This past week, I had to revisit an old topic.  I had a good friend in college who ended his life a few years ago.  When I have thought of him since, my heart would drop like it was falling down an elevator shaft, and I want to say, "Why did you have to leave us?  Why didn't you stick around longer to see how much you were loved by everyone?"  And I have felt guilt.  I could've should've done more to make it apparent that there were people in this world who cared for him.

And the thing is that I am guilty.  Of selfishness and disobedience.  He came to us and shared with us things that were troubling him.  We meant to spend more time with him.  But we didn't.

How do you free yourself of condemnation when your transgression has an irrevocable impact on another's life?  In most situations, I've been able to rectify the situation somehow -- apologize and make amends.  But in this case, I cannot.

How does 1 John 1:9 apply to me?  In this world, when one person does something horrible to another person, the victim naturally wants to think of the worse form of punishment and stick it to them.  Similarly, if you are the one who wronged someone else, you want to punish yourself by depriving yourself of all good things.  The sad truth is that as much as you try to punish yourself or someone else, it never seems enough.  The reason is that the damage has been done.  If you've run over someone's dog or cheated on a loved one, you can't resurrect their dog or blot out the fact that you cheated.  That's why it must be "a life for a life".  And it can't be just any life.  No, the substitution of a messed-up, corrupt life who has damaged others is not good enough to make amends.  Because how would another sinner actually be able blot out the damage that's been done?  It doesn't undo what's been done.  It must, must be the perfect, innocent life of the eternal God.  He alone will make it enough.

Jesus' sacrifice is sufficient to cover this trespass and blot out the transgression.  Because he never wronged anyone and he took on my punishment for this specific wrong, an exchange has taken place.  His perfect record for my blemished record.  I get his righteousness. 

It doesn't seem fair!  But Jesus paid it all.  He made the payment with the worse form of punishment.  And it is good enough.

Sunday's sermon at Coast was about freedom from condemnation.  In Christ, we are free from condemnation and that freedom is available now.  God is holding back the waters at the Red Sea so that I can walk into that freedom.  I just need to put one foot in front of the other and walk through.  And. receive. that. freedom.

"Stuck"

In my grief, I often saw myself at the bottom of a pit, all alone, stuck, and wanting to get above ground. 

My greatest breakthrough came when I realized that Jesus wasn't standing above the pit, waiting for me to climb out, so that I can resume being a part of life.  He was down in the pit with me.  He was with me in my pain.

"Standing in the Pain"

Sometimes the pain can be so fierce, though, I have often chosen to distance myself from my pain.  I put all my pain in a room, close the door, and walk away.  The reality, though, is that even as I walk away, I can never really be free from it -- not unless I press into the pain with Jesus.  A wound will not heal with a bandage stuck on it unless the wound has been cleansed.  Cleansing requires exposure.  And exposure takes courage.

As the one who grieves, this seems impossible.

But there is a door.  There is a room.
You don't want to go in.  There is too much pain. 
But Jesus is there.  He's already there. 
He will stand in the pain with you.

It really takes courage to walk into that room, but it helps me to remember that Jesus is already in there with arms outstretched to embrace me.  And even better.  He will take my hand and walk with me into that room where the pain has been hidden.

"A Good Friend"

Being a good friend means being the one who will take the other hand of the one grieving and help them to walk into that room and stand with them in their pain.  I have come to realize that, in that standing, I have to face my own pain.  I have to ask, How would I feel if I was experiencing this?  What would really comfort me now?  That reflection will lead me to remember my own pain again.  And in that remembering, I become the best friend I possibly can be.  But this is nothing near easy.  To be honest, I don't want to face that pain again.  I'd rather pray for someone from a distance than engage so deeply with my heart.  But without engaging, without pressing into my own pain, I know I won't be the only one who will miss out on what God is doing.

"Remembering"
Sometimes, part of grieving is simply remembering.  I remember you, my dear brother.  I remember how we used to run into each other across campus -- Library Walk, Price Center, "Peterson Hill" -- and stand and talk about life and God and how far along we were on our TMS verses.  When I pulled out my old verse card holder the other day, I remembered you and our conversations. 

"Cycling"
Remembering always leads me back through DABA.  No one ever told me that grieving goes through cycles.  I thought you just go through the Denial, Anger, Bargaining and end up at Acceptance, and then you move on with your life.  I didn't realize that after acceptance, you may end up at denial all over again.  And you keep cycling through DABA as you journey along the path around the mountain of grief, going higher and higher.  I may experience denial again but I'm at a higher vantage point from the last time.  There is hope!

In remembering, I always find myself asking the "why" questions.  Eventually, I end up back at acceptance.  Acceptance and faith -- faith that though I don't understand, though I will never get all my whys answered -- faith that I believe in a God who is good and loving -- yes, absolutely good and absolutely loving, though I do not understand.

So many thoughts whirring in my mind and pressing on my heart...

At church last night, I was touched by P. Jamie's sermon.  The question posed in the end was about fear.  Is there fear holding me back from serving the Lord?  The answer was a resounding yes.  Fear of failure, fear of faithlessness, fear of burnout.  These seem to be the chains that continue to hold me down -- no, strangle me -- all of which stem from wounds that just need desperately to be healed.  These are old wounds that keep splitting open again just when I think I've been restored to full health again. 

