70 x 7

I pulled into the apartment complex, and felt the uneasy settling of emptiness;

I looked straight ahead, and felt my eyes begin to blur.

An old Julie Roberts country song played in my head ..

.."I'd sure hate to break down here,

nothin' up ahead or in the rearview mirror.."

Blur.

We feel so strong - until we realize our strength was just a rush of adrenalin: Only to make us realize all the more, just how weak we really are.

I parked the car and quickly grabbed my bag and the rest of what I had taken home from the church. [I felt like the walk from the car to #6 was a million miles away.]

"Oh, Lord. Just get me in that door."

It's all I could whisper.

My heart felt weakened.

I thought about being back in grade school when the counselor would post up that "faces of feelings" sign; an assortment of nearly 50 different faces all expressing a different emotion, helping you to identify which one you felt closest to.

I often wondered what it would be like to actually have to sit and share those things with someone; I wasn't up for facing my current ...'face.'

Yet I knew, the importance of speaking the truth is nothing less than imperative; especially when it hurts. In fact, it's life or death.

There's an enemy against us all that creeps around with the intension of us to keep hidden the truth within.

Cover up, cover up, cover up;

Because in covering, there can never be truth .. and the covering only grows darker.

Jesus has trampled this enemy, and chosen to covers us with His marvelous light.

So, there would be no covering this sad, weakened, human heart.

Yet ...

All I prayed was that the moment wouldn't come from this point to my front door, that I would have to uncover to anyone at all, the hurt I felt. My prayer echoed:

"Oh, Lord. Just get me to that door."

I began to walk, simultaneously fighting back tears.

I walked steadily, and...

"Phew."

I made it up the stairs.

And then, I heard it.

A little voice bellowing something fierce.

It was one of those screams that stops you dead in your tracks. Agony from nothing but deep, deep hurt.

"GET BACK HERE"

She screamed, and sobbed. Her voice echoed through the air.

Chills ran up and down my spine; I stood without moving.

I knew it was Layla, yet my heart couldn't believe her little 5 year old voice could sound so violent and shaky.

I saw her big sister ride quickly past just below on her scooter, with a small grin on her face.

It felt out of character to want to keep walking - but I did.

To want to walk into my apartment, shut the door behind me, and pull the covers up and over my head.

What I wanted came and went.

I yelled down to Jaime:

"Jaime... Is that your sister screaming like that?"

Jaime looked up at me - the grin wiped completely off of her face.

"But Miss Mia! Layla told me she wanted to poke my eyes out!"

I began to make my way down the stairs, as screams and bellows still echoed down the apartment corridor.

The screams were frightening.

I made my way to Jaime, and tears began to well in her eyes.

"Why is your sister crying like this?"

"I don't know! But she said she was going to poke my eyes out!"

"Jaime, you have no idea, why your sister is screaming like this? None at all?"

"No!" And the crying really started.

Oh, the fickle, covering, human heart.

"Well, let's go find out. Leave your scooter, come with me."

We grabbed hands and began walking towards Layla, her head up against the concrete wall - just about paralyzed by whatever had most literally overtaken her.

My heart flashed to the truth of what was going on in their lives - knowing that no matter what kind of pain her big sister may have just caused her - it most likely stemmed greatly from the pain of having a mother addicted, and gone. I remembered them telling me their sadness at dinnertime, because everyone eats alone.

I bent down next to Layla and she continued to scream.

"NO!!"

...."I HATE HER."

She looked at her sister, as she tilted her head downwards and glared through squinted eyes. Her tension drove her body stiff, and that same tension was cutting my heart something awful. She felt like she hated her sister, and I felt like I hated it even more.

We all need truth poured into our little hearts; I knew right now they had little.

My heart remembered : Seventy times seven times.

Yes, this was how much we should forgive our brother.

"Layla." I tried to pull her chin up with my fingers.

"Look at me Layla."

Her little head was stronger than my grasp.

She pulled her chin down, and I was unable to move it.

"Ok girls," I said.

"Up to my apartment we go. I can't let one more second go by without you two coming to an agreement.

Jaime followed suit, and began riding towards my apartment, Layla - no budging.

