Cry for the Children


We cry for the children, both big and small
The children we didn't want
The children we didn't love
And now they are gone
No more

The ones gone
No more because we didn't want them
We didn't want anyone to know
We wanted to go on with our pleasure without responsibility
So we took a pill, had a surgery

The ones gone
No more because we didn't like their gender
Or how much it would cost to keep them
So we left them by the side of the road
or at a government office

Gone...

And we cry for ourselves
We are the children that were not wanted
Almost given away
or given away twice over
We bear in our hearts the pain
The rejection

The sins of the fathers
Repeated again and again
They didn't want me
I didn't want mine

And now all that is left is to
Cry for the children 


(Yes, this one warrants a follow-up. I know...this is NOT the end, but now is a time to cry...)

I drop my stone...

Maybe that's what forgiveness is, just dropping the stone.

I've been wrestling, choosing to forgive, but then wondering if I really have. Is it forgiveness if I still remember? But I may never truly forget. It is the anger that sometimes comes with the remembering that makes me think there is work yet to be done.

And so I have spent much time before the Lord about this. Trying to learn how to forgive, figure out what exactly forgiveness is, and sometimes wondering if I am just playing games to avoid doing what I just need to do.

Forgiveness and trust are two different issues. Okay, so it makes sense that there can be forgiveness, but still a change in the relationship. 


Forgiveness means agreeing to live with the consequences, pay the price, of the wrong that has been done (you have to live with them anyways--just a matter of whether or not you are willing). Okay...so I tried to think through that...what are the consequences? Perhaps listing and mental assent would help.

But then...
I participated in an activity--a "Living Scripture" analogy. It was about the woman caught in adultery--a reading of the passage, then a more personalized interpretive reading. At the end, an activity. 

I knew this activity was coming...I had known for several weeks. I wanted to be able to say, with all integrity "neither do I condemn you".  Ah, but in my heart I do sometimes still condemn (rotten heart of mine), and want to hold onto the condemnation.  NO!! They must go free. They must be forgiven... I kept bringing this before the Lord.

On the day ... I handed the stone, and said, "Neither do I condemn you." (It is a choice to forgive. I can do this. this is my choice.) They looked at me ... not reaching out to take the stone. I asked, "Is there anyone left to condemn you?" They said, "Yes." 

But then I rephrased it, and this is where the new understanding came. "Is there anyone without sin, that can cast the first stone?" (pause) "I am not. I am not without sin, I can't condemn you." The answer to "anyone without sin?"  "Yes, One." But what did He say? He didn't condemn either.

Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.

Maybe that's all forgiveness is--dropping the stone. When the memories come, when the anger threatens to surface--remember being there in the crowd, and the One without sin looking at me and saying... and remembering...
 
No, I am not without sin, I have no stone to throw at you. I drop my stone.

Prodigal Father

Suddenly it hit him
Finally he knew
Everything he'd known before 
Had been a farce
All he'd invested
All he'd given
Believing it to be gratefully received and valued
     was gone

He had trusted the look in the eyes
Believing it to be
     Honour
     Respect
     Love
All a farce
All gone
Nothing but wind
Nothing but self-deception

And the pain that came
The anger
The hurt
How could he?
Why?

I gave you everything
I poured from my heart
Everything
     My heart
     My time
     My encouragement, 

     Years of wisdom
     I worked hard to help you learn
     In a way that you, especially you, would understand
And you ...
     You looked at me and smiled
     You nodded, urging me on
     You made me think you were listening, learning
     I was encouraged by the hope that it was making a difference
     That you were growing, and being helped
But you ...
Counted it as nothing
Threw it away
Trampled it in the ground
Poured it out while laughing in my face

What were you thinking while you looked at me and listened
Certainly not taking it in
     Now I know
I've been had
I've been taken

How do I...
How can I...
Get over the pain?
Everything I've worked for
All I've been investing in
Found to be a waste
How could I have ever been so misled
How can I ever trust again?
     or give again?

And yet he did
The hope was greater than the hurt
The love for his son
Could not be repressed
What he really wanted most of all
Was for him to come home
To turn
     And then come home
No matter the cost
No matter the foolishness
No matter the risk

Yes, son could take it all and waste it all again
But the father's love
Was just too extravagant to be able to hold back
Foolish it was
A waste

Or...
Just generous, extravagant love
That wipes away the past
Gives a fresh new start
and hope for new beginnings

The Father...
Doesn't seem to count the cost
Or...
Maybe it just doesn't matter
Any price is worth it
In the end
It will all be spent anyways
Why not spend it all on one to be loved
One who can be made new

Lament

"Without lament we have no way of being honest before God when bad things happen."

A couple of weeks ago I had a week that could best be described as "lament."  In some ways, this has been a big long season with bouts of lament, but that week I especially felt it.  I'm thankful to Erika Haub, for the above quote (and the link to the sermon from which it comes), that gave me the word ... lament. That week I was also referred to "That Dark Cloud" post by Karen Spears Zacharias (thanks to Jesus Creed's Weekly Meanderings!).  All letting me know--it is okay.  It is okay to cry.  It is okay to feel the darkness, and lament before our God.

One night that week, when the tears were coming, I found and purchased two albums that I would recommend for times of lament--Bebo Norman's Ocean and Steven Curtis Chapman's Beauty Will Rise. They contain songs of pain, searching, seeking and waiting on God through the night. There are also songs of choosing to trust and remembering He is faithful, but not in some flighty, it-will-be-okay-in-two-seconds sort of way. I just listened again to Bebo Norman's "Remember us" and "God of my Everything" ... ah...beautiful.

Now I know...

I used to think going out in a blaze of glory was the way it should happen.
I used to think I would leave this planet young.
I used to think it would be so much better to be a blazing flame for Jesus--better to burn out, then forever be only such a tiny flicker that no one ever noticed.

But now I know.
Going young and quick would have been the easiest path.
And I...
I am going to need the years...
If all I am going to present to Jesus at the end of this life
Is my transformed self
Then I am going to need a LOT of years.
I think I'll need about 50... at least!

Maybe by 90 I'll have learned...
To love
To forgive
To freely share this grace that He's lavished on me

Until then
Or, through the years till then
Lord have mercy
Christ have mercy
Please change this heart of stone
into flesh.
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