We Can't Forget - ISIS

I made the mistake (or was it?) of looking up things about ISIS and their persecution of our brothers and sisters in Iraq. And now that I write it…no it wasn’t a mistake. We’re told to remember those in chains as if bound with them, and now I can’t forget.

It’s one thing to read it – another to see it. Internet provides that opportunity, to see the reality of what’s happening, even as I write this.

What I saw sickens me. Literally; it turns my stomach sour. The pictures blink in my mind, snapshots of the misery and distress of Christians I can’t help. There’s a father holding the headless body of his little girl – beheaded as an example to Christians. There’s the body of a woman, lying on the table, her head supported so that her blood can run freely from the cut in her neck into a large, stainless steel bowl on the floor. There are children, being carried and placed in a group around a flat-faced stone while a man with a large gun stands by.

The father has an expression of desperate questioning. Maybe he’s in shock, or wondering how people can be so cruel, wondering if he could have prevented her cruel death, why she was killed, and not him.

The woman – is she dead already? She must be, from the amount of blood in the bowl, or nearly so. The blood doesn’t look like I thought it would. It’s a sick, pink color. What did she endure before they killed her? How long did her pain last? Her hands are bound behind her back and she’s undressed. The men around her show no remorse, no concern, no reaction to what they’re doing. They look as if the whole thing is part of the daily routine. How can we forgive them? Yet even Jesus forgave His heartless tormentors.

The children – I can’t tell if they’re dead, but I don’t think so. Their faces show - distress, fear or pain, maybe both. Whose children are they? Are the men carrying them their fathers, forced to carry them there? Are they heartless killers, gathering the lambs to the slaughter, so to speak – and do they think of their own children and feel even a shred, just an inkling of regret?

The children look tired. They look like they’ve given up. No, they aren’t dead; they seem to support themselves, though they lean on each other as if they’ve given up and have no strength, physical or emotional. I want to gather them in my arms and hold them and comfort them. I want to soothe their fears away.

But I can’t. I can’t hold them, I can’t stroke their hair, and can’t rock them into calmness. I can’t protect them. I can’t take their hands and give them even just one smile. They’re so helpless, so innocent – so scared.

They must wonder where their parents are, unless they watched them being killed. They’re only 3, 5, maybe 8 years old. Do they understand why this is happening? Do they know that Mommy and Daddy are gone because they loved Jesus, and, if so, does that make them think that Jesus is bad for letting this happen – or that the men are bad for hurting people who follow Jesus?

I don’t know. I don’t know the individual stories. I don’t know what to do. Will donating help? Is going to actually make a difference to buy a t-shirt which says “I support Christians hurt by ISIS”, or something to that effect? I don’t know! I wish I did! What are we to do to help?

The only idea I have is fasting. What about a day of fasting? I wonder if others will catch the heart of this…am I just being too emotional? What should be our response to this?

My heart breaks for their pain. I don’t want to forget it. But I don’t want to be satisfied with knowing that I care. If I stop there, I might as well not care.

When Peter was imprisoned, the disciples spent time together in prayer, just for him. The Lord set him free in a miraculous way (Acts 12). The Lord may not immediately set our brothers and sisters free if we pray and fast for them, but we can pray down Satan’s strongholds so they can feel the comfort and peace of the Holy Spirit. So they can be strong, so that even though their bodies are being destroyed and their homes taken and their lives are being torn apart, they will know that there is hope in Christ, and that ahead of them is only hope and joy and peace, whatever troubles they endure now.

Our prayers are answered. Jesus is very much with them, whether we pray or don’t pray, but we must pray! We need to pray that they will stand strong, that they will be encouraged, that they will not deny Him, that they will be comforted, and even that they will escape.

We must stand with them. They cannot be forgotten.

What will we say when we stand before the judgment of God, and He asks us what we did for our persecuted brothers and sisters? If we’re honest, will we have to say that we cried a tear or two, and then returned to our happy worship services or tv shows, or books or our Bible studies? Can you imagine our shame and regret as we realize we did nothing to help them?

Even more compelling to me is the thought of the power of our prayers. Imagine that you are the one watching your family being torn apart – you’re running for your life, your brother was caught and forced to deny his faith and still killed when he did, your little sister is dead, and your father is about to be executed, and your mother has disappeared. The situation is far from being resolved, and the Lord is allowing you to go through this trial – but you are suddenly wrapped in a peace that overwhelms you despite your circumstances. You feel the presence of God and you know He loves you and is there with you. You know He feels your pain and hurts with you. You remember that Jesus suffered too, and that He isn’t asking more of you than He gave.

