was in the presence of someone special. He could not bear to look into those eyes that day, those eyes that seemed to see the depths of his soul. He begged the Rabbi to leave, told Him he was not worthy.

Yet with a smile the Rabbi said: “Do not be afraid.”

Do not be afraid.


Yet now he was filled with fear, fear that somehow paralyzed him and made him want to run all at once. Had the Rabbi known then that it would come to this? Would He have asked this fisherman to follow Him – to become a fisher of men – if He had known?

He left everything that day – left the life he knew to follow this Teacher into adventures unknown. He had watched the crowds flock to this man – the sick, the outcasts, the rich, the poor, the powerful, the weak – even children. All were drawn to Him. He seemed so unassuming and yet His words enraptured the hearts of thousands. They clung to His words.

And He saw them. This Teacher – it was as if He knew each one. That look, gentle, yet piercing, exposing them and nevertheless drawing them in.

He had seen the laughter that danced in those eyes, the joy, the delight. He had seen the compassion, the love, the times they had been filled with tears.

He had been so ready to follow this Teacher anywhere – yet had the Rabbi not seen how ill-equipped he was for the journey? Had he not realized that He ought to have chosen someone else?

Surely that day on the waves would have been enough to show the Master that he was not ready, that he did not deserve to be among The Twelve. He had been the only one to join the Teacher on the waves that day. He had looked to that Teacher and seen once again the strength, the commanding presence in His eyes. And he had looked away, sinking, panicking. He had walked on water, yes. But he had fallen, only saved from drowning by the Teacher’s hand reaching out to grasp his own.

Even as the rain blinded him, he could see the shadow of a smile pulling at the Teacher’s mouth as he asked:

“O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

Why did you doubt?


There, He had seen it then, hadn’t He? Didn’t He know then this disciple was not up to the task? Still He had drawn him closer, inviting him into the Twelve, the Three.

Surely this was a mistake. He did not belong among them. And the closer the Rabbi drew him, the more he burst to prove himself, to show the Teacher that he would be worthy of such a place of honor.

Is that why he was the first to speak when the Teacher asked: “Who do you say that I am?”

Or was it something deeper that caused him to declare that day: “You are the Christ, the son of the living God!”

Hadn’t this been what he’d waited for his whole life? For as deeply as he loved the Teacher, he hated the Oppressors. If it was possible – if it could be true – could their Teacher be the one foretold, the one who would overthrow the Oppressors and establish His rule forever to make them a great nation?

But the words that followed next caught him like a blow and he felt his passion rising as he heard what the Teacher said – that He would die.

Die.

He hardly heard the words that followed. He was fixed on that one. This could not be - the Teacher was mistaken. Overtired and Overworked. They had left everything to follow Him. It would not end in death. He was sure of this. Incensed, he pulled the Teacher aside, told Him He was wrong – that this would not happen.

And the Teacher’s words cut to his heart:

“Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me, for you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.”

A hindrance.
He had not been able to look into the Teacher’s eyes that day.

He remembered those words now as he wept in that alley. They echoed as he recalled the Teacher’s words come true – He was going to die. And this disciple – this rock – was crumbling.

Shame washed over him. Hadn’t the Teacher seen this all along? Hadn’t he known this would happen? Of course He had – He had told him this very thing.

Why?

Why did the Teacher include him? He should have left him to fish. He should never have invited him to come.

And yet…

Yet those words, two simple words…

“Follow me.”

They had changed everything. He had seen miracles. The Teacher’s words changed lives even as they were changing his own. The Teacher had looked to the crowds and saw their deepest needs.

He saw that look now, burned into his consciousness.

What had seen in those eyes – that moment the roosters cry had shattered the silence?

Betrayal? Pain?

Yes.

But something deeper, something more, something this weeping disciple could not yet make sense of or see.

Compassion.

Love.

A promise.

The remembering of a thousand moments past and the knowing of a thousand more to come.

“You are Peter, and on this rock, I will build my church and the gates of hell will not prevail against it…”

When Peter looked into his Savior’s eyes, he would one day see what he did not now – that those eyes that looked upon him were the eyes that had seen the earth take form, the eyes that had watched the waters separate from the land, the eyes that had led their forefathers through flood, wilderness, and exile. These were the eyes that saw him in all his strengths and failures, and chose him.

He did not know it now but one day, he would not run. One day, he would find a courage he did not know was possible. One day, the lips that three times cursed his Lord would three times declare his love. There, on a shore like the day he had first done so, the smell charcoal once again filling the air, his Teacher, Lord, Master, Friend, would once again utter those simple words:

“Follow me.”

Thursday, July 9, 2015

The Stories in Our Scars

The fateful day I hiked Old Rag

Today, I've gotten to thinking about how scars hold stories.

In October 2012, I hiked Old Rag with some of my best friends from school. A misplaced step on a smooth stone with a twist of my foot proceeded by landing on my backside (so gracefully my friends thought I had simply decided to sit down in the middle of the path...) resulted in a fracture. At the time, I knew it hurt, but I figured it would go away and I ignored it.

However... the following summer at our family reunion at the beach, I could no longer ignore it as I found myself limping around the beach house in so much pain I could hardly put any weight on it. This was followed by many doctors appointments, x-rays, attempts at exercises, foot braces... finally ending with a CT Scan in January 2014 that revealed the problem: I had an accessory navicular bone in both my feet, and had fractured the left one when I fell. The solution? Surgery. I could have put it off, but there was the risk that the fractured bone could damage my tendons, resulting in a far more difficult surgery in the future. One way or another, surgery was going to happen eventually so the summer after graduation seemed like the best time to do it.
A gift from my dear friend Anna

Fast forward to July 2014, I graduated college, visited family in England... and then left my summer wide open for what would be a very long recovery post-surgery.

I made the terrible mistake of Googling pictures of the Kidner Procedure (my surgery) before having it. That almost scared me off. (When I told my surgeon, his advice was: "Well, don't go on YouTube!") I saw pretty gross pictures of surgery, and some rather disturbing post-surgery scars running almost up to the knee. Not entirely sure how much damage there was to the tendon already, I didn't know if I'd wind up with scars like that. I didn't much like the idea. I was also entirely freaked out by the concept of having an IV stuck in my arm for the first time. The thought of it made me want to hyperventilate.



