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When I was a little girl, my grandparents lived on a farm. Visits there were glorious fun for me and my siblings. I can remember making forts out in the grove. Under the canopy of great elm trees, we would set up a little house. With the plum thicket as the back wall, we would set up wooden crates as our cupboards. Sometimes we would even add little pieces of cloth for the cupboard doors. Large leaves made great slices of bread or pie crusts, and a little mud and crushed berries the perfect jam or filling. We would serve “tea,” inviting Grandma to join us at our little table that was actually a large stump from a felled tree. We would prepare “lunch” to take to Grandpa in the field. Little children, modeling life as they had experienced it. When she was a little girl, she was raised on the reservation. She and her siblings and cousins would play together, creating a liquor store from the cans and bottles they found in the ditch. Selections ranged from Pabst Blue Ribbon to Jack Daniels with everything in between. Little single shots, empty cans, glass bottles. One would be the cashier, the others would come to make their purchases. Little children, modeling life as they had experienced it. Waking up, I could smell the coffee wafting back to my room. Somehow, a gentle assurance that all was right with the world. My dad was always the first one up. With a family of seven, four of them girls, my dad would get up at the crack of dawn to beat the rush in our only bathroom. As I roused from sleep and stumbled out to wait my turn in the bathroom, he could always be found in his recliner . . . a mug of warm coffee in hand, Paul Harvey on the radio. All was right with the world. Waking up, she would stumble out to get ready for the day. There was no smell of coffee, rather the stench of stale cigarette smoke. There was no dad in the recliner, rather a man—who was not her father—lying naked on the couch, watching porn, hollering at her to bring him another beer. All was not right with the world. As I lay in bed at the end of the day, the peace and quiet of the still house calmed me and the gentle whir of the oscillating fan gently lulled me to sleep. I had had a snack and brushed my teeth, Mom and Dad had come to tuck me in and say goodnight. I shared a bed with my sister, and sometimes she would ask me to sing her a song and I would make up a sweet little song that I would sing quietly in the still of the night. Drifting off to sleep, we could rest easy, knowing that in the morning there would be the smell of coffee and Paul Harvey. As she and her brothers lay in bed at the end of the day, they could hear the door opening and closing. People gathering. The conversation growing louder and more raucous as the alcohol began to take its effect. They would lay in bed, betting with each other on how long it would be until the cops showed up. There was some fun competition in it . . . also a little trepidation. Sometimes, it wasn’t just a warning. Sometimes, mom would be taken away. Sometimes, child protective services would come on the heels of the cops, to come upstairs and take them away. And so, it was a bet you didn’t really want to win. They tried to get some rest, having no idea what the morning would bring. “Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.” Proverbs 22:6 NIV “All your children will be taught by the Lord, and great will be their peace.” Isaiah 54:13 NIV “Oh, that their hearts would be inclined to fear me and keep all my commands always, so that it might go well with them and their children forever!” Deuteronomy 5:29 NIV

He was only three . . . but he knew a lot. At least he thought he knew a lot! I had been having some really interesting conversations with my three-year-old grandson. They may have been better categorized as debates. He had very strong opinions. I wouldn’t know where he got that . . . I watched my three grandsons on Fridays, but this was the first Friday in a long time, since COVID had hit, that his big brothers were back in school. So, it was just Shaeden. He showed up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and, first thing, took off for the basement—where all the toys are. There was an amazing amount of noise for one small child, rising up the stairwell to our living room where we were finishing up our breakfast. Before long, he was back upstairs—but with a toy gun. “Hands up!” he says to Papa. To which Papa quickly obliged. With no hesitation, the toy gun went off in rapid fire: BANG! BANG! BANG! . . . Shaeden: Cain said that we can still shoot, even if they put their hands up. Nana: No, you can’t. If someone puts their hands up, that means you don’t shoot. Shaeden: Cain said you can. Nana: Cain was wrong. Shaeden: Cain knows things. Nana: I think Cain was mistaken. Shaeden: No, he wasn’t. Papa: Nana knows things, too. Shaeden: Well, Cain said that if they put their hands up you can still shoot. After a brief pause, while Nana regrouped . . . Nana: Do you know what it means when someone puts their hands up? That’s their way of saying, “I give up,” “I’m done fighting,” “I don’t have a gun,” “I’m not going to shoot,” “Don’t shoot.” Shaeden: Cain said you can still shoot ‘em. Pause . . . Nana: What did you have for breakfast this morning? Shaeden: (in a Western drawl) Put ‘em up, boys! Hey Winston, (our Corgi) put ‘em up, son! BANG! BANG! BANG! . . . I’m not sure who won that one . . . To celebrate the end of summer and our first day with just the two of us, we decided to run to Sioux Falls where we played at the park and hit the Pickle Barrel on our way home. He seriously would just eat the pickles, but I usually got a little meat or cheese or chips down him, too. This time, as we were eating, three police officers came in for lunch. I pointed them out, thinking he would think it was pretty neat to see them in their uniforms and all their gear. Rather, his eyes got big . . . he hugged the table . . . he crouched down a bit (you can’t get down much lower at the table, really, when you are only three!). He looked at me and very quietly, but stone-faced serious, asked “Are they going to kill us?” My heart sank a bit. The poor little man! I don’t think it occurred to him that they were there to get a sandwich and a pickle! In his mind, there was going to be a shootout. Nana: Oh, no baby! The police officers are nice. They protect us. We are the good guys. They just get the bad guys, so we can be safe. As he ever so slowly inched his way around the corner of the table, along the side, sidling up close to me in my