This is what our prayers can do. I don’t know how it works. I know God is with them anyway. But somehow our prayers can pull down strongholds through faith and by God’s grace, from thousands of miles away, we can comfort them. And somehow, fasting adds to the power of that.

Maybe the fast wouldn’t be giving up all food for you – maybe it would be a video games, or movies. Maybe it would be fasting from shopping, or coffee, or snacking. Right now, what I can handle is fasting in the mornings. I sometimes give up movies, but I don’t have time for movies right now anyway, so it’s not much of a fast if I do that. I can’t manage not eating at all without getting sick, so just fasting in the mornings works for me. If gives me a few solid hours of focus and some hunger pangs to remind me to pray, and it sticks with me throughout the day (as someone who relies heavily on breakfast, I remember when I don’t have it!)

You might fast for a few hours for one day or for a week. Whatever. You might not fast at all. Whatever. Just pray. Just remember our brothers and sisters in prayer. If you find an organization you trust to donate towards the cause of helping Christians in Iraq, then donate (and let me know! I haven’t found one yet) – and if you get a t-shirt out of the deal, good for you! It will at least help spread awareness and help us not to forget soon.

Let’s love them like we would love ourselves and like we would love our own families. They are our families. They need us.

Hangry Much?

The title says it all.
Unless you aren't familiar with the term/word "hangry". Hungry + Angry = Hangry. And now you understand the title.
At this point, I want to make a state a disclaimer: This blog isn't really meant for the whole world to read. It's kind of just for me to come  back to later on to see documentation of how everything is working during this two week experiment. Read on if you want, but you've been warned. There's a whole lot of raw honesty and 'me-talk' in here...
Anyways.
I hate being hungry...but only because of what it does to me. I actually enjoy the feeling of being hungry. I like having an empty stomach. But I get moody and tired and feel sick a lot of the time when I'm hungry. So I avoid it.
I didn't feel hungry today. I couldn't eat much, because suddenly everything seems to be made of milk or mold, and I think I was hungrier than I felt. I was overly tired from staying up late, too. So this morning was horrible. Absolutely rotten.
I almost snapped at a co-worker. He asked me to do something and I wanted to reason it out with him, tell him why I shouldn't be the one to do that. Instead, I responded by saying I could, but it might be the end of the day before I got to it. The response was ok, but my expression probably wasn't and my heart definitely wasn't.
I wasn't being loving; I was being selfish, worried about everything I had to do. It wasn't his fault I was busy. He had no idea what I had on my plate. And he probably had plenty on his own plate.
That's just an example of what my attitude was today. I struggled. I was grumpy and felt sick, but I didn't realize how sick I felt til my mom called.
She's been sick, and has bronchitis, and had texted to tell me she pulled a muscle in her back and was in a lot of pain. Of course I was worried about her, too. I answered when she called (they're really great and let us do that at work), but she didn't answer when I said hello. I only heard a lot of mumbling and painful moaning.
My mind started trying to figure out what was going on and jumped right to 'heart attack!' as I tried to get her to respond intelligibly. There was no answer, and then the call ended. I walked out of the office and called my dad, shakily asking him to go check on mom.
"Something's wrong! Just go see!"
"She's fine. All you can do is pray for her..."
That was not what I wanted to hear. Not when he was in the trailer (they're camping) and so was she and I could pray for her and know he'd checked on her.
"I need you to see her."
He finally went and checked on her, and explained that a friend was trying to massage away some of the pain, which was why she was whimpering (massages hurt her, but she still needed it), and she had accidentally called me.
I hung up from that call and felt like my strength was just about gone. I actually fell against the wall and slipped to the floor and began sobbing just outside the office door.
So much for wanting exciting or dramatic things to happen. No, I'll take boring over this any day.
So today in two words - sick and stressed. Blahhhhhhhh...
Well, there was more. I texted my Mom's friend, who is also my friend, and asked her to pray, and she called me and talked with me during my break and prayed with me. That made a big difference in my day.
As for the food, I tried to make do with what I could.  Here's what I ate (don't judge, I had very limited options to work with, and limited quantities of those options):
Breakfast:
1/2 small serving of pork (It was wrapped in bacon, but I had to pull that off, because bacon might be smoked, which encourages mold. Whp'd'a thunk it.)
1/4 Avacado
1/2 Sweet Potato
Almond Milk
Snack:
1 Apple
Carrots
Lunch:
Lettuce
Tomato
1/4 Avacado
1/2 serving pork
Snack:
1/2 Sweet Potato
Dinner:
1 Serving Pork (yes, pork is all I have here at the house right now. Not my normal fare.)
1/2 Sweet Potato
A bit of raw Coconut oil on my Sweet Potato
Then I went to church. Then I marched myself to the grocery store and bought myself some Almond Butter. Protein!!!
I came home and cooked some rice. Then I had a snack:
1 Plum
A bunch of rice
Almond Butter (mixed in rice)
Yes, I do eat large night-time snacks.
That was day one of being milk and mold free. My goal tomorrow is to avoid sugar drops and nausea and general yucky feelings (thanks to Almond Butter).
And, Mom is home. My dad and sisters will keep living it up in the camper, and Mom came home to rest, which is exactly what she needs. She has a quiet house, some medicine, and a bunch of prayers going up for her. She is so loving and giving, and I'm so thankful she was able to set everything else aside and let others care for themselves and just go rest.

