#madenew

I'm waving my arms from a distance, beckoning you close - I'm here because I have truth to share, and sorries to say.

If you're hurting, come towards me and sit at my table, you'll be welcomed and loved, passed a mug, and encouraged to share, to listen, to be known anew.

I'm sorry for the way the church has hurt you. 

Beloved, I'm sorry that it’s carried the same book as me and told you it says you're broken. I'm sorry that it’s flipped to a page, shoved it into your face, and damned you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry a thousand times. I'm sorry it’s told you that your pride is somehow sinful, that the rainbow that makes you feel at home was somehow stolen - it wasn't, God placed it in the sky to show He's forever faithful, that faithfulness includes you, it always has. It doesn’t need it back, because it was never taken. My friend, share this meal with me, let us put the world to rights.

Beloved, I'm sorry that you were told your struggles weren't holy, I'm sorry that it told you that it was some moral failing, that you hadn't prayed enough, that you haven't believed enough. I'm sorry that your tears and wounds were seen as doubts when really, you know a lot more about faith in a valley than it ever will. I'm sorry that it didn't look at Jesus on the cross in all His lament and bloodshed and pain and then look to you and see some resemblance, I'm sorry it saw you hurting and did nothing. I cannot express to you how happy I am that you're sitting across from me, still fighting, I know you might not be able to see it, but He's sitting next to you as well, and He's prouder than words can say. Thank you, for not giving up on us - I'd understand if you did.

Beloved, I'm sorry it told you your body was something to be ashamed of. I'm sorry it told you to hide away, that somehow your very being was dangerous and that every move you made in confidence was wrong, that it was in any way an invitation to violation. You and I both know God didn't create anyone for that. I'm sorry it convinced you that your only use was to be used unless you walked and talked and dressed and lived a certain way. I'm sorry that when you came to it screaming it told you it was your fault. Your being is dangerous, but not in the way it thinks. You're dangerous because you challenge the status quo, because you walk in such confidence and beauty it's so clear that you bring out the God-colours of the world. Thank you for holding my hand and making me see that a body is a holy resting place for God and that they should shine and shout and be decorated in every-which-way in order to scream that they're alive and thriving. Thank you for being here, let's be survivors together.

Beloved, I'm sorry it told you to be quiet. I’m sorry it saw your signs and your words and your desperation and it told you that's not how it works. I'm sorry it told you that God didn't like your pickets, that somehow because of the quantity of your melanin or the contents of your DNA you were less loved. I'm sorry it built statues of a white man and worshipped the stone when worship should have started on the streets with banners, arms linked. I'm sorry that it worshipped an idol instead of seeing your pain and walking alongside you. I’m sorry it neglected the footsteps of God amid your protests and chose to tell you that your petitions weren't the will of God. May I stand by you, use my privilege to amplify, I won't steal the spotlight; I'll point it at you and learn to unlearn all its spite and try my best to walk in a new light.

Beloved, I'm sorry it told you that you weren't welcome, that your struggles made you less worthy, that when God called His children chosen that you weren't on His list. I'm sorry that when you were on the floor, on the street, in the dirt it didn't stop to ask you if you needed help, that it crossed the road and left you. I'm sorry that it didn't reach out, I'm sorry that it didn't go with you to get help, that it didn't see the hope in recovery and instead decided that you weren't someone it wanted on its pews. Thank you for fighting the demons that told you addiction is where you would stay. Thank you for telling me your story and letting me see a slice of you that God has already covered in bandages but that I know is still raw, that I know may not be gone yet, but that doesn’t disqualify you. Thank you for standing up and speaking of His redemption and telling people that you are not broken, not dirty, not wrong, that you are wonderfully and complexly human and that God stood by you. You are living proof of the strength of the human condition, thank you for teaching me how to be brave.

Thank you all, the messy and the complicated and the afraid beloved children of God that are sitting around my table listening to my heartfelt apologies, but I have a few more. I'm sorry you didn’t hear it sooner, and that you may lack an apology from the majority of the people that have hurt you. I’m sorry for my part in the pain. I invite you to remember how we have been washed clean, and so I invite you to remember that the compassion of God transcends our understanding and so let me ask you to pray for the church with me, that we may remain part of this body and fight the good fight. That two or three gathered in His name may become many living out the greatest commandment.