chair . . . Shaeden: Yeah, but are they going to kill us? Nana: Oh, no honey. They won’t shoot us. Shaeden: I want to go home. Can we go home? Nana: Let’s finish our lunch and then we’ll go home. Shaeden: I want to go home. Nana: Police are nice. Do you know that Boijan, Ella’s daddy, is a police officer? He is nice . . . Shaeden: Boijan is a police officer? Nana: Yep. Shaeden: Does he have a gun? Nana: Yep. Shaeden: Does he have a black . . . (searching for the word for flak jacket, and settling for) shirt? Nana: Yep. Shaeden: Does he have a police car? (Clearly checking for all his credentials.) Nana: Yep. Shaeden: I want to go home. Nana: Have a few more bites of sandwich. Driving home . . . Shaeden: (Mumbled comments from the back seat about bad guys and squishing their guts out and blowing their heads off . . .) Nana: We don’t want to squish their guts out or blow their heads off! We should love them! Shaeden: (incredulous) Why would we love them?! Nana: Because Jesus tells us to love them. We don’t want to shoot the bad guys, maybe arrest them and take them to jail. Maybe they will learn to be good guys. Shaeden: Oh, no (he assured me). These were very, very bad guys. (Coming out more like vewy, vewy with his three-year-old battle with r’s.) We should shoot them. Nana: If we tell the bad guys about Jesus, maybe they will become good guys! Pondering this… Shaeden: Jesus lives in our hearts. Do bad guys have hearts? Nana: Yes! Bad guys have hearts. They just don’t have Jesus in their hearts yet. We need to tell them about him and then they won’t want to be bad guys anymore. After a pause . . . Shaeden: Maybe we could fly a plane up there and tell him that these guys are vewy, vewy bad guys . . . For clarification . . . Nana: Fly up to heaven and tell Jesus? Shaeden: (thoughtfully) Yeah . . . maybe . . . Nana: Jesus already knows the bad guys and he loves them. He just wishes they knew about him. In the Bible, it says that Jesus wants us to go tell the bad guys about Jesus and how much he loves them. Shaeden: I will not talk to the bad guys. I would shoot them. Nana: I go into the jail and talk to them. I love them. Shaeden: You go into the jail? With the bad guys? They could kill you. Nana: I love them. Shaeden: I will not talk to the bad guys. They are vewy, vewy bad. Pause . . . Nana: Hey look, you can almost see the water tower . . . I’m not sure who won that one either . . . A realization slowly dawned on me. He was only three. How early we indoctrinate, never even meaning to, about “bad” guys and “good" guys. Cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians…they seem such harmless, childhood games. And there is good and evil. There is a real battle. But when did we, especially as Christians, decide it was okay—even good—to teach our children that we should hate the bad guys . . . kill the bad guys. But then, we were indoctrinated, too. It’s a tough cycle to break. I hope this won’t be my last showdown with Shaeden. I hope we have many more opportunities to discuss the good guys and the bad guys. I hope that one day, Shaeden loves the “bad” guys . . . and wants to tell them about Jesus. I believe he will. “But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked.” Luke 6:35 NIV “Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse.” Romans 12:14 NIV “Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful. And pray for us, too, that God may open a door for our message, so that we may proclaim the mystery of Christ, for which I am in chains. Pray that I may proclaim it clearly, as I should. Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.” Colossians 4:2-6 NIV

When the kids were little, we rented a farmhouse on a nice little acreage where we could keep our horses and accumulate critters. While it was nearly a hundred years old, it was actually in pretty good shape. I loved the French doors between the dining room and the living room, its wide woodwork, the open staircase, and the built-ins. This had been quite a home in its day, and it still had a sense of elegance and grandeur. But it also had some cracks in the plaster, several generations of paint speckled on the crown molding, and some of the flooring may still have been from the seventies.   My son was little, but apparently this had not escaped him. My sister was in the process of building a beautiful, brand-new home, and, innocently enough, my son asked me when we would get to move into a "nice" house. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I think it went something like this: “You should be grateful! There are people living in  cardboard boxes !” I may not have handled it perfectly, but I resolved that one day I would take these kids on a mission trip to a place where they would experience what real poverty looked like. Going Therefore . . .   So, something like 10 years later, we were on our way to Jamaica. I served as the youth leader at our little country church and this was my chance. These kids would get to see what the world looked like outside our little bubble. Of course, that wasn’t my only motive, we were “going therefore”! We would take the gospel to these people who had so little. At least they would have Jesus! Nearly thirty people from our little church (with an average attendance of about 100) went along—high school kids and many of the parents, as well. We had fluorescent green shirts made up with a paraphrase of 1 John 3:18, “Not Just Words . . . Action!”   And we jumped into action. Miss Paula, as the little Jamaican orphans called her, built her mission model around that of creation week: work hard for six days and rest on the seventh. We replaced peeling wallpaper in the orphanage, the men put in a new water tank to collect rainwater, we visited people with disabilities, and we went to a home for juvenile delinquents. I must add a couple of qualifiers to the last part of that. "Home" was an abandoned sugar refinery with gaping holes in the roof (which would explain why the beds were scattered haphazardly throughout the rooms), and "juvenile delinquents" often meant boys from the streets. Boys who simply had nowhere else to go.   We helped them with schoolwork and played with little toy cars they had made from milk cartons with pop bottle lids for wheels. And our kids learned to play cricket! A stick served as a substitute for the bat and the only ball they had kept getting lost in the jungle that encroached upon their playing field. But, in that moment, kids were just kids. Light-skinned, dark-skinned . . . rich or poor . . . they were just kids playing ball. These "delinquents" that, if I am honest, I was a little afraid to bring our children around, were just kids in need of love. Just like any other kid.   