Allergies. Wait...What?

I've never been that person with the allergies. I grew up hearing other people say things about their allergies. "Oh my runny nose...it's my allergies." "I have a headache...it's allergies."

Oh my. Everyone and their problems. They're so exotic. They have something going on in their life. They aren't <em>normal</em>.

And I was so normal. So boringly, desperately normal.

It went far beyond the allergies thing.

My friends had glasses. <em>I always wanted those.</em> My friends got leg cramps. <em>What did those even feel like? </em>My friends had hurts and pains in their life, people they missed, things that made them sad. <em>What was it like to have all that happen, and to be able to feel something about it all? </em>

Does any of that sounds messed up? Imagine how messed up it <em>felt</em>.

I've heard that people who experience trauma tend to try to re-create trauma in their life afterward. It's like their brains don't know how to function without it. I definitely experienced trauma as a kid, and it left me somewhat emotionally dead. I think I was partly searching for something to feel emotions about, and partly unknowingly trying to create some trauma in my life. I'm not an expert, so I can't say for sure, but it seems to make sense. I had gone from an unsafe, scary, traumatic situation, to a safe, loving environment - which eventually translated to me as boring.

Yes, I was also bored with life. I wanted something to happen.

(Don't let my past tense writing fool you - I'd still love for something exciting to happen. But I'm a little more wary of that excitement now. I just don't have time for that. Ain't nobody...)

So, the past few years, stuff has happened. To me. And my health. Well, there's some excitement.

But not really.

To be perfectly honest (disgustingly honest), yes, I feed on things happening. So I didn't mind, from that aspect, at least, when I started getting sick. My twisted childhood dream was coming true! (Oh, help me escape my own craziness. Puh-leeez.)

Because I didn't mind having to deal with my issues, I didn't really deal with them perfectly. I spent years worrying that I was just 'making it up' or that I was a hypochondriac. Hypochondria was even implied to me by people in my life. Ouch.

At that point, being sick wasn't fun anymore. I will never forget the day that I sat across the table from someone I love and respect, and was basically asked if maybe I was making to big of a deal out of it all. Oh my goodness, was I? I knew how messed up I can be, feeding off of hardship, looking for things to happen...Was I just convincing myself that I had a problem and I was really absolutely normal?

It was both confusing and painful. It hurt to know that even people close to me, who watched everything happen, could think I was maybe just two steps away from being a drama queen.

I've spent a year adjusting how I eat, trying gluten free, dairy free, etc. Desperately trying to feel better. But I was still going through cycles of exhaustion, pain, moods out of control, mixed with times of feeling almost well.

I'd been diagnosed with Acid Reflux, Hypothryoid, and Hypoglycemia already. Never took the acid reflux thing seriously, though. The others I took seriously. Pop a pill every day for the thyroid, and the hypoglycemia...well, on bad days I have to eat every hour and a half. On good days I can go a few hours without eating and be fine.  That one runs in our family, so I come by it honestly.

I finally went and got tested for the gluten thing, though. I was curious about peanuts and milk, too.

So I laid on a table and they poked me with 99 toothpicks.

"Sorry I'm so jumpy."

The nurse didn't take that. "You're doing better than most people."

I felt and itching within minutes. The nurse came back in. "Dust mites."

What? Me, a dust allergy? I'm here to check for a gluten sensitivity! I have stomach trouble, not breathing trouble! This must be a hoax. So the doctor comes in and gives me twenty shots on my arms  just below the surface of the skin.

"Just a few minutes."

And then...

"Huge reaction to dust....Dust can affect your gut."

HUH. Learn something new every day. Or you're lying to me. My sister told me no, they aren't making it up. It's probably legit. (And now, 9 hours later, I can still pick out that spot on my back that was the "dust mite prick" - it's not happy; my medically trained friend would say it's yelling at me.)