She was holding on tightly. I knew how she felt.

I knew how hard it would be for her to forgive her sister - I didn't even know what the specifics were, but I didn't need to. It was written all over her bellowing voice and stiffened body.

"Layla, you must come with me. Give me your hand, you cannot stay here."

"No." She stated. She huffed and cried, and looked at her sister with a face of vengeance.

"I'm so sorry you're hurting Layla.

Look at Miss Mia - I KNOW what you feel. Trust me."

She wasn't having it.

And then, it was too late.

Tears welled in my own eyes seeing this baby filled with such ugliness.

I bent down again when she refused to walk forward with me, and she saw the tears in my eyes.

"Please Layla, it hurts my heart to see you like this. I don't want to have to walk you to your grandma, so let's get through this together. Let's go."

After moments of reluctancy I called for Jaime to come grab her sisters scooter, and Layla began to walk forward.

[Again, #6 felt no nearer than a million miles away.]

We all walked together back up the stairs, 2 little girls both enveloped in sadness.

Well, make that 3.

We got to the door, and I read the words as I do each time I walk in and out: "Praise the Lord. Let your light shine before men .."

"Layla, you sit here."

I pointed to the head chair at the table, and directed Jaime to the other.

The "faces of feelings" poster popped into my head once more as I placed my fist to my cheek and said quietly:

"Girls, what happened today?"

Layla still sat stiff, physically unable to move her head as a result of what was happening within her.

I then asked Jaime to tell me how she was feeling, she replied -

"I feel sad."

Why do you feel sad?

Because I hurt my baby sister.

I looked at Layla who still sat with her face down.

Layla, how are you feeling?

- - - - - -

Layla, I know you don't want to talk, but you need to talk.

Nothing.

We can't get up from this table until you both understand a little bit more about what it means to forgive and move forward.

I proceeded to ask Layla if she heard what her sister said about hurting her feelings.

- - - - - -

"Jaime, is there anything else you would like to say to Layla?"

"I'm sorry, Layla."

"What are you sorry for Jaime?

"Layla, I'm sorry for leaving you and riding away so that you couldn't catch up, and thinking it was funny."

Ah.

Truth.

Layla said nothing.

A tear rolled down Jaime's cheek.

I began to explain what hurt looks like inside of us when we don't talk about it, and refuse to let it go. I got a cup of clean water and asked the girls if they would drink it. Layla still had her head to her chest, but Jaime shook her head "yes."

I then asked if they would drink it if I decided to pour some dirt and mud into it.

As expected, a response was given on both ends with 2 little headshakes - from left to right.

No, they wouldn't.

I explained that when we won't forgive, our Spirit is thirsty, but we keep feeding it muddy water. Putting yucky stuff where beautiful stuff was meant to be.

As time went on I told these girls something familar that my mom had once passed along. I remember her telling my sister and I that someday we would feel the importance of our relationship to one another. She said that no one will understand our family the way our siblings do. She also went on to talk about someday my dad and her no longer being on this earth, and how it would be each other who would understand that loss the most.

Granted, we don’t know what tomorrow brings, and I know my mom didn’t either; all I know now is that she wanted so deeply for my sister and I to love each other.

That was all.

I then think about my dad’s recent words of strength, and the ache of a parent:

“Mia, you are strong.

And I’m going to tell you something else-

I just can’t take it when your heart breaks.”

"God is our Good Father, girls - He longs for you make peace."

My heart felt pierced by this day, and as Layla continued in silence I felt it even deeper. Her complete inability to even lift her head became hard to believe. Yet, I understood.

I told them it was time to go back down to their grandma.

With heavy hearts and hanging heads we took the scooters and walked in silence down the stairs. As we neared their door I stopped, knelt, and asked Layla if she was OK. She walked over to me, grasped her little hands around my neck, and dug her little face into my neck. Jaime looked over and I waved for her to join us; she came over and threw her hands around us both. I could hear little tears streaming from Layla’s eyes as both of their heads rested behind my shoulders.

The tension in her body was finally at ease.

And then, I heard it.

And this time- I heard something very different.