With the exception of a little cricket and some dancing in the downpours that would happen every day around five o’clock, we did indeed work hard for six days. And surprisingly enough, when the day of rest came, no one wanted to rest! Even as we climbed Dunn River Falls and swam in the Glistening Waters—major tourist attractions in Jamaica—I would hear kids commenting on how they wished they could have gone back to finish the wallpaper or hold the babies one more time. It was then and there that I deemed the trip a success. These kids—well, all of us—had found joy in service—what we were designed to do. They were learning, as I had been, that so many of our "troubles" get so much smaller when we see the challenges so many others face.   Lacking What Is Needed   But perhaps the greater eye-opener for me was that most of these people already had Jesus. Indeed, they seemed to know him far better than us! You see, these people  needed  Jesus. He was  all  they had! They lived in shacks made of corrugated tin. Their fences were made of rocks, piled up, and topped with shards of broken glass embedded in cement. Their children lived in orphanages and on the streets and in abandoned sugar refineries—not because they didn’t want them . . . because they couldn’t afford to feed them. One of the neighboring towns had the highest murder rate per capita—in the world. But they had Jesus. I saw smiles and laughter and joy under circumstances I am not sure I could even bear. More joy than many of the privileged and wealthy that had everything their heart could desire over in the United States. Maybe . . . more joy than me?   For the first time, I truly realized the difference between happiness and joy. Happiness depends on our circumstances. Joy comes from Jesus. They may have been poor and hungry—in need of food for their bellies. But without realizing it, I had been poor and hungry, too—in need of food for my soul. I went intent on giving . . . I ended up receiving. I had intended to show my little, now nearly grown son what real poverty looked like. And I guess I did. But I feel the table was somehow turned. After all, what is "poverty"?     “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” Matthew 28:19–20 NIV   “Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.” 1 John 3:18 NIV   “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 5:3 NIV

John 14:21 had become somewhat of a life verse for me. You see, I always thought that keeping his commands meant: following the rules —you know, commands , like the ten commandments. Somehow, I made that into me trying to be good enough. Oh, I knew all the scriptures about how we aren’t saved by works, but rather by grace. And yet, I found myself striving . . .  for perfection. I also found myself comparing myself to others to see how I was doing, which led to being self-righteous and judgmental. I fear I more often brought the Bad  News to people.    Without realizing it, I had ascribed to "checkbox Christianity." I thought that going to church regularly, serving on committees, singing in the choir, teaching Sunday School, and serving at potlucks would surely show my love for him! And while it did, I fear I had been missing the whole point. 1 Corinthians 13 reminds us of the importance of love. Without it, even the most profound words sound like the annoying clang of a cymbal and the deepest knowledge and faith mean nothing. Matthew 23 warns of hypocrisy and scolds the religious leaders of the day. Despite their attention to the details of religious traditions and rituals, they had failed to love . . .  to show compassion and mercy. Had I fallen prey to the same misled convictions?   Now, as I follow my trail of "bread crumbs," I realize that I am  following His commands . . .  that are specifically for me  . . .  for today ! When I claim Christ as my Lord, he becomes my Master. Therefore, I need to follow his commands—for I am his servant. And in doing so, he is pleased and promises to show himself to me. And, indeed, he has! I have been blessed by this revelation. He has become more real than I had ever thought possible. And I have become consumed by the desire to share these realizations with others. I believe that is called . . .  sharing the Good  News!   “Whoever has my commands and keeps them is the one who loves me. The one who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love them and show myself to them.”   John 14:21 NIV   “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith —and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God – not by works, so that no one can boast.” Ephesians 2:8-9 NIV   “If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.” 1 Corinthians 13:1-3 NIV   “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You give a tenth of your spices—mint, dill and cumin. But you have neglected the more important matters of the law— justice, mercy and faithfulness. You should have practiced the latter, without neglecting the former.” Matthew 23:23 NIV

The wrestle was real. I have gained greater appreciation for the struggle these women have with their addictions. I can remember thinking, why don’t they just quit drinking? Why don’t they just give up drugs? I couldn’t really relate, because I had never had an addiction . . . or so I thought. I was realizing, more and more, that while my addictions may be different—perhaps even socially acceptable—they are addictions, none the less. God was opening my eyes to that same struggle in me. Why couldn’t I just leave my old self-righteous, judgmental self behind? How easily I slipped back into my own sins. The ruts are deep. The path familiar. I was realizing it takes a lot of work . . . and a lot of time. At least for some of us. So, throughout the season of Chrysalis, I found myself not only “slipping” . . . I had a full-on relapse! I had fallen off the wagon, as they say. As I stepped into the leadership role, as I had a board and donors to appease, as I began to provide for and “fix” these women . . . the old me was back in a big way. I was in control and my old sense of legalism was rearing its ugly head. The grace and unconditional love God had been working so hard to put in the place of my judgment seemed to slip away as, once again, I began to judge their behaviors. They weren’t following the rules! They didn’t do things the way I thought they should. And I’m embarrassed to admit that it didn’t only bother me for their own good—it bothered me because