However, the day of surgery came... and I survived. The IV was not nearly as bad as I expected. Neither was going under. I remember feeling foggy and the nurses asking me about my major. Next thing I knew, I was awake. My first thought was: "Maybe I shouldn't go through with this..."

Too late! Surgery was done. It was the weirdest thing. Unlike sleep, where you're aware of the passage of time, I had absolutely no sense of time passing while I was under. It was like I blinked and hours had passed.


The worst part was the nausea. Lesson learned: dilaudid and me are not friends (I'll be making sure that goes on my medical record in the future). They couldn't get any food or medicine to stay down so it took a few more hours before I got to go home. Then, it was a lot of icing, elevating, and sleeping, with visits from friends and lots of flowers. 






Learning to navigate crutches was a challenge for me. And trying to get across a college campus in August on crutches? Not something I want to repeat... I was on crutches for about 6 weeks total. I took a couple of tumbles on stairs and wet floors, which always meant having to go to the doctor, have the cast removed, and getting an x-ray to make sure everything was okay. This one time, we were stopping in for fast food and it had rained. The rubber tips of the crutches set down on the tiled floor... and went shooting out from under me. My foot slammed the floor so hard I heard the cast crackle. And then I just sat their on the floor trying to push past the pain before I could even accept my brother's help to get up. That experience ranks up there with most-pain-I've-ever-had-in-my-life. 

It was pretty exhausting, and even though I had been worried about gaining weight, I actually lost weight because it was such a work out to even cross a room. Plus, as my surgeon said "Crutches make it really hard to go wandering into the kitchen to snack!" 


Eventually, I moved from a cast to a boot, but had to stick with the crutches. Then, I moved down to one crutch and cautiously walking. It was a challenge to start walking because I hadn't used that leg in 6 weeks. My calf felt like floppy sack of fat. But as I used it more, I was soon [it didn't feel soon] able to leave the crutches altogether behind me, followed by PT, which I finished in February. 

Today, I can run, jump, dance, play ultimate frisbee, go up on my toes - just about anything. My strength is still not quite where it used to be. If I overdo it, I'll know it, but the pain never lasts more than a day (usually just a couple of hours) I still do better with supportive shoes. And I want to hike Old Rag again! But I think I'll leave that off for another year as I'm not quite sure my strength is quite up to par for that yet.

Almost one year later, and all that remains is a faint scar, just on my foot - not nearly the horrific sight I feared [Again, Google Images before surgery is a terrible idea]


 The doctors tell me it will continue to fade. But you know what? I don't care if it does. Because when I look at my scar, it tells a story. And it reminds me of where I've been, and where I've come. It reminds me of the hard things: times of intense pain, of being depressed because I just wanted to walk, of falling down, and having to to get back up (even though I really just wanted to lie there on the floor of the fast food restaurant and bemoan my agony). Yet it also reminds me of the friends who visited me with gifts and flowers and gave their time. It reminds me of the people who gave me rides across campus. It reminds me of the strangers who helped me carry things, opened doors, or offered sympathizing comments about the times they too had to suffer with a boot. My scar tells a story, and it's not one I want to forget.

Which then got me thinking (because I have a tendency to make metaphors out of anything)... we all have scars. Some are visible. Others aren't. Many we wish weren't there. But the scars of our past tell a story that shapes our futures. And despite all the pain, they play a significant part in making us who we are.  

A scar is a sign of a wound that's being healed. Our Great Healer rose from the dead, but He still carries His scars. And though He heals our wounds, we, too, will bear the scars. He gives us the freedom, not to erase our wounds, but to redefine them as we look at our pasts through His eyes and see His healing hand at work. That's not to make light of the painful experiences of our pasts, but to look again with new eyes: Eyes that see redemption. 

Rather than being ashamed of our scars - be they physical or emotional - what if we learned to embrace them? 

Scars tell a story of healing and the Healer.

And, to me, that makes them beautiful.




Friday, May 15, 2015

Strength, Courage, and Waiting



Waiting is hard.

Even in the midst of activity, life is full of waiting. We can't see the end results so the future always has a question mark over it. Even in the times that we think we know what we're going to do next, plans can change and life will take us in a direction we never expected to see.

This past week, God has been driving home Psalm 27, especially verse 14. The verse begins:

"Wait for the Lord..."

This is a verse we hear a lot. An encouragement to endure in trials that seem as though they will never end. A call to patience when you're waiting to find out about that post-graduation job you've been wanting. It's a verse singles are given a lot as they hope for marriage and are encouraged to be patient as they wait for God's timing. Yet this week, God has been highlighting the oft-forgotten second half of that verse:

"...be strong, let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!"

Sometimes, we get so caught on the waiting part ("ok, so I need to be patient.") that we miss the second half: "be strong, let your heart take courage."

I realized that the call to be strong and courageous is the very same call that God gives the Israelites as they prepare for battle (Joshua 1:9 for example).

I'll say it again: Waiting is hard.

There is a reason God ties waiting to the same encouragement He gives them to face battle. We wait because there is uncertainty, and with uncertainty often comes fear. Waiting requires strength. When our hearts grow weary and we are tempted to despair when answers to prayer are delayed, we must be strong and continue to press forward in faith. Waiting requires courage. When it seems that everything is going to fall apart and we want to grasp for control as fears run wild, we must be courageous to trust God and leave it in His hands when all we want to do is take action.

That's what He's been driving home this week. Waiting is sometimes the hardest thing we can do. Taking action means we direct the course of our future. Yet to wait means trusting that the future is in someone else's hands.

To say "wait for the Lord" is a call to faith. It's a call to be brave. To stand strong. To ready yourself for struggle. It's a call to trust the One who knows the good future He has planned, and who will not withhold those good things that will draw us nearer to Him.

And that is truly His purpose: for us to draw near to Him. Because Psalm 27 says to do more than just wait:

One thing I have asked over the LORD,
that will I seek after:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD
and to inquire in his temple...
You have said, "Seek my face."
My heart says to you,
"Your face, LORD, do I seek."
Hide not your face from me. 

In the face of all his desires and fears, David knew there was one thing he needed above all else. He knew that even if God didn't answer his prayers the way he wanted, that the thing he wanted more than anything was to dwell in the house of the Lord. Even in the waiting, even in the striving, that was the thing his heart was fixed upon.