The fear of drowning in the ministry of soul care and not being able to persevere with faithfulness is all mixed up with another deep wound that also seems to be immune to every type of balm.  In the last few years, I have lost a few loved ones to the grave's insatiable hunger, and though sorrow falls heavy with each passing, none has hit me as hard as the first.  And I wonder if anyone ever recovers fully from a loss such as this?  Can a wound such as this ever heal?  The answer for the whys only responds to my mind but never quite reaches my heart.  And the question that continues to hang over me is whether I will ever have the capacity to love again as I did before that loss.   

The theme song these days truly has been, "Chains be broken, lives be healed, eyes be opened, Christ is revealed ...please BE revealed."

My grandma passed away last week.  We had a wake/funeral for her on Wednesday and Thursday. 

Both services were led by Buddhist monks.  They chanted sutras for a long time; everyone in the family had to bow down and light incense to buddha and to grandma.  "Everyone" included all my aunts and uncles and cousins.  Now the question for those of us who profess Jesus as Lord (viz.: Sam, my sister and me), do we bow or not?  Do we kneel or not?

The stakes were high.  If we refused to participate, it would be interpreted as complete dishonor and disrespect of my grandma.  Everybody would know it.  Everyone would be offended.  But if we did participate, it would be interpreted as acknowledgment of buddha - that we believe these sutras and acts of worship to buddha would mean something or do something.  In our hearts, we know buddha does not exist.  If our hearts do not bow down or worship, does it really count as worship to buddha?

In the moment, we were pressed without a choice, it seemed, to participate.  But I could not bow, and I did not bow.  Out of respect for my family, though, I did kneel.  I stayed far in the back and off to the side.  I didn't feel great about kneeling, but it was the best thing I could do in that situation to pay my respects to grandma and to not disrupt the funeral service.

After the burial on Thursday when we thought everything was over, we were informed that these rituals for grandma were to be continued for the next 7 Sundays at the temple.  We were "required" to attend the first and seventh of these temple visits.  I was surprised and sent into turmoil.  What do we do now?  As Sam and I wrestled over it for hours and hours, we came to the conclusion that we just couldn't do it. 

The act of bowing down has special significance to me.  It didn't have any meaning at all until after I became a Christian.  Bowing down, then, became an all-out act of worship.  I bow and prostrate myself before God to say, "Here I am, Lord, all of me -- offered up to you.  You alone are God.  You are the one true God and there is no other besides you."  The Bible tells us not to bow down or worship anyone or anything but God alone.  So to me, physically bowing to anyone else is attached to the spirit and the heart of worship; it just can't be separated.

So with some fear and trembling but armed with God's courage (funny how you can have both at the same time), we shared our conviction with my parents on Sunday morning.  Dad was understanding; Mom was offended.  But what could we do?  After that, we left the house and went to church to worship the one true God -- instead of going to a temple.  It was the right decision.  A hard one, but the right one.  I know a stake has been nailed into the ground.  May God be glorified as a result of it.

What would you have done?  Would you bow?  Would you kneel?

If you've ever been in this situation, please share your story with me.

In response to a comment to my entry "Unresolved Disappointments"

Commenter wrote:  "mary ann - i've been dwelling on the same thing and have wondered how
to "get over this," esp. during lent.  anyway, if you have more
thoughts on this, please share!!!"  --llai

Hi llai, I don't know really, but I think the only way to 'get over this' is to press into it --
actively, pro-actively, unrelentingly -- to consciously choose over and
over again to pursue God and to pursue the unresolved things that are painful --
to ask, "Lord, please show me the things in my life that are keeping me
from you" and to wait for an answer, and once you hear the answer, to
press into the pain of it and to ask God's perspective in it so that
all the "Why, God!!"s are answered, so that He can bind up your wounds
and you can move forward in faith and trust in Him (which you are able to
do because He has given you His perspective in those matters).

Tonight I am up because I realized that there is a tear in my PJ
bottoms.  I've worn it so many times that it's worn down to a nice
hole.  These pants are actually a pair of Adidas active-wear pants --
Navy blue -- from my friend Julie.  She had thrown them in the dryer
one too many times and they had shrunken and gotten to be too small for
her, so she had given them to me.  I've worn them ever since because
they are so comfortable -- and after she passed away, they have been a
nice reminder to me of her.  But when I realized there was a tear in my
pants, I started thinking that maybe I would have to replace them
soon... and realizing that I didn't want to replace them, because then what will
I have to remind me of her? And then I thought of how silly she would
think me to keep a pair of worn Adidas pants to remind me of her.  And
then I started wondering if I could ask her family for something else
of hers so that I could remember her by and thought how awkward and
difficult that would be.  And I started thinking how much I really
missed her... and began to wonder if I have ever gotten over the fact
that God took her away so suddenly because suddenly my heart aches so
much and my stomach feels like it's been punched and a headache has
come out of nowhere.  And then I wonder if I am angry with God?  And if
not, then have I chosen to hold all my friends at arm's length so as
not to feel this kind of loss again?  And I wonder if I keep God at a
distance in the same way.  And these thoughts cause me to run to Him
with my arms outstretched and my heart in my hands... Lord,
I know only you know what to do with this ache and only you can bind my
wounds.  I don't know why you took her.  It's not fair, Lord.  Didn't
you give her so many wonderful dreams?  There were so many things you
could've used her for.  And then I realize that He had already
used her for so many wonderful things, and by His sovereign scope of things, she
was done.  Her work here was done.... and so He took her away from this
world of trouble and pain -- and that was His gift to
her!  And I am now standing there in front of His throne realizing that I
will never understand Him -- never, never, never -- understand or grasp
Him fully.  He is God.  His ways are just and right.  And I am just
me.  But I am just me -- closer to Him now because I am daring to press into the pain to gain His perspective so that I can walk with Him again...

