Fire in My Bones

We sat at a booth in the coffee shop as my friend poured out her heart. She and her husband had been hosting a little boy through Safe Families for Children, a program that helped families get through some tough seasons. It was a safe place for kids to go while their parents worked through some things—maybe to undergo surgery, find housing, go into treatment, or maybe even serve a stint in jail. It gave the parents time to get things in order so that the little ones could go back to safer and more stable environments—at least, that was the idea.

A Broken Childhood, On Repeat

My friend was at her wit’s end. They had had this little boy for a long time, most of his little 3-year-old life, in fact. And the mother just couldn’t get her ducks in a row. She kept making bad choices; the little boy was being exposed to things he should never have experienced. Tears were flowing by now. She was sad and angry at this mom, who didn’t seem to care about this little boy. She didn’t deserve him! It didn’t even seem like she wanted him!

I sat with my dear friend, and my heart broke to see her heart break for this little boy. They had given so much—not just of their time and money, but of themselves. And my heart broke for the little boy. I let her talk and vent her frustrations; her love for this little boy was evident. But as she railed against the mother, my heart broke for the mother, too. By now, I had met so many of these moms who once were just like that little boy—living in unsafe and unstable environments with parents who kept making bad choices and being exposed to things they should never have experienced. They did love their children; they just didn’t know how to be good parents. No one ever showed them.

I found myself thinking about all the trauma training I had received in order to be a host family for Safe Families for Children. We couldn’t expect these kids to behave or respond “normally” because of all the trauma they had experienced in their young lives. Rather than asking, “Why did you do that?” we should ask, “What has happened to you?” Yet, we expected these parents—who have also undergone so much trauma—to “make better choices.” Not that it was okay for this little boy to be mistreated or put in unsafe situations, but could we find it in our hearts to have compassion for the mom, too—especially since we cannot know all the circumstances involved? When we saw the hurting children, this was hard.

To Say or Not To Say

I sat without speaking, just listening . . . well, listening and trying to decide if I should say anything or not. This internal wrestling happens to me often—to say or not to say. It is times like this when I can empathize with Jeremiah, the prophet. There were words within me that I knew I was supposed to share—words I knew she wouldn’t want to hear. And yet the words were like fire in my bones, so they started to come out—my appeal for this mom, my plea for compassion. We needed to love them, not hate them. We needed to try to understand, not judge. It was not what my friend wanted to hear. “Kaia, right now, I just want to be angry!” And I didn’t really blame her.

She was crying, and now I was crying, too. It was time to go, and we hugged, loving each other even amid such a hard conversation. My heart was heavy. Maybe I should have prayed more and talked less? Even if what I said was true, had it been the time to bring it up? Like I said, I wrestled with that one a lot.

A Providential Prayer Partner

The next morning, I received a text from my friend . . . a long text. After she had left the coffee shop, she went to walk on the bike trails. She just wanted to cry, to grieve the lot this little boy had drawn. She was supposed to go to a prayer service at church that evening with a friend. She really didn’t feel like going, but she had already told her friend she would go with her. So, she gathered herself together, and off she went.

At one point during the service, they broke up into small groups to pray. There were half a dozen or so in her group. As they went around the circle, sharing what had brought them there that night, they got to one woman, and what she said raised goosebumps on my friend’s neck. “I just got out of jail. I am here tonight because there were these women that would come into the jail. They came every week. They seemed so happy and full of hope. They just loved us . . . and I want what they have.”

My heart was filled by these words. Somehow, even as I had brought the truth that would reveal their sin, it had been received as love! The Lord had been working so hard on this old clanging cymbal, revealing to me that while love and acceptance are two different things, truth and love are not. I could absolutely love these women without accepting their lifestyle choices. I could speak the truth and genuinely love them at the same time. And this woman had received it in a way that brought conviction without condemnation. It had brought hope. She wanted what I had, and she had found a church that welcomed her and would continue to walk with her in truth and love.

My friend’s text went on to say that it was as if God had sent this woman to confirm what I felt compelled to share. What she really needed to hear. How would these mothers ever change if all they felt from those who professed to be Christians was frustration, anger, and judgment? How would that ever draw them into a healing relationship with the Great Physician—the only one who could bring hope and healing to them? After all, who is drawn to the sound of a clanging cymbal? She stood so convicted. She must try to love better.

She looked at the woman in the prayer circle and said, “I know those women! We have coffee every week. Would you like to join us?” And you know what? She did! She joined us in that little coffee shop in a neighborhood far from the one she had grown up in, and all of us learned how to love better. I think she was a little incredulous that she was invited to coffee with us. And, to be honest, sometimes there were awkward conversations about topics that probably weren’t often discussed in that particular coffee shop! But they were conversations we all needed. We were all growing. That woman’s testimony against the backdrop of my seemingly insensitive remarks had made God that much more real—to all three of us.

Seeing the Backside of Our Obedience

It’s funny, but I didn’t even remember that woman from the jail. I had no idea I had impacted her or her faith. I meet so many; unless they contribute a lot to the discussion or ask for prayers, I may not even learn their name. But God is so good to show us, at times, “the backside of our obedience”—as another friend puts it—giving us glimpses of the fruits of the seeds we have sown. It encourages me to press on and to fight the good fight. My husband and I would pick this woman up on Sundays and bring her to church. She lived in a little trailer house on the west side with thick blankets hung over every window—attempting to keep her old world out as she made steps toward a new one. She sat in the darkness of that little trailer, ignoring the knocks of people seeking to draw her back into the darkness, but she had more light in her life than ever! Her contact list had gone from over two hundred (mostly customers in her drug-dealing world) to eight (her mom, her children, one other godly friend, and me). She lost so many “friends” but gained the Savior she really needed. This woman and I have become good friends, and she will often comment about how crazy it was—that God would bring an ex-research scientist and an ex-drug dealer together and that they would become friends. God is good all the time.

“But if I say, ‘I will not mention his word or speak anymore

in his name,’ his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up

in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.”

Jeremiah 20:9 NIV

“There is only one Lawgiver and Judge, the one who is able to

save and destroy. But you—who are you to judge your neighbor?”

James 4:12 NIV

“By this everyone will know that you are

my disciples, if you love one another.”

John 13:35 NIV

“Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be

willing to associate with people of low position.

Do not be conceited.”

Romans 12:16 NIV