God wants us to seek Him. To know Him. To enter into a relationship with the God who created the universe, yet intimately knows the deepest longings of our souls.

If answer to prayer seems delayed, if the future feels fearful and uncertain, if your heart is growing weary...

Wait.

Wait for the Lord.

Be strong.

Let your heart take courage.

And in your waiting, seek the face of the Lord. Because the cry to know Him is one prayer He will always, always answer.


Sunday, March 29, 2015

A Story of Grace (Part 3): Doctrine [My Ellerslie Story]

This is the third post in a series on how I learned to turn from fear and shame to experience grace. Click to read Part 1: Shame and Part 2: Fear.





A big part of breaking away from shame and fear was identifying false beliefs I held about God, others, and myself.

Theology is one of those words that doesn't excite most people. But let me tell you: Theology matters. Good theology can be the difference between life-giving joy and soul-crushing death. In my case, it was the latter. And it nearly destroyed my idea of who God is.

This post is about the things I learned at Ellerslie, a 9-week discipleship program in Colorado started by Eric and Leslie Ludy (known for their books on relationships, purity, and holiness). Some of you will remember me spending Summer 2011 there. Some of you were there with me. Because of that, I know this will be hard to read. What follows is addressing theology, not people. I dearly love everyone I know from Ellerslie and my intent is not to criticize their hearts. What I am addressing is the teachings. The theology I learned there created much confusion, fear, and pain in my understanding of who God is and the Gospel. Because of this, and because I publicly recommended their program, resources, sermons, and books for many years, it's time for me to publicly address why I can no longer do so. I have also discovered many other people hurting since their time at Ellerslie (there's even a support group!) so I hope that this post will help clarify what is wrong, and let other Ellerslie alumni who are struggling know that they are not alone.

I will be covering a wide variety of concerns and, due to length, I will not be able to go as in-depth on these as I would like. If there is a particular topic you have questions about or would like to know where I am basing it, please feel free to talk to me (if I had the time and space, I would give an in-depth, Biblical analysis of each point! As it is, I am mainly telling a story of the teachings that were wrong and how they affected me. But I truly am open to discussing particular points if anyone would like to do so).

Where It Began:

I had been reading the Ludy's books since I was 15 and decided to go to their discipleship program the summer after my freshman year in college. There was much I enjoyed about my time at Ellerslie - a summer in the beauty of Colorado, reading my Bible, praying, and talking to people about Jesus all day long - but my concerns for the content of their teachings mean that I cannot recommend this program to anyone and would, in fact, discourage others from attending.

It is difficult to know where to begin because there is so much to be said. One of the main difficulties in knowing how to explain this, is that there is a disconnect between what was said ("We will never be perfect.") and what was communicated (perfectionism) through what was modeled, practiced, and encouraged (That alone is something I find concerning). There are also many things they said that were true, but subtle differences or deviations that made it difficult to separate what was true from what was not.

After spending 9 weeks in Ellerslie's discipleship program, I was completely in love with everything I heard there. I felt as though I had finally gone somewhere that I could 100% say I agreed. I was sad to leave and hoped to return after college for their year-long Advanced Program.

However, over the months that followed, something wasn't sitting right. It nagged at me that there was something very wrong with something I'd heard there, yet I could never articulate what it was. So, I dismissed those concerns as being fleshly - mere doubts not to be entertained. It took 3 years after I left Ellerslie for me to finally articulate what was wrong, just last summer as I sat in bed with my foot in a cast and finally had time to go through their materials and find some quotes that were nagging at me. And then the floodgates opened.

A turning point:

This is the quote I found that started everything. It came from their book called Wrestling Prayer. They were talking about a miscarriage they had, that ultimately led them to start Ellesrlie. Eric writes about the miscarriage,
God gently opened our eyes to see areas of sin and compromise that we'd allowed into our lives that were opening an access point for the enemy to hit us... Leslie and I hadn't been resisting the enemy's blows because we had assumed they were coming from God - or at least being allowed by God for the purpose of discipline. And yet, when we thought about it, we had to admit that the result in our spiritual lives wasn't the life giving victory that God's loving discipline brings. Rather, it was the hopeless despair and discouragement that the enemy brings. (pg. 16, Wrestling Prayer) 
When I read this, it was like the blinders fell off and all the things that had been nagging at me over the last three years - fueling the shame and fear I wrote about previously - fell into place. In reading that quote, I realized they believed sin in their lives had resulted in the death of their child because it created a breach that the enemy could then have the power to access their lives (though they were Christians), resulting in the death of the child. They blamed their child's death on themselves. What's more, the quote suggested that perhaps God had not even allowed this to occur, as though the enemy had usurped God's power. Yet the entire book of Job seems to proclaim otherwise - Job suffered, not because of his sinfulness, but for the very reason that he was blameless!

[I have other concerns about their relationship to the enemy beyond this idea of breaches, which is woven throughout their teachings. For example, their Gospel video states that the enemy will come to finish us off, but that Jesus comes in and stands between us and the accuser to take the blow meant for us. However, the Bible is clear that God is the one who punishes us for sin, not the enemy. It is because we fall under the wrath of God that we need Jesus as an intercessor, and it is from the wrath of God that Jesus took the blow.]

That began me on a journey of going back through my notes, journal, and other resources. Here's an overview of my concerns:

Perfectionism & Fear of God Leaving:

In one of her books, Leslie tells a parable of sorts about our relationship with Christ and sin in our lives. She describes the scene of your wedding night, at last going to be with your groom (Jesus). When you get to the room, you find it filled with stinking garbage and past boyfriends (representative of sin in our lives). She writes,
You glance over at your groom. He is hanging his head mournfully and making his way dejectedly back down the hall. 
"Wait!" you call out. "Where are you going?" 
"I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head sadly, "I just can't be with you tonight - not like this." His face is overcome with agony and sorrow as he stumbles out the door. You chase after him in your wedding dress, which is now stained with a blob of spaghetti sauce that dripped out of one of the trash bags. But your groom is gone. Your wedding night has been completely and utterly ruined. (pg. 58, Authentic Beauty)
And there the story ends. Reading it now, it makes me want to weep as I remember how long I feared Jesus was like that. For so long, I felt as though I were running after Him and feared that He would walk away from me if I could not get my life cleaned up enough for Him to accept me. But the Jesus I know now does not walk away when my life gets messy - instead, He takes me by the hand, and bends down to clean up the garbage with me. He does not leave me standing alone, wondering how I'll ever get Him to come back.