Driving through the county the other night, I thought about my friend Daniel who passed away a few weeks ago.  And then I thought about my uncle who passed away a few months ago.  And then I thought about my best friend Julie who passed away a few years ago.  There's just something so strange about knowing - just knowing - that this someone you remember talking to just so recently is no longer walking around on this earth.  You're still walking around, breathing, thinking, feeling and doing all these normal life things -- and they are not. 

During the crazyness of the fire last week, I noticed that everyone had a different response to the emergency situation.  Some people hang on for as long as possible, waiting til the very last moment when they have to evacuate. And some people run for their lives even when they were not called on to evacuate.  My mom told me that my cousin's friend's dad decided to stay with his home in Ramona to save their house. They couldn't get fire insurance after having already lost their home to a fire years ago, and so he felt that he had to save his house.  Sadly, so sadly, he was unable to save his home -- or himself.  He perished with his house. 

When we heard about the raging fires early Monday morning, I immediately started packing.  Funny, what we ended up packing was mostly the basic necessities:  food and clothes.  I didn't pack any of my books, our guitars (whoops on that one), TV, stereo or anything like that.  None of those things seemed very important.  I didn't really care if our house burned down -- just that we were all alive, that's all.

Times like this remind me why we've chosen not to invest in expensive things.  Because when it really comes down to it, those things don't matter at all.  It's the living, breathing, thinking and feeling that's priceless -- and beyond that, the eternal living in the presence of the Almighty.  We really have it all, don't we, and this "all" is not contingent upon anything in the world.

I got one of those phone calls again this past week.  Another friend from my college days.  Another one whom I have known for years and grown up spiritually with in so many ways has passed on from this life into eternity.  Shock and sadness and anger and pain and a dull ache has cycled all through me.  It's hard to imagine that he is gone.  Actually, I knew him in high school too.  But it wasn't until we were in college and learning what it means to follow Jesus that I really came to know him well.  I think we ran into each other just about every other day on campus - on the Library Walk, in front of Warren Lecture Hall, in the Price Center, in the 'basement' of the library - and we'd always get into these deep conversations about what God was teaching us and showing us and what verses we were memorizing.   We walked through the whole confusing journey of college and 'ministry' and 'fellowship' and 'living proof' trying to figure out what all it was about and how to do it well.  He really was the brother I never had.  Daniel Ow was such a faithful brother.  He was caring, dependable, reliable, someone we could always count on and trust to offer a listening ear.  He was always so encouraging -- really, just by his mere presence.  And now he's in Another's Presence.  Where he can rest from all the wrestling, where he can at last find the peace he was searching for, and the love which will fill to overflowing.  Even so, even so, I keep asking the question, why, why, why -- there are so many reasons why! -- but none of them seem sufficient really to answer the dull ache that gnaws at my heart.

I hate it when people die.
It makes me so sick to my stomach.
I want to throw up.
My head throbs.
I feel like I'm suffocating.
The world is half-spinning.
I can hardly breathe sometimes.
Feel so tired from emotions, I just want to sleep.
Sleeping means forgetting briefly
but then I wake up again, and the realization
is like finding out about it all over again for the first time.
And the questions keep surfacing
Why, why, why?

i had a dream last nite that julie came to me, and we just stood side
by side talking to each other as if no time had passed.  it felt so real.  i
woke up this morning remembering the dream and then remembering that
julie passed away exactly 'last nite' two years ago.  i hadn't even remembered that until that moment...

was flung into that sorrow and grief all over again as i read the tribute i wrote to her at her memorial service as well as this impassioned letter and many others.  i guess you just never forget.  driving to work this morning, i kept thinking how the world is just not the same without her in it.  i wish she was still here.

i couldn't help but thinking too that God is so gracious to me.  he still lets me talk to her in my dreams... reminding me that she's more alive now than ever, and one day, we will see each other again face-to-face.  i can't even imagine.  but a lifetime seems too long to wait before i get to laugh with her again.

Sometimes grief just grips you so badly.  Feels like a rush of wind with the weight of the world behind it.  Feels like an Amtrak barreling down the track at unstoppable speed.  Feels like bricks falling on my lungs.  And rivers running from my eyes.