If you're hurting, thank you for still being here, thank you for everything, thank you for being my family, thank you for being His family, thank you, a thousand times - let's be who He made us to be, let's be the change, let's do the work because we're loved, because everyone is loved, no boarders and no walls.

Your mess is a holy mess, as is mine, your message is worth hearing, let me hold your hand and go with you into a new hope characterised by reckless compassion, overwhelming love, and with a God who dines with an explosion of colourfully and divinely chaotic people, and calls them friends.

AH hi MadeNew!!!! You and me BOTH my friend, @isa-draws-stuff do you see!!!! Do you see what you’ve done!!!

I was having a conversation with a friend of mine one day and she had recently lost a family member that was very close to her. We were reminiscing about times with our loved ones that had passed when in the middle of her conversation she stopped mid sentence to ask me why I never seemed mad at God for taking my mom. All I could do at the time was smile because I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t even think in this grieving process I had actually really been mad at God for taking someone I loved so much.

For the past several months I have been looking up to the sky just to talk to my mom. I was looking up to see her, see a sign, and to just imagine what it looks like in Heaven. I don’t look beside me, in front of me, or anywhere else other than the clouds. There is not one fiber of my flesh that believes she’s anywhere other than Heaven up above, looking down on me every second of everyday.

Was I angry at God for taking her? 

I might have been angry when she first passed away, but it wasn’t because he gave her the ultimate healing and eternal rest, it was because my flesh was longing for that one more hug, that one more piece of advice, or that one last I love you. I remember asking why that night? I couldn’t make sense of how someone as young as her had to die. Someone who had touched so many peoples lives and someone who had so much to offer. I wanted to know why he needed her in Heaven more than I needed her here. 

Today I am seeing that I actually do know the answer to my “why”questions. I watched my mother for years suffer of a broken heart, broken promises, and broken dreams. I watched her reach for her friends who were busy in their own lives to understand that she really needed them. I wasn’t aware of these things then and for that I also know why. I would’ve been angry. There would have been no justifying them pushing her away for so long. There would have been no excuses for the many times she had been beaten down and left behind. 

For many years I had asked God  to bless my mom. I prayed he would heal her from all pain and sickness, to mend her broken heart, and to give her strength and peace. I had prayed that she would know how loved and valued she truly was to so many people. I wanted her to see herself as I saw her. A devoted, caring, loving, gentle, kind-hearten, light in the darkness, overcoming, powerful, and courageous woman. Sadly, she didn’t see herself as that and that is heart breaking. She considered herself a failure and she was far from that. 

I am realizing that I wasn’t angry and I can not be angry at God because he has ultimately answered my prayer. Granted, I would rather he had answered those prayers and let her stay with me, but there was nothing anyone here on this earth could do or say to her to make her feel loved. She was given life when she passed and I know that may sound crazy to you but I believe when she took that last breath in the flesh, she also took her first breath of peace. 

She was greeted by her dad that her heart had longed for for years and she ran up those steps and was finally face to face with God. She knelled down before him and was granted the gift of eternal life. She was fearless, weightless, worry-less....She was whole and she was happy that night and the nights that followed. I wish I could see her. I wish I could see the glow on her face, and the softness of her wings. I want to see her standing on those streets of gold shouting praises because she is now finally after a long time happy.

If I was angry at God for giving her joy I would be a sour fool! I can not be angry at a God that saved her. My prayers are different now however. I pray he takes her to the garden several times a day, and picks a flower for her from me. I pray he hugs her nonstop for me and is always telling her I love her. How can I be angry when all she is now is happy? I thank God for answering my prayers for her peace...... 

Although I hurt daily for her, I can say I am not angry at God....

There are things we must surrender:

The pain that once gave us identity

The people we thought we couldn’t live without

The wounds that shaped us

The version of ourselves that held on to anger, regret, and fear

I had to die to that girl — even if I loved her. She fought for herself. She wept silently. She carried burdens she wasn’t meant to bear.