At Ellerslie, they told us we would never be perfect. And yet, I remember at the time thinking many of the messages communicated that we should be. Because this concerned me and I knew passages like 1 John 1 make it clear that we do still sin, I was somewhat troubled. I talked to one of the staff members and asked her if they were teaching that we would be perfect. She was very hesitant to answer my question, but finally admitted, no, we would not be perfect in this lifetime. At the time, I was relieved they did not believe in perfectionism. But in retrospect, I wondered why it was so hard for her to admit that? Again, it goes back to the disconnect between what is said and what is communicated. They often said the right things, but the message sent told a different story. For example, I remember in one of the talks, they said how Romans 8 includes the list of things that could not separate us from the love of God, but Eric passingly remarked that sin was not included in that list. In another morning devotion, another staff member said "If we constantly allow surrender to Christ, we will walk free from sin." These things imply perfection.

Many of the ideas regarding perfectionism seem to be strongly influenced by the Kewsick movement. Although Ellerslie's FAQ page says they do not agree with everything in that movement, the biographies they endorse, much of the language they use, and even the format of their program closely mirror this movement. For those not familiar with it, I recommend Andy Naselli' article. In a brief summary of the article, the Keswick movement was based on the belief that many Christians were living in defeat. Day 1 of the Keswick conventions focused on sin, and how when he Holy Spirit comes into believer lives, they can live without "known sin." Day 2 addressed the "cure" - victorious Christian living. It involved a "crisis of sanctification" where you are sanctified by faith and victory of sin. Day 3 is about consecration - the crisis point where you "let go" (wholly surrender) and "let God" (faith) [at Ellerslie, this crisis was known as "the dark night of the soul"]. Day 4 was about being filled with the Spirit, including certain conditions to receive that filling. Day 5 focused on the outcome of all this: powerful Christian service in missions to the weak (This 5-day format is very, very similar to the format of Ellerslie's 9-week program). A few concerns Naselli raises mainly address their views on sanctification: Having two categories of Christians (those living in defeat with "Christ as their savior" and those living in victory with "Christ as their Lord"). They also promote a form of perfectionism and instantaneous sanctification (when you reach the crisis point, you are meant to surrender all at in a single moment, rather than a lifelong process).

Full Surrender:

The idea of full surrender was a big struggle for me. During one of the talks at Ellerslie, the speaker said if we had not truly surrendered to Christ, we should leave the session because it would be better for us to spend the next two hours praying than to listen to him speak. I looked around the room, thinking he couldn't be serious because everyone struggles to surrender in different areas and none of us can honestly say that we are fully surrendered. We all battle sin. But while a couple of students stood to leave, in a room of 100 people, most stayed seated. And he was serious. He insisted we should leave. As I sat there squirming in my chair, painfully aware of ways I fell short of Christ's perfect standard, I stood and I left (probably thinking everyone else sitting understood something about surrender I didn't - that they had somehow attained something I couldn't). And I prayed and prayed and prayed. Yet I could not seem to make this moment happen where I suddenly was fully surrendered and abiding in Christ in the way they described. I wanted it. I wanted so badly to obey Him. Yet as much as I prayed, I could not attain it. Even to take communion, they said it was a picture of Christ being in us and we should only take communion if we truly meant it when we said we would fully surrender. I wondered if I should participate - I knew I was a Christian, but was I a fully surrendered Christian?

They emphasized a lot the idea of being "in Christ." I can best articulate it through a quote from a biography we read on Rees Howells as part of our required reading. On being in Christ, the biographer wrote of Howells:
He saw that if he could get this one visible proof of the devil's defeat, the Holy Ghost could apply the victory through him on a larger scale. To do this, the Spirit gave him John 15:7: "If ye abide in Me, and My words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will and it shall be done unto you." It would all depend on his abiding... the promise is unlimited, but its fulfillment depends on the abiding. [Emphasis mine]
Reading this quote now, I realized that therein lay the disconnect - yes, it was all possible through Christ and therefore not our own works - if we abided. All the promises of Christ they affirmed - if we abided. It meant we had to do all the right things and then Christ would abide in me. That was why it felt like I was relying on my works. Because I was! I was relying on my works to abide! Because if I didn't obey God perfectly, I lost the abiding. And yet, when I read John 15 and Jesus says to obey all His commandments, He goes on in verse 12 to say, "And this is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you..." What's more, there is a promise contained in the command "abide in me" - Jesus says "Abide in me and I in you." It's a two-way relationship. At Ellerslie, we focused so much on our need to abide in Christ, I forgot that He is abiding in me so that even when I fall short, there is grace because He is sustaining me, transforming me into His image! He has perfected me (past tense, completed), but I am still being sanctified (present tense, ongoing) (Hebrews 10:14).

Continuing to look through the Rees Howells book, I found many disturbing descriptions of what it meant to abide to him. This was a man highly esteemed by Ellerslie and someone we were encouraged to model. There were many points in the book that I was intensely uncomfortable, but far too often, I discounted that discomfort as being fleshly, rather than being from God's Spirit within me.

For example, continuing on after talking about abiding, the biographer wrote of Howells,
Any command the Spirit gave him, he must fulfill, because the way of abiding is the keeping of His commandments... Any transgression was never to be repeated, but specific obedience on that point would be called for until a radical inward change was effected... He could never come into God's presence unless he had obeyed all that had been given him on the previous day. [Emphasis mine]
How often I took this same attitude into my relationship with Christ! I believed I must perfectly obey Him and therefore felt as though I could not come to God when I messed up. I felt so much shame and guilt when I couldn't measure up and it was difficult to pray because all I could do was say, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Again, I feel grief as I remember these times, knowing how deeply I felt that shame and remembering how many burdens I was trying to carry. It was not the light yoke the Lord had promised!

In reference to a time Howells failed to complete his fasting by eating lunch at his mother's pressures, Howells wrote,
"I wept many tears and it seemed as if He would never allow me to come back into His presence, till He said, 'I will forgive you, but you are not to go unpunished. You hold up your hands while you pray from 6 to 9 o'clock."
I remembered thinking at the time that this seemed wrong - God's grace is offered freely. We don't need to punish ourselves to receive it. But when another student mentioned how much they admired Howells for taking his sin so seriously in that instance, I discounted my own concerns because I respected this other student's judgment more than my own (that was a big lesson from my Ellerslie experience - no matter how much we respect someone, they can still be wrong. We need to check what we hear against the Word!).