With both girls hugging me, and facing one another behind my back I heard Layla’s little voice:

“I forgive you.”

My heart skipped.

Jaime quickly pulled her head up from behind and exclaimed with utter joy “Miss Mia! Layla just said she forgives me!!”

Layla peaked her head around and was ear to ear - with the biggest grin I had ever seen.

Freedom.

“Layla, is there anything else you want to say to your big sister?”

She smiled and looked down.

“Do you guys want to hug me again?”

And as if the words couldn’t come fast enough they both clasped their arms around me once more, with their heads behind my shoulders.

“Will you forgive me?”

Layla asked her sister.

“I forgive you.”

:)

They let go - and immediately came back around and embraced each other in a hug.

And didn’t let go.

Freedom.

It is for freedom that Christ set us free.

When we picture captivity we sometimes picture bars and chains; I see a 5 year old girl screaming words of hate to her only sister, her body constricted for hours with anger.

When we picture freedom, maybe it's a scene of high waving arms and flags;

I see 2 little girls hugging, literally embracing forgiveness.

And suddenly, the injustice I had felt; the weight of sadness that laid heavy upon me, had lifted.

..and I considered the ravens.

...Then Jesus said to his disciples: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?

Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?..."

In the times you want to pull the covers high, and put the walls sturdy in their place, just remember - He has such greater for you, than this.

And so, forgive.

let go.

be free.

Again,

and again,

and again.

*names have been changed :)

Sing a New Song.

I was encouraged to post this, because.. well -

God is really really big; and I hope today, you not only know this - but I hope that you b e l i e v e it.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Oh sweet Lord, if I don’t get this out to all of you I am just going to burst. I’m here at work, contemplating leaving for the day, considering my current inability to hold back tears. I began to write a letter, sharing how broken my heart feels – and that for the first time I really understood when David wrote how his heart was "faint within himself."

These are the only words that keep coming to me. I pulled up Psalm 143 and printed it out; I just began to meditate on this amazing heart cry of David’s to the Lord. It brought moments of comfort. I started to write and write. I was writing about how in our humanness we run from the feelings of sadness and rejection; longing never to feel that empty weight. I wrote about my desire to face these emotions head-on, reminded of how Christ went before us, taking the cross for the joy set before him. Not to turn to fleshly comfort, but to the only Comforter of my soul. I felt broken as I wrote.

And then the phone rang.

It was a man who was staying in Rm 152. I knew something had been different with this room, he checked in after Audit nearing 3am, and had a woman calling for him a couple times in the morning. He had called down earlier to say he wanted to stay tonight as well. And then this phone call .. he was very drunk. He was slurring his speech something bad, trying as best as he could to ask me who had been calling for him. (These are obviously not the norm for phone calls). I told him I wasn’t exactly sure, and he lingered on the phone for a minute- and then I felt it. I was broken ... but this man - he was really broken.

..So I began to ask him about his heart, and he tried to joke it off in drunkenness. I told him he sounded very hurt. I began talking about the things of God and I started to hear a shift in his tone growing more serious.

I told him he needed to live with a sober mind if he wanted to live. He literally just started to sob, and sob, and sob. He began to confess his heart – when I would talk about Jesus and our need for true peace he would say “I know.”; but then he would literally scream as though in pain. He just kept crying saying he couldn't take his life anymore, he just wanted to die. He then kept saying he had hurt too many people.

He told me he

was

a hitman.

Killing men was his profession.

I’ve never heard anyone wrestle with demons the way I heard this man..

He began to have a conversation with someone, but I would soon come to find, there was no one in the room with him. He was calling this “someone” his “homeboy”, and was cursing at him from the core of his being. He was so angry with this “person,” blaming them. He told him to “GET OUT” and began SCREAMING, literally screaming. My heart grew sad within me because you could hear so much hurtand pain in his voice. I sat on the phone, and I just listened. I knew now that God had in some way prepared my heart for this just minutes before he called as I pondered the depth of heartbreak and Psalm 143. Yet, I still couldn’t believe this was happening like this. He continued to have a conversation with this demon. Literally conversing. He came back to the line and just continued to cry. I knew with the way he was screaming and crying out that it wouldn't be long before there would have to be some kind of intervention on our end at the hotel. I called someone to cover the front, and as I walked toward his room, right as I was about to knock he opened the door. He tried wiping the tears away quickly, and thought I was there to clean the room. I told him I was the person he had been on the phone with. He now let the tears fall openly, and just wept and wept. He was a very big man, native looking. He stood in the hallway towering over me and just sobbed.