So he gives ways to help with eliminating dust.

Then he tells me to go two weeks without eating any dairy. Ok, that's reasonable. But then...Mold. Don't eat mold. Ooook. Done.

No...don't eat mushrooms, cantaloupe, cheese, apple cider vinegar (but I need that stuff! It's a miracle worker for my stomach), and a host of other stuff...even sausage.

Oh my word. it's a good thing I like salad. And apples. I can't even eat strawberries or blueberries. Oh, my life, my life...Is gone.

NO ICE CREAM!!! My life is completely gone.

Ok, in all seriousness, I am actually excited. Not because of my old twisted "I want something to be wrong with me, too!" I'm excited because I wasn't crazy. There was something going on. There is, and there may be ways to stop it so I can get better and be "that person with something wrong" anymore. We could figure this out, and it can be over.

He's checking for celiac/gluten problems, too, but I won't know the results of that for a couple days.

So for tonight, I'm saying goodbye to my favorite comfort food - ice cream. So yummy. So comforting. So out of my life for two weeks. I'm ready for this challenge!

If Your Soul is Weary

   I’ve been thinking…I’ve been thinking I’m tired and I feel worn out. Life and its questions get us down. I’m noticing that feeling of being weary to the core, as if my soul is pleading for rest.

And it is. For all I’ve learned in the past couple years about trusting, God is showing me more areas I can and should trust Him more. Not that He’s condemning me for not trusting Him – but His desire for me and for all of us is rest. “Come to me, you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” My heart and mind are restless with decisions and carrying the weight of everyday responsibilities; He offers rest in it all.

   I finally realized that I don’t need to “relax” and I don’t need down time. I need real rest. Soul rest. His rest.

   I was thinking about this in the car (sometimes drives to and from work are the quietest, best times I have for contemplation and prayer) this week, and part of Hebrews 12:3 slipped into my thoughts. “Lest you become weary and discouraged in your souls.” That’s when I realized I was tired in my soul. I thought about the beginning of the verse: “For consider Him who endured such hostility from sinners against Himself…” Consider Him. He endured. Consider His endurance. He has walked the weary road before us. Consider this, lest you become weary and discouraged in the deepest part of you, in your soul.

   I know I’m not the only weary one. I know there are many weary souls out there. Many people close to me are weary, many people close to you are weary. Maybe you are weary. We get tired, and for me, sometimes the most tiring part of it all is trying to rest, trying to force myself to trust.

   I feel like I’m not good enough when I’m struggling to trust. That’s a hard problem – what do you do when you find in God’s Word that He will help those who trust in Him and you just don’t have much faith? When it feels like you’re trying to lift a boulder, straining with all your might in your heart, trying to squeeze out an ounce of faith, and you’re not succeeding, you may find yourself at a loss. What good am I if I can’t even trust? Why can’t I overcome this anxiety or give my burden to the Lord? He tells us to cast our anxieties on Him, because He cares for us. If we know He loves us and not only gives us permission, but invites, even commands, us to give Him our anxieties, why is it so hard to do it, and then leave the cares with Him?

   I don’t have a great answer for that right now. I could say we just don’t want to let go of fear or worries, but it feels more like they won’t let go of us. What I do know is this: on my own I can’t trust.

   I’ve been reading Ephesians lately. I even quoted it when sharing some of my testimony in church. But as I laid here tonight listening to a song, praying and hoping for trust, needing to rest, I thought of it, and was corrected by it. Ephesians 2:8 says “For by grace you are saved through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God.”

  Faith. Not of yourselves. The gift of God. Faith is not something we create or decide to have. It is a gift from God.

   I’m asking Him for that gift. Like the blind man, I’m asking Jesus, “Lord, help my unbelief.” It’s one of the simplest, most humbling prayers one can pray because it shows that he isn’t trusting the One who cares more for us than we can ever comprehend. It shows our sin in our restless hearts which refuse to rest in Him. It is also a prayer that causes rejoicing in heaven, because it’s the prayer of a prodigal, returning home to the heart that welcomes him into safety with a warm embrace. It’s an honest prayer. It’s a raw, revealing prayer, allowing all that weariness to be clearly seen. And what is clearly seen is no longer hidden and cannot hold us prisoner to our own secrets.

   If you are weary, tired, worn - come with me, boldly approaching the throne of grace, finding help in our troubles, in our exceptional worries and our everyday burdens. Let's ask Him to hold us up when we can't stand, guide us when we can't see, and give us hope when we only find despair. Let's ask Him for faith. And let's prepare to be amazed, because He “is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think.”