I never finished the Rees Howells biography because I got so uncomfortable, I couldn't bring myself to finish it. I felt shame because I thought I was not spiritually mature enough to handle the book. But the point I finally put it down was addressing what he believed to be his role as an intercessor. He was  praying for a woman who was dying from consumption. Howells believed he was to take on the illness and death in her place, but could not bring himself to accept that. As a result, when she died, he wrote:
"So far as the case of healing was concerned, I was to walk it as a failure and not make a word of defense. All the district knew I was praying for this woman's healing, and now I had failed openly." 
The woman's very life depended on Howells' perfect obedience and intercession. She died because he failed. At least, that is what Howells believed. What a burden to carry!

Struggles with Sin:

Because of their ideas of abiding, it affected how sin was handled as well. If abiding in Christ meant it was possible to live without known sin, then if we realized sin in our lives, it needed to be dealt with and stopped immediately. For example, they had a manual called "Cleaning Out the Sanctuary" that was a process of prayerfully considering questions regarding different areas of sin in our lives. It was several pages long and we were meant to go through and ask God about each area of our lives in terms of these questions and, if we had sinned, to repent and turn away. This also goes back to the idea of breaches (sin giving the enemy access to our lives).  While I believe we should pray "Search me and know my heart, O God," (Psalm 139:1), I have also found since then that when I try to force "on the spot" change in my life, that it is often temporary. Yet when God reveals and convicts in His timing, He truly moves mountains. Philippians 3:15 says, "if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal it to you also." If we are not perfect and never will be, we don't need to feel anxiety that Christ will walk away due to garbage because He already knows it is there - and that's why He came! Instead, we can rest from fear of unknown sin, realizing that in His timing, He will reveal it and begin working His change in our hearts.

There are other examples I could point to of instances where we needed to have immediate change. For example, they made space for anyone struggling to surrender something to Christ to stay back in the chapel and ask for help. They ended up having us "reckon with truth" while others students "prayed us through." What this meant is that the entire student body (about 80-100 students) gathered to pray in the chapel while those of us struggling with surrender went in the back room with the staff so they could talk with us. I went with a group of 4 other girls. The staff were loving and gentle, but none of us would be leaving the room until we had each surrendered our particular struggle and decided to let it go. They did not keep us there by force (I don't want to suggest that!) but the problem is that it assumes that these struggles can be laid down in a single moment or afternoon. For me, it was my desire for marriage. I wanted to be married one day so badly that I feared it was a distraction and an idol. So I wanted to let go of even the hope of getting married. They spent maybe 3 hours talking with us 5 girls as we each decided to surrender our dreams. Since then, I've realized that true change does not happen in an instant in a back room experience! It happens over time, with many conversations and prayers as we live life together and lovingly point each other to Christ. (I've also realized that the desire for marriage is good and while I do not want it to be an idol in my life, there is nothing wrong with hope for God's work in that area).

Another example was when they gathered all the girls together (about 50 of us) to sit in a circle in the chapel. The staff member had a microphone and went around to each of us to have us individually declare that we are in Christ and wholly surrendered to Him in front of all the other girls. I remember one or two girls who struggled because they were not ready to say it. The staff member stood there in front of each girl, waiting. I think she went on to some other girls, but then came back until these girls were ready to declare it. Again, the trouble is assuming that we can immediately change beliefs, struggles, or any sinful patterns in our lives, so not changing must be a result of stubbornness or sinful refusal. There is also a huge amount of peer pressure to say you are "in Christ" in a situation like that. True change, as I said before, takes time. And when you know that you're not perfect, it is okay that it takes time. It is okay to wait for God's timing and trust Him that He will transform us into His image when He knows the timing is right. We can seek Him and seek others for help, but we cannot force it on the spot.


Holy Lives:

Not only did I believe I was to be fully surrendered, perfect, and instantly leaving behind sins, but I had a lot of confusion as to what sin even was. Things that I was free to do as Christian suddenly seemed sinful to me and I could no longer tell what was living for myself or when I was relying on something other that Christ. A few examples:

  • Personality. I struggled with feeling like if people saw anything of me, it was drawing attention to me instead of Christ. It could be the way I talk, the way I laugh, my excitement for life. If it wasn't making them think about Jesus, then it meant they were thinking of me and that was therefore self-centered. As a result,  I became withdrawn relationally, afraid to raise my voice in groups for fear of all eyes being on me (and not Christ). My notes from one session read: "We have to give up our self-centered focus. They no longer should see you. It doesn't matter if or what they see of you. They don't see you. They see God - the whole picture. You are not what matters." Couple that with my tenancy toward shyness and I lived with so much fear that I was drawing too much attention to myself through my personality because expressing myself meant being seen. Other students coming from Ellerslie have struggled with this as well - and this was a huge thing for me to overcome and realize that I have been fearfully and wonderfully made and that even my personality can be a means of glorifying Him!

  • Testimonies. I loved to tell people about ways I'd seen God move in my life. But then, in an afternoon session with the girls, Leslie said how she received many letters from young women telling her about mission trips they'd taken and how, in reality, the letters were pretty self-centered because they only talked about how God had moved in their own lives and not in the lives of other people. I felt crestfallen, especially since I had once sent Leslie a letter like that myself! I thought these stories were ways of glorifying God and certainly wasn't seeking to glorify myself. So, coupling that with the personality struggles, it felt like even telling stories related to my own experience (or maybe even asking for personal prayer requests) was drawing eyes to me. Once again, I had to learn that God uses these experiences and stories to glorify His name and bless others! There is wisdom in when to share them, but done with there right heart, there is nothing self-centered about it.

  • Rest & Sleep. I struggled a lot with feeling like rest was bad. They talked a lot about Isaiah 40:31 - "They shall run and not be weary..." In their reasoning, we should not grow tired or need to take naps. When I did grow tired, I felt like I wasn't relying on God for strength, and I often ran myself into the ground trying to work too hard because I felt like rest was selfish and that I should use all my time to serve others. Rest was seen as stopping to take time to be filled by Christ - to pray, to read the Bible. But while that rest is certainly important, other kinds of rest are also a gift from God! It is okay to take a nap, sit down, enjoy a quiet evening. These things, in their proper place, are not sinful or selfish. They are rejuvenating. 