He then began to say he was going through a divorce and his heart was so hurt. He talked about his kids and his wife, how much he wanted to love them, and I asked if that was who was calling – he said yes. All I felt I could tell him was to love. I told him how much God loved him and wanted him. When I said that he started to cry out that he didn’t know how!

...And then he began pulling at his shirt and looking up saying he couldn’t get rid of the anger in him. He was so wrestling with himself and with his anger. His arms would raise and you could see how badly he wanted to hurt, or kill, something. I felt as though I was now watching someone go through the heartache I had moments earlierbeen reading from the Psalms. He started to scream again, but then he cried out to the Lord just saying “God help me! I hate this life, I hate this life, I don't want to be a gangster anymore.." I just stood there with him and asked Jesus to help him. I’m crying as I write this.

He asked God to take his anger and his pain, and he just cried and pulled at his shirt.

He then moved over to the corner of one of the hallways by our fitness center and got on his knees and cried out to Jesus.. Seriously, just right there in the hallway.

I felt bad to hope that none of my team members would come down this hall and see us, but I knew there would be no stopping what was happening. He then began to say “Can God forgive me? I’m a hitman, a mobster, I’ve killed so many people.”

:(

- My heart just raced ; GOD HELP THIS MAN. -

I just got on my knees with him and told him God COULD forgive him but he HAD to turn this ALL over to Him.

He got on his face and just prayed.

He really prayed!

It was one of the most raw sounding heart-filled prayers I have ever heard. Over and over he asked Jesus to forgive Him! He began thanking God, and said "God make me born again, make me born again" .. I felt like I was dreaming - but I just kept asking Jesus to save him. John 3:3 rang in my ears. I read him Psalm 143 (because I had it already printed out and took it with me to the room, God is good.) He just kept asking for prayer. He started to get up and he looked SO much lighter, like a weight had been lifted. He then started to curse his mobster friends, saying "f them" "I'm done with it, no more no more no more." You could hear his violent anger toward them. I told him he would have to love them too, that it wasn't their fault - and then he got down on his knees AND PRAYED FOR THEM BY NAME as he wept!!

I walked him back to his room and when I opened the door he looked at the bottle of Maker's Mark on the table and said..

"that is my demon." Knowing if I hesitated for even a moment, I wouldn't say it: So, I quickly told him to give it to me. He walked over to the desk, and in my hands it was.

... I poured it out in the hallway bathroom toilet.

I was able to meet and speak to his wife when she came in. She told me a lot - it was a disheartening situation, but clearly God given. What do I do now with the fact that he said he was a hitman. He ended up leaving with the wife so no one else was really involved (except when management found that he was smoking in the room, and he broke a coffee mug, so we had to charge him an extra $250. My boss walked by and said "there was Psalm on his counter..." I didn't say anything.)

I had to share this. The power of testimony is great, and so is prayer. I'm so praying that he really did become born again. I gave his wife my number, maybe someday we will get an awesome report. Please pray for him with me. His name is Mark. The powers of darkness haunt this man, as they do with us all.

May the Light of Christ power over all, and put a new song in his mouth.

Needless to say,

in the middle of our broken hearts-

God is with us.

"He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the LORD." Psalm40:3

May Grace Abound.

"I could give you a million reasons to justify my case, but the truth is

... I just need your mercy."

... as I penned these words I fully realized their weight. I would leave this courthouse with a $200 debt .. or a $2000 one. I handed the slip of paper to the clerk at the window and waited for my name to be called.

Guilt has a quick dawning, and I knew that a busy schedule was no excuse to not pay a ticket on time. In the most logical of ways, I knew that mercy was the only way out; and I was in no control of the granter.

As I stepped into the little courtroom, I sat beside others who stared blankly ahead.