of how it reflected on Chrysalis . . . on me . After all, people were watching. It totally changed the relationships I had been working so hard to foster. Some became frustrated with my sudden need to control them and to “oversee” them. I remember one saying, “I don’t need another probation officer! I already have one!” What she needed was a friend . Others came to expect and rely on the things we offered, with a sense of entitlement that only served to distance their affection and feed my judgment. Obstacles . . . so many obstacles. Once again, I was so confused. Were these just hard transitions that I needed to press through? Or were they signs I was heading the wrong way? Was God shaping and redirecting? Or was the devil obstructing and diverting? I was so confused. I needed time to think. No, I needed time with God. I had to be still. I had to quit running on the hamster wheel for a minute and seek the counsel of the only One who had the right answers. My amazing husband supported me in the decision to take a weekend to just get away, a spiritual retreat of sorts. I checked into an extended stay hotel that had a little kitchenette. I wouldn’t leave for 48 hours. No TV. No phone. Just me and God. I prayed, I journaled, I listened to praise and worship music. I dug into the Word. He led me to the most interesting places . . . Listening to the Voice of God On Saturday morning, my devotional was on listening to the voice of God. Apt, considering that is just what I had come to do! However, it came with a sting of conviction. Here I was. Expecting the God of the universe to show up on my timeline. Now I had time. Now I was ready to listen. How arrogant, really . . . And yet, our amazing God did show up! Even as he may have been frustrated by my failure to listen or hear or heed before or offended by my arrogance to suggest he show up like a genie when you rub the bottle…I think he was just pleased that his child wanted to meet with Him. Needed to meet with him. I think back on my journey in prayer. How often I had done it out of a sense of obligation, of duty. How often I had muttered a rote, memorized prayer, even as I thought of other things. How often I had prattled through a list. How often I had prayed only when I needed something. How often I had done all the talking—probably not really expecting to hear anything back. But on this journey, I had come to realize that prayer is a dialogue, a conversation . I actually expected to hear from him. I looked forward to our visits. So, as we sat together on this morning, he led me to scripture after scripture . . . taking me to places in the Bible where he had spoken to his people before. In different times, in different places, under different circumstances . . . but God remains the same. He talks to his people. Maybe not through a burning bush or writing on the wall. But he still wants to speak to us. Henry Blackaby has summarized it well, I think . . . “God speaks by the Holy Spirit through the Bible, prayer, circumstances and the church to reveal himself, his purposes and his ways.” God led me to Isaiah 30 and 31, where it talks of when the Israelites were unwilling to listen to the Lord’s instruction. Going so far as to tell the prophets to quit bringing visions of what is right—they just wanted to hear what they wanted to hear . . . pleasant things. Indeed, they kept turning to Egypt, rather than God. Relying on the strength of men and horses. They needed to be reminded that “ . . . the Egyptians are men and not God; their horses are flesh and not Spirit.” But, we are also reminded that when we cry for help, he will be gracious and he will answer us. Isaiah 30:21 was a verse that seemed to leap off the page . . . and to keep coming up in different contexts: “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.” I remember thinking, “Why is the voice coming from behind? I want to be walking with God!” And then, it was like, “Duh. It was referring to when we have walked away from him.” I had strayed to the right or to the left. John 10 speaks of the Good Shepherd and his flock. His sheep will listen to his voice and follow him. They follow him because they know his voice. They will never follow a stranger—they will run away from him. What voice was I listening to . . .? And then there is the time where God speaks to the church of Laodicea, through John, in Revelation 3. It was described as neither hot nor cold . . . it was complacent! The church, personified, cries, “I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.” Again, it reminded me of the church, of many Christians, today—arrogant, self-sufficient . . . comfortable! But scripture goes on to say, they were actually “wretched, pitiful, poor, blind, and naked.” Again, I was reminded of how God had revealed my poverty. How blind I had been, for so long. How I thought I had been dressed so finely, but I had been naked. What stands out most to me to this day, however, was reading in 1 Samuel 15 about how the prophet, Samuel, had relayed God’s message to Saul that he was to annihilate the Amalekites. To leave no survivors. To “put to death men and women, children and infants, cattle and sheep, camels and donkeys.” Yet, in spite of these clear instructions, Saul decided to take their king, alive, and keep the best of the sheep and the cattle . . . and he set up a monument in his own honor . He didn’t obey God’s instructions, and he took the glory for himself. Yet, when he saw Samuel, he said, “I have carried out the Lord’s instructions!” And Samuel’s response is another part that jumped right up off the page at me . . . “What then is this bleating of sheep I hear in my ears?” Again, I felt the sting of conviction. Try as I might to have followed God’s leading, somewhere, once again, I felt as though I must have done what was right in my own eyes. I asked the Lord, “What are my “bleating sheep”? Where did I stray to the right or to the left? Where did I get it wrong?” Taking Things into My Own Hands As I thought back on the journey to develop Chrysalis, there had been these “perfect” properties—big houses, roomy shops, riding facilities . . . but none of those doors had opened. In the meantime, I had been moved out of the institutions, due to COVID. I was now walking right alongside women going through some really hard things. I was having to watch them as they were homeless, and struggling to find work, and facing challenges that were beyond my comprehension. Perhaps things had just not moved fast enough for me! Perhaps I had decided to rent houses. Perhaps I had decided how best to “help” these