  • Life Boats & Alarm Clocks. In addition to confusion of being self-centered, I was confused about when I was relying on something other than Christ. In one session, Eric talked about how Paul had them cut away the lifeboats in Acts and how we needed to get rid of the lifeboats in our lives, using things like savings accounts and retirement funds as examples. To clarify, Ellerslie is not an organization out to take people's money. He was not saying we should give Ellerslie that money, but rather, that it displayed a lack of trust in God to prepare for the future in that way because it's a "backup" plan in case we end up being in need (the reasoning being that if God will provide for all our needs, we shouldn't feel like we have to have a savings account). In a similar line of thought, one girl I knew decided to stop using an alarm clock because she felt that by needing to rely on an alarm to wake up, she was relying on something other than God. 

  • Medication. This was a big one for me. Although they did not explicitly tell us not to take medication, they talked a lot about healing. Tied into the concept of breaches, sickness should not get through to a Christian because it does not get through to Christ. Eric mentioned a couple of times in talks on healing that he personally did not like to take medicine. While he mentioned that Leslie disagreed, the trouble is that when someone you look up to as an example of faith says something like that, you want to emulate it. So I stopped taking allergy medicine. Coming home, when I'd get sick, I would pray and fight through it. Eventually, I got so sick from a cold that I ended up getting bronchitis and was on so many prescriptions I nearly lost count! There is great danger in tying medication into faith. Medicine is a gift and should not be seen as displacing our trust in God. 

  • Community. Similarly, I feared that community could be a substitute for going to Christ. If I shared my problems with others, was I relying on them instead of Jesus? But over the past couple of years, I have learned the sweetness of community and friendships that draw me near to Jesus and how often community is His very means of showing us His love, grace, and healing!

  • Guy friendships. I struggled a lot with this. I was so shy growing up, and guys were particularly hard for me. Freshman year, I had a lot of good guy friendships, but going to Ellerslie, guy-girl friendships were mostly very restricted. We weren't allowed to date each other during our times as students - I understand that, since the purpose was to focus on Christ. However, to help maintain that rule, we were not allowed to spend more than 30 minutes with the opposite gender, even in group situations, such as playing a game. I remember I tried to get some students together to help weed the area around the bridge. It was me and one or two other girls, and then a couple of the guys joined us. We were in a pretty public place in the middle of campus. This wasn't something we had to do, but something we wanted to do to serve the staff - as one of the staff walked by, he briskly said, "30 minutes, guys." Immediately, what I was doing out of joy and a heart of service made me feel embarrassed, as though we were doing something wrong. But when 30 minutes were up, the girls left and the guys kept working. These sort of limits were unhelpful because it made us shy away from relationships with each other, rather than learning to interact with each other as brothers and sisters in Christ. I constantly second-guessed myself in my interactions with guys and there was a lot of distance between me and guys I knew back home upon my return. Since then, God has taught me to love them as brothers and treat them as friends - and I have found so many good, healthy male friendships since then - friends who help me love Jesus more, who love me as a sister, and who bring a lot of joy to my life. I am very grateful for them!

Differing Opinions:


There were many times I felt uncomfortable, but time and time again, I decided that my concerns were fleshly, rather than being from God. Why did I discount my concerns so many times? Part of that is because of how the Ellerslie environment is set up.

At Ellerslie, they told us that we would experience a lot of resistance - that our flesh and the enemy would not want us to surrender so we would hear a lot of lies, doubts, and spiritual attacks. Because of this, one of the rules was that we were not allowed to express any doubts to others students because they did not want the enemy to be able to "plant doubt" in other people's minds through our words. The problem is that the very premise of this rule holds the assumption that our questions are errant and that the problem resides within us, not with what's being taught. If we have concerns about a particular talk, it is then automatically assumed to be from the enemy, not from God.

Although they told us to check the Word against what they teach, this rule already sets up anything we find to the contrary to not be from God. What's more, we could only talk to staff about our questions, who would further endorse what is being taught. However, in any other Christian community, the hard questions are asked without fear because we know that the Word can stand up to it and that together we'll grow in faith as we dig for answers! (We were also not allowed to talk about more controversial doctrines, like pre-destination or tongues - a lot more could be said for their ideology of "Simplitism" - focusing on Jesus rather than other "distracting" doctrines - but I won't go into that since it has been addressed by others elsewhere)

This was most strongly illustrated to me in a quote I found from an Ellerslie student on a forum discussing Ellerslie. In defense of Ellerslie's teachings, he wrote:
"His [Eric's] primary authority is the Bible. So, in order to prove him wrong you must somehow prove the Bible is wrong."
This statement is alarming to me as it leaves no room for the possibility that Eric's interpretation of Scripture might be wrong. This was huge for me. When I started to question Ellerslie's teachings, for a long time I feared I was doubting Christianity and the Bible itself. That is a big problem! By not allowing doubts to be expressed, it made it very difficult for me to get help when I came home and started to struggle. The lines were blurred between doubting Christianity and doubting Ellerslie's interpretation because Ellerslie was set up as the standard to follow.

The other issue with how they handle doubt is that as we got ready to go home, they warned us that many of our peers and churches back home would not accept what we learned there (because they had not experienced surrender and because of the flesh in their lives). As another person wrote, it transfers students loyalties from their churches to instead be loyal to Ellerslie/Eric Ludy. Their home church and Christian community are viewed with suspicion (especially if those people raise concerns about Ellerslie teaching!) because of the belief that there are different categories of Christians (fleshly and surrendered). This sets up students to check everything, not against the Bible, but against Ellerslie. That is exactly what I did. I looked to see if things matched up with what I heard at Ellerslie. When something did not match up, for a long time, I viewed it with suspicion.

Conclusion:

There is much I could say. But for the sake of time, I will stop here. There is a lot God taught me through the struggles after leaving Ellerslie. He taught me about being wise in what we listen to and how readily we believe. It taught me to go to the Scriptures to check what I'm hearing. It taught me about the importance of sound doctrine, community, rest, leaving behind works, and countless other things. And it taught me about grace. It is true that those who have been forgiven much, love much. I had to walk through some dark places to find that, but if God can use this story to help others heal from their own battles, then I am happy to be used by Him!



