The unlovely

(I'm borrowing the title of this post from one of my dear grown-up-and-married friends.)


Long digression for the next paragraph.

The last couple weeks have been full of final-meetings (read: long conversations, over a meal or a cup of tea) with cell group folks. J's been on my case about being too social lately... spending time I don't have? but I do have time. I have twenty-four hours a day to spend, just like everyone else, and school's not too too strenuous if I'm careful about how and when I do my work. And this stage of life, the freedom of being in college and it being okay to stay up late into the wee hours of the morning, is coming to a close oh so quickly. Or maybe J's concerned that I have trouble saying no to people. And the purpose of saying no is what? To know that the Lord God is my God and he is good and sovereign no matter what I do or do not do, that he does his work in people through me (and in spite of me). But then... Do I do seek out people because I'm afraid that if I don't step up in this way there will be people left alone and uncared for? Do I doubt God's provision and goodness? Am I stealing room for other younger people to step up? On the other hand, when no one steps up to say -- look here, this is not okay, let's get up and work together on this -- things are left undone. And people fall through the cracks. And I know, I know, yes, that God's got us all held securely in his hands and his power to save and redeem and call people to himself is his power alone, not at all mine. Maybe I am focusing too much on the external things-to-do than the internet heart transformation, the reason for action, the gospel. But where then is my place as his daughter, called for good works he planned in advance for me to do? Where is the balance in knowing where and when and how to act? Confused. Time slips away and doesn't come back. Wisdom and discernment. Psalm 1.

Last week Z and I got together with one of our cell group members to catch up on life. We talked a long while about loving other people, especially those in our cell group, since in the last year we've been blessed by the addition of five new members. We talked about whether they are naturally "friend" material or not -- are they like me? do they like the things I do? am I comfortable talking with them? Yes, praise the Lord, he does place people in our lives who are super easy to get along with and in no time at all we are wonderfully close friends. But he also very intentionally places people in our lives who are vastly different in the way they look, think, speak, act, dress from us.

And his command to us regarding these people? To love. Just as he first loved us. To care about how they think and feel, to ask how they (and their friends and family) are doing, to know how they grew up and what their background is, to wonder what their dreams and aspirations are, and ultimately to remind them of Christ and the transforming power of the gospel. It's not natural to ask these things. And it's not natural to want to care about other people. But I don't think it's okay to shutter yourself off because it's unnatural and hard. It's not okay to let "love your neighbors" stay a theoretical command. Every day, will I care? will I ask? will I love? Make a choice. Follow through.

I have trouble loving, still, those  who should be closest to me. Parents, siblings, J. They can be just so frustrating! H asked me yesterday whether I despised my father. Goodness, I hope not. I certainly don't want to. But I can feel a lot of the disdain and bitterness my mom holds towards him roiling in my heart, too. Why can't he act like a grown man? Why can't he ask questions, act like he cares, be involved, start conversations, take action? Why does he wait?! Why is he so afraid? Time passes him by, and he doesn't move. I know he cares. He cares in his heart, and he says so with his mouth, but the action does not come, or it comes so slowly that it's too late and the opportunity is over by the time he's ready.

I feel like such a fraud when I talk with my mom about him. Because I defend him to her, though a lot of the time I feel as she does. I tell her to celebrate small victories, to open up ways for him to be more involved in family life at home. And my speaking is futile because she's given up on him and doesn't even care. Actually, I believe she does care a whole lot about him, but she won't let herself say so for fear of being hurt again, because if she really didn't care she wouldn't even bother telling me all the things that frustrate her about him. I don't know why I try talking her around. She's not in a state that's ready or willing to listen. But I don't want to give him up as lost. I don't want to give her up as lost, either. I worry about the state of their hearts with regard to each other and to God. Only he can change them.

Oh God, my family needs your healing. We need you so badly, every single one of us -- my parents, my siblings, and me. You say that you've died for our sins once for all. It is finished. Sin is conquered. Death has no sting. Don't let them have victory over us. Help us to love you and to love one another, in the big things and in the little daily things in between. Bring restoration to our relationships. Help us to work with one another for your glory, as we witness your grace and power renewing our hearts and minds. You haven't given up on us; so how can we say we're too far gone to be saved? There is no depth so deep that you cannot rescue us. We are the unlovely whom you have transformed to be yours -- holy, beloved, beautiful. Come, Lord Jesus. Do your work.