women. And, perhaps, I had made them somewhat of a monument . . . to me . This was beginning to sound familiar. Our impatience or impertinence can have serious consequences. I felt so convicted, so repentant. I heard a story once, about a man who spotted a butterfly as it struggled to emerge from its chrysalis. Feeling sorry for it, in its exhausting struggle, the man set about to help. Using a scissors, he carefully cut away the restraining chrysalis, and the butterfly staggered out. But something didn’t look quite right. Its abdomen was swollen and its wings were wet and furled, appearing stunted. The man waited to see when it would take its first flight, but its wings never did unfurl. They never fully developed. This butterfly was destined only to walk, never learning to fly. The man later learned that struggling to escape the chrysalis was actually a critical part of the process. Squeezing out that tiny opening would force the fluid out of its body up into the wings so that it would be ready for flight once it found freedom from the chrysalis. The struggle was part of the process. I am afraid that can be us, in ministry at times, as well. I hated to see these women struggle! I wanted to help so badly. If only I could make it easier for them . . . But then, sometimes the struggle is a critical part of the process. Preparing them to fly, once they find freedom. So, I have to be really careful to be discerning—is what I want to do helping or hurting? Empowering or enabling? I have come to learn the answer is not always the same. I pray that I can learn to really hear the Lord and follow the Holy Spirit’s leading. In forming Chrysalis, had I done what was right in my own eyes? Had this been my “bleating sheep?” Had I been stunting their wings . . .? The “Bigger Thing” There were many amazing insights in my God conversations that weekend, but I left feeling like he was correcting my course. I had slipped deep into the rut of my past “addiction,” but God was faithful to set my feet back on the right path. I felt confident that I was to do this ministry as a ministry —not a job. That I was to be a friend —not a boss, or a landlord, or a “probation officer.” That it was about relationships —not transactions. I was reminded of a conversation I had recently had. I had met with a gentleman who could potentially be a donor for the Chrysalis venture. We each shared a little of our past. I was a recovering Pharisee, the Lord having brought me down from my pedestal. He was a recovering drug addict, the Lord having lifted him up from the pit. I went on to tell him of all my dreams for Chrysalis. As I wrapped up my appeal, he appeared thoughtful. With perhaps some reservation, he began to share what was on his heart. “I feel like if you get caught up in the running of this—gesturing to the right, indicating the house, the shop, and the barn we had just been discussing . . . you will miss the bigger thing —gesturing more broadly in the air to the left, indicating the part of our conversation where we had been discussing the need to reach other “Pharisees,” people like me who didn’t know what they didn’t know. There already were housing programs. There already were job opportunities. While they did need those things—and I am so grateful to those called to provide them—what they really needed was Jesus. And Christ’s ambassadors, largely, were sitting in their pews. They needed someone to rouse the ranks. To shake God’s people out of their “comfortable” and rally the troops. In the midst of all these ponderings and musings, I felt like God was asking me to tell my story—one recovering Pharisee to another. Just as a recovering addict makes a great addiction counselor, perhaps my story would help others who struggled with my form of addiction—judgment, control . . . comfort. After all, I have long felt that our ministry comes from our misery. That which God saves us from is that which God sends us to. I could hear that persistent verse, ringing in my ears, “This is the way; walk in it.” So, it looked like the Chrysalis chapter was over almost as soon as it had begun. We had houses for about five months and the social enterprise didn’t get much beyond a few rag rugs and some grade-school quality butterfly paintings. There was $1,000 left in our account . . . just enough to pay the accountant to file our taxes, then the coffers would be empty. But it was not for naught. I had learned so much. As a parent, sometimes we let our children go ahead and try something we know isn’t what they should be doing. They simply have to figure it out for themselves. They would learn from their mistakes. The struggle is part of the process. God is a loving parent, too. He let me give it a try. After all, all things work together for good to those who love God . . . even what may look to the world like an absolute failure! So, in the end, it was not for naught. It was God’s way of saying, “This is the way; walk in it.” “The Lord came and stood there, calling as at the other times, “Samuel! Samuel!” Then Samuel said, “Speak, for your servant is listening.”” 1 Samuel 3:10 NIV “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.”” Isaiah 30:21 NIV “You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.” Revelation 3:17 NIV “When Samuel reached him, Saul said, “The Lord bless you! I have carried out the Lord’s instructions.” But Samuel said, “What then is this bleating of sheep in my ears? What is this lowing of cattle that I hear?”” 1 Samuel 15:13-14 NIV “I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.” Isaiah 42:16 NIV

The Fourth of July found us gathered, once again, at my sisters’ lake cabin. Their families shared a tiny cabin on a postage-stamp sized lot, and we made an ever-widening circle of lawn chairs as people spilled over to the lake or into the cabin. As we staked our claim, dragging over our cooler and setting up our chairs, my sister warned, “Just be careful, that is fresh sod there.” And so, there was. A patch of bright, vibrant green. Lush and rich. Still moist from the most recent of its frequent waterings. We were careful not to drag the cooler across it or have the legs of our chairs press into its yet vulnerable surface. With everything settled strategically, we didn’t give it much thought after that. Just a few days later, however, I awoke once again with a vivid image in my mind. It was that sod, but it was no longer lush and green. It was brown and shriveling, the edges curling up as the dried sod separated from the earth below. It didn’t take but a minute for me to grasp its meaning. It was like a new