Over the past year, God has been teaching me a lot about Grace. His Grace. And how free it truly is. But it took a long journey of trying to earn it for me to really get how great Grace is.

So this is my story. But it's really His story. It's the story of the God who loves. The God who came. The God who saves. And the God who transforms.

I hope to tell this story in a series of snapshots into significant moments as God began transforming my understanding of Grace, sanctification, and our identity in Him.

Soli Deo Gloria


Friday, March 27, 2015

A Story of Grace (Part 2): Fear

This is the second post in a series on how I learned to turn from fear and shame to experience grace. Click to read Part 1: Shame.



Closely coupled with my battle with shame was fear. Deep, deep fear. Fear that God was going to let me go and fear that other people did not truly love me. Shame speaks to a fear of nakedness - to being exposed, vulnerable, and unprotected. The result of that shame is fear.

In my head, I knew these things weren't true. The Bible says God loves me. My friends told me they loved me. But the fear would grip my heart and impacted how I related to God and others.

One of my big fears, as mentioned in the shame post, was that no matter how much I cried out to God, He would always view me like the Pharisees, who, in my book, seemed like a pretty hopeless case. They had all the access to the right answers, and yet they completely missed the boat. I deeply feared that. I was so afraid that God saw me, knew I had all the right answers, but saw that I kept missing the point and that I was going to meet Him one day and find out I never really knew Him.

During the fall of my senior year, I went on a retreat with InterVarsity and one of the talks there started stirring something inside me. They were talking about Luke 15: Out of one hundred sheep, one was lost in the wilderness. Out of ten coins, one was lost at home. And then they talked about the prodigal son story of the son who had wandered from his home. As they were wrapping up the talk, there was a fun moment:

"How many sheep were lost?"
We all replied with enthusiasm: "One!"
"How many coins?"
"One!"
"How many sons?"
"One!"
"Two."

There was a moment of stunned silence as that sank in. See, in the prodigal son story, we all tend to focus on the son who went away from home and got lost - the son lost in the wilderness. But in the prodigal son story, there's a second son who's lost - a son who is lost at home. We all shake our head at the second son who was too proud to join the celebrations. But the reality is that the second son was lost too - lost in focusing on all the things he did to earn his father's approval and blessings, when  all those things were already available to him! ("all that is mine is yours..." Luke 15:31) However, despite the son's hardness of heart, the father went out to him. He entreated the son to come in, to join the celebrations. The father went to both sons.

Realizing that the father went to the second son too began stirring hope inside me. I had always been the good Christian kid, so I related more to the son who stayed at home, tried to do all the right things, and yet was still missing out. I was afraid that God viewed me that way too. But now I began to hope - could it be that God wanted me to draw near despite all my failings? Could it be that there was hope, even for the son who did all the right things and was still so wrong? I started noticing other passages where Jesus reached out, not just to the broken sinners, but to the people who thought they didn't need a doctor. For example, in Matthew 23, I focused on all the woes Jesus pronounced, but in verse 37, Jesus says, "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones who are sent to it! How often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!" I saw His grief, His earnest desire that they would come and be forgiven, yet they would not because their hearts were hardened. He had not written them off as hopeless cases, but was deeply burdened for them to come to Him, to be gathered into intimacy with Him.

I started to grasp something about grace, yet I was afraid it was too good to be true. I was crippled by the fear that I would swing to the other extreme - to claim grace, yet leave behind holiness and find that I was lost in sin. I was also very afraid of being self-centered. I was constantly second-guessing my actions, questioning my motives, and fearful that I was living for myself in the midst of trying to live for God (in a great twist of irony, this level of introspection had me turning inward a whole lot - the very thing I was trying to avoid!). There was so much fear.

Still, hope was growing. Could it be as I cried out "Have mercy on me, a sinner!" that God saw me as that sinner in need of mercy and comfort, and not as the Pharisee left unjustified? (Luke 18:10-14).

In the midst of my shame and fear, Zachariah 3:1-5 became one of my favorite passages:
Then he showed me Joshua the high priest standing before the angel of the LORD, and Satan standing at his right hand to accuse him. And the LORD said to Satan,  "The LORD rebuke you, O Satan! The LORD who has chosen Jerusalem rebuke you! Is not this a brand plucked from the fire?" Now Joshua was standing before the angel, clothed with filthy garment. And the angel said to those who were standing before him, "Remove the filthy garments from him." And to him he said, "Behold, I have taken your iniquity away from you, and I will clothe you with pure vestments." And I said, "Let them put a clean turban on his head." So they put a clean turban on his head and clothed him with garments. And the angel of the LORD was standing by.
I began to realize that I felt so dirty before God. That was the filthy garments. And so the voice of the accuser came to tell me I was unclean before God. And yet, God rebuked the accuser and declared me clean! Again, there was hope, yet so much fear of breaking away from the striving. Fear that breaking away would mean falling short.

I finally came to place where I knew what was true in my head - I knew that grace was freely offered and that God loved me! Yet I could not grab hold of it in my heart. I knew I needed help, and God made it available. The first thing was getting Christian counseling. I always felt like counseling was for the weak - for people who just couldn't handle life. But when I realized how twisted up I felt inside, I knew I needed help. God began changing my ideas of counseling and I reached out to my church's counseling ministry. I began having regular meetings, working through the fears that were crippling my relationship with God. Through those conversations, I began to see the amount of pressure I was putting on myself to perform, far beyond the expectations God was putting on me. I began to see ways I struggled to set boundaries, say no, or be open with people about my weakness. I always thought I was good at being vulnerable because I was able to share about trials and how God met me in them. But then it was pointed out to me that those aren't stories of struggle - those are stories of triumph. Being vulnerable with others and getting help means being open in the midst of the trials, not afterward when I've figured it out. That was hard. But these conversations, and the "homework" assignments to process what we were discussing, seriously helped the truths that God was speaking into my heart become a reality in my life.

