Stolen purses and new promises.

A few days ago, my purse was stolen. Having your purse stolen is an incredibly big deal whenever your parents, and your best friends, and your cousins, and everyone you would usually go to for help, are all in a different country.

Sunday, in an incredibly unlucky stroke of events, I borrowed Chris’ wallet and stuffed it into my purse, along with my phone, a few of Jubilee’s bows, and a wad of our only cash, before I slung it over the back of my chair.

The moment I realized my purse was gone I had this strange desire to just be OK with it. Like yea, this doesn’t get to me. Like, whatever, Jesus loves me and life is good. But it hurt. My cheeks flushed. My eyes stung.

I stood on the sidewalk keeping tears back because of the strange rush of emotion I felt. Because someone from this city that I love/hate stole something from me. I literally had to fight the desire to pretend like everything was OK.

So instead, I strapped Jubilee into her seat and climbed into the van and cried. We drove for a few miles in silence, me with tears falling down my cheeks, him with his jaw set and his hands tight on the wheel. Just letting ourselves feel.

…

Feelings need to be felt. We’ve been through a lot of junk since we decided to step out and obey God’s tug on our hearts to start a ministry. We’ve been through so much that I don’t know how to put into words yet. My go-to response is to make it all OK. It’s to say that Jesus is on the throne so I’m OK. But the truth is that Jesus is on the throne and sometimes I’m a wreck. 

I’ve been a wreck since the first time I went out into the streets on outreach night and what I found was a group of transvestite prostitutes. 

I’ve been a wreck since that one said that she believed in Jesus but asked me if there was a place for her in the church.

I’ve been a wreck since the night I knew that there wasn’t. 

I’ve been a wreck since the “projects” that we use to raise money in missions became my closest friends and more like family to me. 

I’ve been a wreck since I offended myself by the way I started to write their names out in my newsletter and then erased it and slammed the screen of my laptop shut. 

I’ve been a wreck since I saw how much abuse goes on in the church in Peru and how terribly women are treated here. 

I’ve been a wreck since the night I realized that sometimes you have to live through something to understand it. 

I’ve been a wreck since the moment I realized that somehow I didn’t fit back into my old life. That living in another country meant that even though I didn’t fully fit in here, I didn’t fully fit in back home either. 

My way of thinking is changing. These days, I think that what Jesus wants from me is to just be the wreck and find grace in the middle of it. To dig deep and to find the words and go through the process and dig through the mess instead of just trying to bounce back and be okay before I ever let myself feel.

Sunday, I started feeling at home in this city again. At home because we went to a new Church after looking for one for so many months and really loved it. At home because we felt hope again. At home because we went to a familiar restaurant and had lunch with old friends and new friends.

Sunday, I started feeling out of place again. Out of place because I’m American. Out of place because I let my guard down again because I’m not used to always guarding my stuff all the time. Out of place because last time I was home I forgot my backpack in a restaurant and a guy ran out and gave it back to me instead of stealing it. Out of place because I miss small-town south Georgia.

…

I’m always one extreme or the other. I either want to throw myself fully into something or not do it at all. I basically live by this quote my A.W. Tozier.

“I either want the presence of God himself or I don’t want anything to do at all with religion… I want all that God has or I don’t want any.”

The extremist in me feels cluttered and wants to rip everything off of the walls. She wants to walk out of the doors of an abusive church and never step foot back inside any church forever. She wants to shout at the people who post about gay marriage and are so cruel but have never had to sit face to face with someone who only wants to know if they could ever have a place in the church. She wants to drag you onto the street in Peru where the young girls who used to be boys are sold to men and ask you how you would respond to their questions.

They are the ones that have wrecked me. There is part of me that just wants to give a generic answer without ever really searching it out. Part of me wants to just say that Jesus is in control and he loves everyone and be done with it. Because that excuses me from having to have my own answers. It gives me a way out.

I want to say everything is OK and blink back the tears in my eyes. But I know that right now what the world really needs is for us to let the tears spill over and consume us. What the world needs is for us to be honest. What the world needs is for us to let our hearts break. In a time when it is easier to hate that to feel. When it is easier to use religion to hurt people than it is to love. When we can post whatever we want on social media but never have to sit down and look into the face of another person who is hurting and use our own voices to say the words.

People are so messy. Life is messy. Church and religion and theology. All Messy.

We are all searching for answers.

But I, for one, am done with the easy answers. Jesus came into the world and completely wrecked all of the religious leaders and their easy answers. He turned their world upside down.

I want to make some promises. And maybe, after reading this, you want to make some promises too.

I promise not to hold back the tears when they need to fall. 

I promise not to despise the homeless until I have served at a homeless shelter, befriended a homeless person and learned their story. I promise to tell their story so that others may understand. 

I promise not to despise someone of another sexual orientation until I have befriended someone of that orientation, looked into their eyes, and heard their story. I promise to love them, because they are children of God. I promise not to tell them that I love them “even though” they are gay. 

I promise not to despise illegal immigrants until I have walked through the slums of their country, seen the means in which they have lived, and understood what it feels like to work all day long and still not have enough money to feed my family. 

I promise not to despise someone of another race, or write them off before I have felt what discrimination feels like first hand. Until I have felt the shame burn in my cheeks for being judged because of the color of my skin. Until I have lived as the minority. 

I promise not to despise and walk away from the Church even when it is messy. I promise to try my best to understand that I am the Church. We are the Church. And change starts right here. 

I think that what the world needs isn’t more shared articles on Facebook. It isn’t more hatred. It’s compassion. It’s understanding. It’s taking someones hand and saying “Hey, I don’t know the answer but I will walk it out with you and we can find the answer together.” It’s crying with them and sharing stories. It’s looking into their eyes and knowing that we are all children of God.

I don’t want to offer anyone a cheap answer. I want to offer real. I want to offer truth. I want to offer Jesus.

Because I think we all just want to be found. And we are all looking around, wounded, hearts bleeding, wondering if anyone cares enough to reach down into the wreckage and find us.