believer . . . it was my friend . . . She had been so on fire! She was bright and vibrant, everyone who met her could see Christ in her. Her newfound faith was simply contagious and life-long Christians and new believers alike were attracted to her. She had been newly released from jail, sheltered in a half-way house with a lot of support. And then she went out to face the world. And the world was winning. Old temptations were creeping in even as the pressures to find a job, hold a job, make rent and do life were piling on, and she was struggling to bear up under them. She lost her apartment, she lost her job. She quit going to church, she missed our scheduled visits, and it was getting harder to reach her on the phone. The light was fading. Her faith, for the moment, appeared brown and shriveled. Peeling up from the new foundation as life dragged burdens across it and trampled on it . . . and it was dying for a drink of water. Living water. It came to me like the turning on of a light bulb. Just like that vulnerable little patch of sod, until she established roots, she needed protection and lots of water—a safe place and a whole lot of Jesus! Again, I found myself thinking about the role of the church, of believers. We were maybe a little bit like the lawn around the new sod. Not quite so lush. Not quite so green. But we could take a little traffic, we could withstand a little drought, we could take on the elements—if we were firmly rooted… In the Word. In Christ, himself. I vowed to reach out to her. To try to help her figure out a safe place. To extend a cup of fresh water. Living water. And to water frequently. So she could establish roots. “The seed falling on rocky ground refers to someone who hears the word and at once receives it with joy. But since they have no root, they last only a short time. When trouble or persecution comes because of the word, they quickly fall away.” Matthew 13:20-21 NIV “…whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” John 4:14 NIV “Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.” John 7:38 NIV

I just love her! She faithfully attends the Wednesday morning Bible study, which I just recently joined but which she has attended for nearly twenty years. If I had to guess, I would say she was in her 70’s or 80’s. Smart braided hair (not sure it is her own) and dentures that slip as she shares her stories. And she always has stories to share. I admire her vulnerability and am so grateful that she is willing to share so openly, because in those stories . . . the rest of us get to see God. From the streets of Harlem in New York City where she tried every drug and every religion, she somehow made her way to the prairies of South Dakota. It was there where she finally found the real answer. Jesus. From passing drugs to passing pamphlets, sharing needles to sharing Jesus . . . she has truly been transformed! The power of God to make us into new creations was on display in our midst. Her hope and her joy were simply contagious. One day, our Bible study on Ephesians posed the question, “When have you felt that you were lost in darkness? What brought you into the light?” It was then that she shared the story of how, as she had struggled with her addiction, she had tried “geographical detoxification.” Her futile attempt to run from her haunts and her habits had led her all around the country, settling in five different states, hoping that, surely, in this new place she could make a new start. And then, dentures slipping, she made one of the most honest statements: “But everywhere I went . . . there I was!” How true it is! So often we seek to make change by changing our surroundings, our friends, our appearance—and maybe it can help . . . but true change comes from within. The hurt at the heart of our struggles isn’t left behind with a relocation, it comes right along with us. God wants to help us get to the root of those struggles. It doesn’t take a change of address . . . it takes a change of heart. “As Jesus was getting into the boat, the man who had been demon- possessed begged to go with him. Jesus did not let him, but said, "Go home to your own people and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you.” So the man went away and began to tell in the Decapolis how much Jesus had done for him. And all the people were amazed.” Mark 5:18-20 NIV “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” 2 Corinthians 5:17 NIV “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh .” Ezekiel 36:26 NIV

The doors were finally opened to return to the behavioral health center after the COVID-19 pandemic shuttered things. It was so good to be back—in person!—sharing the Good News with evidence. On this day, I was running late. It was only a half hour session on Mondays, so even running a few minutes behind would cramp my time with the adolescents. My “preparation” was a few fervent prayers, sent up as I ran from the car to the building. There was a shorter lesson that I usually tacked on to something else, but I chose to use it as a stand-alone this time since we were running short of time. I hadn’t presented this one in quite a while and I had had no time to review. So, I was harried and breathless as the kids were coming in. I was feeling very unprepared. For many months, even after the doors were reopened, masks were still required. It was challenging to speak (and breathe!) through the mask. And, even more so, it was difficult to convey the message effectively because I normally use a lot of facial expressions to help make certain points. But, as spread rates were slowing and vaccination rates were increasing, mask mandates had begun to loosen in our community. So, when I began to speak, I looked to the chaplain to see if I might remove my mask for this presentation. He nodded that it would be fine, and so I slipped the elastic from my ears and laid it to the side. To my absolute surprise, not one but two of the girls almost simultaneously said—out loud— “You are beautiful!” I was flattered and a bit flustered! While I didn’t consider myself ugly, I certainly didn’t consider myself a raving beauty either. So, their exclamations were unexpected and, frankly, unprecedented. I may have muttered an almost embarrassed quick thank you, but then I just charged into the introduction and the content of my presentation. Yet, even as my mouth was moving, my mind was pondering . . . what might have moved them to make such a comment?! Today, of all days? I proceeded to move through the evidence for how a global flood—of biblical proportions—would provide a perfect explanation for