The other thing was taking a course on the Dynamics of Biblical Change through the Christian Counseling and Education Foundation. As I worked through this course on helping others through the process of change, it talked a lot about sin, grace, and sanctification. God helped me grow in my understanding of what sanctification is a lot through the lectures and materials. A couple of quotes really jumped out to me:
"The Christian life is like a yo-yo held in the hands of a man who is walking up stairs. There are ups and downs but, in the long haul, you are going somewhere. As time passes, the downs do not remain the same as they were in the past." (from David Powlison's seminary instructor)

"We are not yet what we shall be, but we are growing toward it; the process is not yet finished, but it is going on; this is not the end, but it is the road. All does not yet gleam in glory, but all is being purified." (Martin Luther) 
 These truths were starting to sink as I realized that God was transforming my life over time and that I did not have to fear unknown sin in my life. One of my counseling "homework" assignments was to find a verse to remind me of this when I started to fear what was unknown. I found Philippians 3:15, which describes pressing on for the prize of knowing Jesus. Paul writes, "Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that to you also." I realized that I did not have to constantly try to figure out what was wrong because, in His timing, God would reveal those things!

So often, I tried to handle sin by explaining it away ("I'm not complaining - I'm just stating how I feel") or by stopping it ("I am complaining, so I will repent and not do that anymore.") But God began to show me that freedom was not found in denying or stopping sinful patterns, but in recognizing them, receiving His grace, and repenting! ("I am complaining. I am proud. I am self-centered - and that is why I need a Savior! God, forgive me and help me to be more like You.")

I thought that because I was a Christian, that meant I was supposed to have it all together. But I began to see that if sanctification is a lifelong process, then I will never be perfect and so I did not need to panic over the reality that there was still sin in my life. It should not be a surprise! Instead, I could go to God, knowing He would walk through it with me, transforming me more and more into His image, and that He was not going to let me go because that was the very reason He came!

In the midst of all the noise, I was finally beginning to experience rest. To know that God was with me, He loved me, and He would pursue me even when I was sinning. And I learned something in my CCEF course that totally shifted my perspective. The lecturer was talking about things we will experience in heaven and said, "One day, we will truly be good people." I had to think about that some. A good person? One day I will truly be a good person, with no sin in my life? That thought suddenly filled me with hope! One day, the battle will be over. One day, there will no longer be a struggle with sin. One day, I will not have to repent anymore. But that day is not today, and it will not be until I see my savior face-to-face.

It made me realize: all the struggling and striving and aching for holiness is drawing me homeward. It is reminding me that the yearning for holiness, the sting of sin, the desire for perfection - these things are reminding me that I am not yet home. And so, when I feel that urge for perfection now, I look to heaven and remember: One day. One day, it is coming. But today, I walk by faith, knowing it is only by grace of God that I can draw near and that nothing I do - not before I was a Christian and not after - can take away that gift.

In that, I find rest.


Over the past year, God has been teaching me a lot about Grace. His Grace. And how free it truly is. But it took a long journey of trying to earn it for me to really get how great Grace is.

So this is my story. But it's really His story. It's the story of the God who loves. The God who came. The God who saves. And the God who transforms.

I hope to tell this story in a series of snapshots into significant moments as God began transforming my understanding of Grace, sanctification, and our identity in Him.

Soli Deo Gloria


Sunday, March 15, 2015

A Story of Grace (Part 1): Shame

It was November 23rd, 2013. I was in my final year at GMU and I was sitting in the third session of the EVA Conference with InterVarsity. Though I didn't know it at the time, that talk was about to turn my world upside down.

Let me back up a little.

I've been a Christian most of my life. I've loved Jesus since I was a little girl. But I could never shake this fear that maybe He didn't love me back. Of course I knew that wasn't true. And if you asked me, I knew the right answers: God loved me no matter what I did. He loved me and gave Himself for me. We love because He first loved us.

But in my heart, I felt like the tax collector in Luke 18:10-14 crying out as he beat his chest, "God, be merciful to me, a sinner!" all the while fearing He saw me as the proud pharisee who would be left unjustified.

I knew my faults. I knew how often I fell short of the perfect standard He set. And I knew that was why He died for me. But I felt like now that I had this gift of salvation, I needed to get it right. I understood justification, but it was sanctification that had me tripping all over myself. I knew I was justified by Christ. But it felt like sanctification was on my shoulders. If I wasn't fully surrendered, if I wasn't following all the rules, if there was anything of self-centeredness in me, it was my fault and I'd better fix it quick. God had saved me - I'd made the cut - but I better keep it together so I didn't get kicked off the team. Even though I knew that salvation was forever. Even though I knew He loved me while I was still a sinner. Even though I knew the Gospel inside and out. I feared. I feared so much that I would be like the people in Matthew 7 who said, "Lord, Lord..." yet never truly knew Him.

A lot of this I can look back on now and see clearly. But back then, I couldn't really see it. But I felt it.

So, back to the EVA talk.

The conference theme was "Sexual Identity." This was a topic I'd learned a lot about over the years so I went for the community and to continue growing in understanding it more, but I wasn't expecting anything earth-shattering. I was wrong. Because, as the speaker started to describe guilt (what you've done) versus shame (who you are), something started happening inside me. She talked about the way we fear our sin being exposed because of the isolation, exposure, and vulnerability of it. She talked about the vulnerability, humiliation, and loneliness of Christ's death as He hung on a cross, naked and exposed for all to see. Then she said something I will never forget: She said most of us know that Jesus died for the guilt of our sins, but that when He died that humiliating death, He also took on their shame.

That hit me hard and broke down something inside. It hit on something that I had not been able to articulate for a long, long time.

I knew Jesus had died for the guilt of my sins. I knew that.

But the shame? The constant feeling of unworthiness, never measuring up, dirtiness, imperfection? He died for that? He took on that? Therein lay the disconnect between what I knew in my head and what I lived out in my heart. Therein lay the the burden. The striving. The fear.

I was ashamed. I felt so. much. shame. And I never knew it until that day.

It was a turning point. A single moment that began a process that would take another year to really understand. The battle did not end that day, but now I was awakened to it.

I'll be telling this story in a few parts. But this is where it began. This was the day I started to really, truly, at-the-heart-level grasp something about grace.



Over the past year, God has been teaching me a lot about Grace. His Grace. And how free it truly is. But it took a long journey of trying to earn it for me to really get how great Grace is.

So this is my story. But it's really His story. It's the story of the God who loves. The God who came. The God who saves. And the God who transforms.

I hope to tell this story in a series of snapshots into significant moments as God began transforming my understanding of Grace, sanctification, and our identity in Him.

Soli Deo Gloria