Wednesday, October 29, 2014

How to Never Forget

I read about Stephen and I cant help but think about Saviour. I always thought he would be ours, I think. And perhaps he will be; possibly always just in a vague and symbolic way. Maybe he taught us things we needed to know. Maybe our hearts are changed because we knew him (they are), and that’s what this is actually all about.
Or maybe it isn’t about us. Maybe he needed someone to actually get down in the trenches and fight for him. To refuse to see him left behind.

We did the best we could, of course. We had to think of our family, our children, our ministry. Boundaries, health, safety.

I already know what you will say. That we did fight for him. That he knows we love him, and he knows we will be here for him whenever he’s ready. That we shouldn’t chase the prodigal son; rather, wait for him to turn towards home.

And we did fight for him. Until we stopped. Because, quite honestly, it got too hard. Life and ministry and “serving” got in the way. And you know what? I might never know what I missed out on. What God might have revealed and grown in me.

I’m not saying we made the wrong decision; or even that we could have made a different one, or changed anything by doing differently. I’m simply saying we did make a decision. And I’m not always sure it was the right one.

One of our girls told us she saw him the other day. They talked, she said, until a police drove by and he ran away. I worry for him, as I drive all of the long-ways-home. But I don’t see him, and I think he must still be running. Running from the police, from us, from school, from life. Running long and hard from hurt and loss and things that wound. I think about him running from the police and worry about the consequences. I worry the police could shoot him, or perhaps a rival gang. I worry that he might end up like two of the friends he watched get killed on one of the corners he frequents.

And his friends will tattoo his name on their faces and arms, and I wonder what we will do so we never let ourselves forget.

I try to muster hope, belief in a different ending. Adam tries to remind me of my own words: But the story cannot be finished, because His kingdom has not yet come. And I know, I know somewhere deep, the truth of these words. But day in and day out in a landscape bumpy and uneven causes me to lose my footing sometimes. To wonder what difference even means, and why I am so desperate to make one.

So we just keep living and following Jesus in a stumbling sort of way. To wake one day with certainty of our calling and purpose, and to lay down that same evening with equal certainty of neither.


  1. Did you read that piece on Scary Mommy last week about the boy that she never adopted? I cried and cried. And I made a list of all of the kids that I should have helped more. And I cried some more.

  2. "and i would have stayed up with you all night had i known how to save a life." -the Fray
    right there in the tension with you-knowing that if i knew it would work, i would do it, except for when i'm too tired to 'stay up all night' and i loose my ability to care. i hate that part about me. these ones i love so-these ones where all i've got left to offer is prayer.

    hanging on to hope until i'm not and then Hope hangs on to me.


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