I closed my eyes for just a moment ... and suddenly I was .. well..

still in this little courtroom.

BUT .. in the moments of my eyes being closed I shuttered deeply inside. I pondered what it would look like if this were the day I faced the Author of my Life. In a few minutes I would simply face a man or a woman who probably looked a whole lot like me. They probably at some point in their life procrastinated paying off a ticket. If not that, then maybe they struggled with lying, or stealing, or treating their husband/wife with disrespect.

As I opened my eyes, all I knew was that this wasn't going to be a perfect person. I was still ever anxious as to how their sentencing would affect my life.

And yet, I stared again at that judgement seat. What if this was the Author of my Life? Eternity?

I pictured this being it - Judgement Day.

My eyes closed again and I was overwhelmed with this one word

.. M e r c y.

If I thought I needed mercy with an unpaid ticket, how much more with an unpaid life? I hadn't paid the fine for my debt. Who could stand before a perfectly Holy God, and say

"This is why I deserve Heaven.."

Heaven demands perfection, or else it'd be hellish.

Backstabbing, gossiping, hurt.

No one perfect.

Not one.

Every sinful thought. Every hateful word. Every bad decision.

No way. Not one.

And even to those whose lives were seemingly clean..

I knew it wasn't enough to live a "good" life - to give God the list of events and charities I donated to, or how many times I prayed or went to church. I knew, this would only be more foolish. I could only give what had first been given to me.

Nothing was really mine, anyway.

It would be like me standing before this judge, and telling her it would all be OK - I didn't pay my ticket, BUT... I DID serve food at a shelter to those in need this Christmas.

She might say that was nice, and it is; But we all know that the debt simply hadn't been paid.

Granted, it holds true that I may be able to get off paying that ticket with a fine of community service hours, or something of the sort. However, if it was anything besides the full payment of the ticket as appointed by the law - then it would require some degree of

m e r c y.

God said don't lie

We lie.

God said don't take what isn't yours

We take.

God said the hate in our heart is like murder.

We kill.

We deserve the wrath of God, and yet:

"You were bought at a price." (1Cor6:20)

Jesus.

We hear it again and again - our debt has been paid, our slate wiped cleaned. I admit that this truth resonnates deeper some days than others. Yet, as I sat in this courtroom realizing the weight of truth, I also found the weight of Grace. That it wouldn't cost me a thing - but Him, e v e r y t h i n g.

I was pardoned the added $1800. That felt - good. I waited in line to pay the $200, and somehow now, this seemed like nothing at all.

Grace.

I looked behind me in line and caught eyes with a man of Spanish decent. He stood with his papers in hand, his little girl behind him, peeking her head from behind his legs.

"Your smiling," I said

"Does that mean your verdict was one worth smiling for?"

He smiled bigger, and went on to tell me that he only lives in Tempe for part of the year, and the rest he is up in Northern Arizona. He had been unaware for several months of a ticket he had gotten. The judge had leniency, and he was thankful.

I looked down at his beautiful little girl, who felt invisible behind her daddy's leg. She gripped his pant leg even harder when I bent down and said hello, with a small hand wave.

She hid her little grin

as she pressed her head deeper into his pants.

I stood up as my name was called to the window ..

"Dios te bendiga." I said as I walked toward the counter.

"Igualmente." He smiled.

Walking out of the courthouse I realized that I spent a lot of time worrying about the outcome of my situation instead of facing it. It dawned on me that it added no minutes, no hours, and no days to my life. God had plans far beyond what I pictured them- day in and day out.

As the thoughts poured, I heard feet racing toward me from behind. I turned quickly.

She ran to my feet, looked up at me, and g r a c e f u l l y stretched both of her arms outwards.

I was in shock.

This shy little girl, scared to leave the comfort from behind her daddy's leg, was standing in front of me, looking up - waiting for me to hug her. And not only that, but she ran. I knelt down and wrapped my arms around her as I choked back tears.

A song came to mind:

"Your grace has found me just as I am, Empty handed..

but alive in Your hands."

..and in the arms of a little girl, or in the grace of mercy;

It's his love.

<3