Gains and Losses

Once there was a girl who prayed a prayer that altered my perspective in such a significant way that I’ve never forgotten it.

She was a girl who had walked through the experience of being pregnant with a baby and choosing to give that baby a home that was better than what she could offer. . . . a heartwrenching decision, a decision that is never left behind, but fingers its way forever into the present as the years go by and the birthdays pass.

I can’t pretend to understand the reality of that experience. I can’t wrap my mind around making a decision that heavy with consequences. But she had and she spoke to God out of that reality when she prayed the prayer. She said one night, ever so simply, “God, I know how hard it was for me to give my baby to someone else, even when I was convinced that it was a good home and that she would be loved and treated well. How hard it must have been for you to give up your Son, knowing full well what they would do to Him.”

I felt stunned. I felt sad. I felt the weight, or rather, a shadow of a shadow of the weight that must have fallen on the ever vulnerable, ever tender, never hardened heart of the Father God as He released his Son into the world of men.

Thousands of mothers have chosen for their babies what was closer to perfection than they could offer—have chosen the better over the worse. They've done so because they believed that the gain was greater than the loss.

God chose to send His Son out of perfection into the fallen. Away from the better into the worse. He also believed that the gain was greater than the loss.

And all He had to gain was you and me.

I Remember

This post is inspired by DJ, who reminded me how important it is to remember and encouraged me to write it down.

I remember that You called my name at that Randy Matthews concert on July 7, 1983. I remember how I wanted You, which is just another way of saying that You wanted me.

I remember that You spoke into my heart when my parents fought the custody battle that made me sick to my stomach. I remember the words of the Psalm that were written for me, that brought peace to a girl on her belly on blue shag carpet.

I remember Camp Wildwood in the eighth grade and learning how to praise You in a way I’d never experienced—it must be the way they praise You in heaven.

I remember scribbling “Jesus Rules” all over my folders in junior high, knowing I wasn’t cool enough for You, knowing You loved me anyway.

I remember our family falling apart. Again. I remember pleading with You for restoration. It didn’t turn out the way I thought it should, not the way I thought You thought it should. I remember crying, “Doesn’t God think we’ve had enough?”

I remember having the audacity to bargain with You: if You helped us get there on time—because we were terribly late and it was my fault—I’d have a 10-minute quiet time that night. Wow. I remember that You didn’t strike me dead. You got us there on time. Are You kidding me??

I remember going away to college and wondering if I would go to church on my own. I remember finding my brothers and sisters there and meeting You all over again. It was like we had just met, but better. I remember the giddiness of new relationship.

I remember YWAM, where I arrived as a believer and left as a disciple. I remember the bunny. You are unbelievable, You know that? Of course You do. I remember my faith being pulled deeper and wider and longer by You every day.

I remember leaving YWAM, on fire! ready to change the world for You. I remember failing and I remember You not being surprised.

I remember forgetting You. I don’t remember how You felt—only imagine it by things you say in the Bible when the Israelites played the harlot like me.

I remember having spiritual flashbacks interspersed with intentional lukewarmth. And still, You were faithful. Still, You were kind. Still, You were generous. I remember that still, You were interested in me. Still, You gently called me back again.

I remember the prayers You answered about Mike.

I remember the prayers You answered about my brother.

I remember the prayers You answered. Prayers that did not deserve Your attention. Prayers that were not consistent. Prayers lacking in faith. I remember Your favor and grace in the face of my selfishness and apathy.

I remember that You provided a safe place for me to confess all the ways that I had forgotten You—a safe place to be accountable for all that You were showing me. I remember the joy of stretching long-dormant limbs. I remember growing.

I remember digging in in Costa Rica. I remember the richness of fellowship found in the unlikeliest of places. I remember the pain of losing things that are only in our lives for a season. I remember that You did not leave me or forsake me.

I remember coming home without the feeling of coming home. I remember needing You so badly. I remember the comfort in Your promise that You were making me (no matter how slowly) more like Your Son.

I remember remembering You. I remember recognizing that You had not let anyone snatch me out of Your hand—not even myself.

I remember gratitude. . . and that, despite it all, I have a distressing tendency to forget.

Please don't let me.

Thank you, Randy Matthews

Thank you for playing that concert at the Jesus House all those 28 years ago on July 7th. You were a big headliner for us and it was super-exciting to have you there.

Thank you for singing what you sang. I don't even remember what it was, but I know that it somehow played a part in the course of events that night.

Thank you for saying what you said at the end. You said Satan wanted us to believe we had more time than we did. You counted backwards from ten. My heart was pounding like a bongo in my chest.

Thank you for pushing the issue. You surprised us all by stopping the countdown at two. I hadn't had time to stand. You made your point. I ran to my dad, in tears. He asked me why I'd wanted to stand.

Thank you for being available to the Holy Spirit. Thank you for being the catalyst that brought me to a decision to follow Jesus. I was baptized after your concert that night. I was almost 10 years old. I had no idea what I was in for. I had no idea He would never let me go, even when I thought He should.

Thank you, Randy Matthews, wherever you are. Thank you for going ahead of me on this journey and knowing that it was worth it. Thank you for being part of the most important night of my entire life. I can't wait to hang out with you in heaven.

Turns out a decision you make when you're not quite 10 years old can really stick. Turns out that even though there is a boatload of stuff about life that you don't know yet when you're 10, it doesn't really matter. All you really need to know is that you need a Savior, and that there's only One.

And Randy Matthews might say you don't have as much time to decide as you'd like to think.

Ten, nine, eight . . . .