the onset of an ice age. As I have noticed before, sometimes when I am the least prepared, my presentations are the most passionate and Spirit-led. Rather than the frazzled feeling I had upon entering, I was making eye contact, driving home points, inserting things I had never planned to say. They seemed captivated, all eyes on me, answers even coming from the young man whose eyes I couldn’t see—the one who had shaggy hair, dyed blonde and black, that completely covered his eyes like an unkempt sheep dog. Another young man, front and center, seemed to be particularly engaged. Pondering. Nodding. Agreeing. Contributing. I was blessed to see a genuine a-ha moment. This was registering with him. Somewhere inside, the disconnect between his heart and his brain—his faith and his intellect—was weaving itself together and making absolute sense. Maybe for the first time. I left feeling exhilarated rather than frazzled. I had been privileged to see the Holy Spirit move in that place. Somehow, I had effortlessly flowed from the geological and meteorological evidence for an ice age to the saving grace of Jesus Christ! Helping these kids to see that they were not some cosmic accident, but created—in the image of God—on purpose and for a purpose. In looking back, I couldn’t help but wonder if those girls had seen, not my beauty but, the beauty of the One who lives in me? Could they have somehow seen his light, his grace, his love, emanating from me as I slipped that mask off . . .? One gal from the jail referred to Christians as “shiny faces.” The Bible talks about how Moses’ face shone when he came down from the mountain after being in the presence of the Lord. The Psalms talk about how we will be radiant—no more shame! There is a little children’s song that says “this little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.” While, I have to admit, I was flattered by the compliment when I thought it was actually me . . . way more flattered if it might be him! “After they prayed, the place where they were meeting was shaken. And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and spoke the word of God boldly.” Acts 4:31 NIV “So he reasoned in the synagogue with both Jews and God-fearing Greeks, as well as in the marketplace day by day with those who happened to be there.” Acts 17:17 NIV “Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.” Psalm 34:5 NIV

We had been walking together for a while, probably six years or so. We had been through a lot. Through it all, I had the great joy of watching her fall in love with God. Even if her world may not have been all that different . . . she was different. Although technically she may have been homeless again, she could now see the good in her current situation. She had been staying in a camper in a rural campground. But she had a place to sleep. They had to move every five days and there wasn’t a lot of room for her cat who just had a litter of five kittens. But they were by a stream with a little waterfall. There wasn’t any air conditioning, and the camper could heat up like a tin can. But there were beautiful, mature trees that offered that deep, rich kind of shade. The kind of cool that only God could offer on a hot summer day. While it would be easy to see all the hard in her situation, God had given her eyes to see the blessing. This time spent in the country had given her time to think. Her time in the shade had given her time to be still, with God. What we see as trials can often be the very things that get us to stop a minute and hear him a bit more clearly. I always say, God is good at giving time-outs to his willful children! As we drove together across town one day, I was blessed with the fruits of this most recent time-out. She shared a couple of really insightful comments. A bit out of the blue, she says, “You know, I think God was trying to get my attention for a while before I really started to hear him.” Before thinking much, I tossed out there, “Ya think?! God is always there, saying, ‘Hello . . . it’s me, God . . . over here!’” Waving my hands like I was trying to get someone’s attention. She laughed and said, “I know, right?! But then there’s this whole carnival over here . . .” Gesturing to the opposite side. “I was so distracted by the “carnival” I didn’t even notice him . . .” Wow! She had nailed it. The evil one is so good at putting on, what seems to be, a great carnival. Something bright and shiny to distract us, lure us away. We all have our own “carnivals.” Whether it is drugs and partying . . . or a career and advancement—the carnival seems so fun. It is so alluring . . . so distracting. Silently, subtly, keeping us from seeing God—over there waving at us, trying to get our attention. As we neared our destination, she once again began to thoughtfully share . . . “Sometimes I wonder what God thinks of us down here. You know, billions of people, living on this planet, for such a very long time. So busy dreaming up all these great technologies, creating gadgets to make our lives better, trying to figure out how we can get to Mars . . . Sometimes I just wonder what if people spent that much time trying to get to know God? Trying to figure out what the Bible really says about him and about how we should live our lives…? What would the world be like then?” Again, wow! What if . . .? What if more of us carved out the time to be still and know that he is God? What if we tuned out the calliope music of the carnival to hear that still small voice? To grow in our relationship with him, igniting our desire to fully surrender. To be at his beck and call, an obedient servant of the Master. What would the world be like then? Such deep thoughts. Such profound insights. All because she was homeless, in a camper, in a park, by a stream. Present with the Creator . . . not distracted by a carnival. She might not be the “disadvantaged” one . . . she might be the lucky one. “Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 NIV “The great dragon was hurled down— that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him.” Revelation 12:9 NIV “He says, “Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.”” Psalm 46:10 NIV

