arise, o church. a response and a call for the hearts of our youth.

i’ve thought about it, too, now that you mention it.

not so much now, but i did.

back when healing felt like hot coals inside my gut, and the sunlight singed my parchment-thin heart.

back when there was that one time when my medicines, they just stopped working.

“Put me in the hospital,” i begged my counselor.

but i stayed home.

stayed a mess.

stayed alive.

eventually, the fine titration of years of therapy and therapists helped, combined with medicines as essential to the care and feeding of my brain as insulin is to a brittle diabetic.

i remember the strangling weight of depression and anxiety, curling around my inmost being, whispering–no screaming–inside my head that all the world, my family, my friends would be better without me.

but here i am.

alive.

*****

they, on the other hand, are not.

*****

two Matthews–their very names meaning “gift of God”– in two weeks. 

gone by their own hands.

the strangling weight of grief chokes two sets of families, two communities of friends.

one is in the national spotlight.

one happened in a nearby community.

and the whole world groans for answers.

of which there are none.

except, perhaps, one.

one answer, and though it is not nor ever will be enough, it is this:

arise, o church.

arise.

arise and take note of the vicious tearing of the veil separating the seen from the unseen.

take note of the evil powers and principalities punching through and groping for our youth, a precious, toe-headed generation of believers who will be (and are, even now) called upon to raise swords–the weight of which the world has never known–to fight for their lives and their faith.

two Matthews are gone from this earth, but make no mistake: their deaths are NOT a score for the grave.

indeed, the victory is Christ’s, Who overcame it.

Who can overcome even yours.

i painted this picture (below) when i was in one of the darkest times of my life. when cords entwined. when death crouched on the corner of my bed at night and counted my breaths as i gasped through living and imagined nightmares. when i stood too near to the gaping window, soothing currents of death caressing me, taunting me, singing in minor key over my deflated soul.

but then, He reached down and took hold.

He reached down and took hold of those boys, too, you know.

why i live to tell about it, and not them, i do not know.

but i do know this: for those of us lucky enough to have been drawn out of deep waters and have breath yet to speak of it, it is time for us to arise.

time for us to raise banners for hope.

time for us to shed our shame and shameful notions of mental health and

admit

that though we scramble to look perfect, life hurts.

admit

that for many of us, the grave never ceases to beckon, no matter how many worship songs we sing, no matter how many Bible studies we accomplish, no matter how many times we go back and forth between the baptizing waters of redemption.

we who live must admit this.

and testify.

that our brokenness is NOT for a lack of faith.

brokenness is the Siamese twin of this earthly life.

and still . . .

. . . still, He reaches down.

because we are meant to live.

*****

arise, o church.

*****

call upon angel armies to bind up the hearts of our youth, whose lives are under an all-out siege.

call upon angel battalions to seal the tears in the unseen veil.

to protect this next generation.

to have mercy upon them.

that they may live.

*****

most of all, we pray, o Lord, please cover the hearts of these hurting families with Your unfailing and healing love. seal the mouths of those who would hurt them in the midst of their unbearable pain. protect them and hold them close. and assure them of the truths of Romans 8:35-39.

*****

amen.

*****

*****

I’m absolutely convinced that nothing—nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable—absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us.

Romans 8:38-39 TMV

*****

Do you or someone you love struggle with thoughts of suicide?

Seek help today.

Do not be ashamed.

And most of all, do not delay.

From silence to slava bogu! More miracles in Ukraine!

“This is why He sent you,” my husband texted me.

And as soon as I saw those words from him, I knew that they were true.

If you read my earlier posts, you know I was fearful and even unsure about why God so clearly sent me to Ukraine. I was more-than-funded in four days, after all.

But aside from the pure joy of holding Little Peter’s hands in mine (see me and Peter, below), and the fact that I could no longer find a good excuse to say no to the persistent asks of the trip leader, I really didn’t have a clue why God sent me.

*****

*****

Then Thursday afternoon came, and as I considered my husband’s text and looked into the faces of the Ukrainian counselors, I knew.

“Tell them,” my Abba whispered.

“Tell them they and the girls they counsel are not alone.

“Tell them what man meant for harm, God meant for good, even now, and for the saving of many lives.” 

Genesis 50:20 echoed in my head.

What is now being done.

The saving of many lives.

“Tell them,” Abba urged me again.

The Mission to Ukraine (MTU) staff said not to hold back, that in their country, horrific stories are commonplace. They could handle whatever I had to say. And so, after a few minutes of introducing myself, I tossed aside the eleven pages of prepared outline I’d written, a stack of paper which was my feeble attempt to hide what I was sure would be ill-prepared and severely lacking qualifications on my part.

Then I told them everything . . . everything that happened to me, including things shared only with my therapist and husband.

I told them though I may look whole, I am deeply broken.

That though God has delivered me from much, I have scars, indeed a thorn or two of after-effects which linger in my side.

I told them that I am one of every three women in America.

And I told them how God wins.

The shattering of chains was audible, as then they told me everything.

They told me the incidence of sexual abuse there is much greater.

That “maniacs,” as they call them, linger near school yards and in the crowded spaces of public transportation and in the blackened doorways and hallways of the apartment buildings to grope and steal and rape.

“One of my clients, her father raped her. And now her mother hates her, because she thinks the daughter did something to encourage him,” one woman said.

“One of my clients, a young man who was drunk when he came to see me, told me he was gang raped in a room with other teenagers. I did not know how to help him. Tell me,” another implored, “how could I have helped him?”

Still another said, “If you’re saying abuse does not always have to be full-on intercourse to be abuse, then practically all of us have been abused!”

I told them the subject is still very taboo in America.

They said it is even more taboo there.

The more we exchanged stories and facts, and the more the darkness fled and light spilled into the golden-painted room. I could not share enough of my story and the stories of other survivors fast enough. Tears streaming down their faces could not fall far enough. Our arms, wrapped in tight embraces more than two hours later could not hold tight long enough.

*****

*****

To be sure, great is the work yet to be done.

But last Thursday, a giant was slain for many.

As promised in Genesis 50:20, now, good is being done.

Now, miraculous restoration is happening.

Now . . .

. . . even now . . .

. . . lives are being saved.

We all read Isaiah 61 outloud and in three languages–English, Russian and Ukraine.

We sang “How Great Thou Art” in three languages, too, the music erasing the barriers of the tongue and uniting the wings of spirits set free from chains of silence and empowered by the healing power of Jesus Christ.

We stood in awe, witnesses to a rare instance when the veil between the seen and the unseen is lifted.

Slava bogu means “Praise the Lord!” in Russian.

Slava bogu.

Slava bogu.

Slava bogu.

*****

*****

Be a part of breaking chains in Ukraine.

Be a part of MTU.