The little canvases were about 3 x 5 inches and each contained original artwork. My grown son had undertaken an art project with my grandsons and each of them had worked diligently on a painting. A little Bob Ross moment, creating masterpieces. My son’s painting was quite good, actually, with sun highlighting the tree trunks, creating dimension; and a shimmer on the placid lake, hinting at depth. Even the nine-year-old’s painting was pretty realistic. The seven-year-old had deviated from the landscape theme and gone with some kind of animal, and it, too, was good—in a seven-year-old kind of way. And then there was the little man’s. My four-year-old grandson’s painting was . . . abstract, shall we say. A few blurry blobs of various colors, smeared, washed-out . . . yet beautiful in its own way.    As we got to this last one, my son had to share the story of how this masterpiece came to be. My little grandson had painted all kinds of color onto the canvas, with complete abandon. Joyously adding this, then that. No apparent pattern or plan. So much so, that in time the colors blended and it got pretty messy and then, finally, basically black. Displeased with this outcome, little man had taken it into the bathroom and simply washed the canvas off under the running water . . . rings of color swirling around the sink and then down the drain. And so, there you had it, his masterpiece—vestiges of the underlying color clinging as residual, creating its own sort of abstract art with a unique appeal and a beauty all its own.   The very next day, I was doing some morning prayer time with a dear friend. A bit out of the blue, somewhere in the middle of her prayer, I heard her saying . . .  “Lord, so often we want to do what is right in your eyes. We want to do it perfectly. It’s like we want to paint a Picasso or a Rembrandt, yet our attempts are so imperfect. And we can be so hard on ourselves. Help us to be more like children. Help us find joy in the process—even if it’s not perfect! It’s like if Kaia’s grandchildren were to paint a picture, having so much fun doing it, even though it wasn’t perfect."     I don’t know exactly how she finished that prayer, but my mind quickly went to the little 3 x 5 canvases. Especially, little man’s. He had so much fun doing it! Yet it was far from perfect. And I’m sure that his uncle did not rebuke him for his imperfection, but rather I bet he marveled at it and oohed and aahed over it. Encouraging him to keep painting, to keep trying. To enjoy the process and discover that, over time, he would just get better. Lord, help us to see that you are the same.  A good Father who will rejoice in our efforts, even though our results may miss the mark. A loving Father who marvels at it and oohs and aahs over it, encouraging us to keep trying. Help us to find joy in the trying!     The funny thing is, I had mentioned absolutely nothing to my friend about my recent visit with my son or the paintings. Yet, how perfect. Her prayer and my son’s story were weaving together into a beautiful tapestry of God’s love for us! Not even just the lesson I was to learn—to find joy in the trying as we stumble along on this journey of faith. But more than that—that he is a living God. That his Spirit dwells within us and we can know things that he knows. We can speak into others’ lives, prompted by the Holy Spirit, in a way we could never do on our own. This friend has a tendency to do that—to pray for things I have not mentioned, to use analogies that hit so close to home . . . I get goosebumps. She lives hundreds of miles away—she has no other link to my world but what I choose to disclose—and yet, there are times where she prays with an insight that leaves me in awe. The Spirit dwells within her. What scripture teaches and what I observe come into unison. God becomes greater, I become less. He is a big God.   I think my favorite part, in all of this, is that when my grandson’s painting became so messy, so dark . . . he simply washed it off. And behind that messy darkness, there was beauty. I am reminded, once again, that that is what Jesus did for us. He took our messy darkness, washed us, and made us beautiful! Like the paint, swirling around the sink and down the drain, God cleanses us from our sin and removes it . . . taking it far away . . . as far as the east is from the west. Even the vestiges that remain can be made beautiful . . . in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him. Trusting in that, I have the confidence to keep painting. Hopefully with a little more joy!   “Go, eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine with a joyful heart, for God has already approved what you do.” Ecclesiastes 9:7 NIV   “This is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, explaining spiritual realities with Spirit-taught words.” 1 Corinthians 2:13 NIV   “I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean; I will cleanse you from all your impurities and from all your idols.” Ezekiel 36:25 NIV   “…as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.” Psalm 103:12 NIV   “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28 NIV

I met her when I was making video visits to the jail—after they quit letting us go in due to the COVID-19 pandemic. This girl was on fire! Honestly, I think she did more ministry to me in our 25-minute video calls than I was doing for her. Once again, I was blessed to see what God will do in a surrendered heart. She had been “gang-affiliated” and had gone down some very dark roads. The last charge was serious. She could be looking at life. But, somewhere in there, God whispered to her that he still loved her. That he forgave her. That he had more for her. And, this time, she heard him! The freedom she found in her soul overcame any of the bars or locks in the jail, and her joy was simply infectious. Even if she was looking at “life” . . . she had finally found life .   “Adulting”   We stayed close as she was released from jail to a local halfway house. She found a good job with good pay and overtime, and we did ministry together almost every morning. After about four months, she completed her time at the halfway house, inspiring many along the way with her commitment to sobriety, her hard work, and her love for others. She moved into an affordable room at the Hope House where, at the time, she was the only tenant. Her newfound spiritual freedom was now facing physical freedom. The realities of life on the outside were coming home to roost. She was “adulting,” as she would say . . . or at least trying.   It was the first time in her life, in her thirties, that she was trying to actually work (at legitimate work) for a living. As a girl, her dad had taken care of her. As an adult on the outside, money was readily available—a drug deal could solve her money problems in a quick minute. When her “fundraising” landed her in jail or prison, all her needs were met. So, to get up and work hard all day . . . every day . . . well, that was new. And the money she earned just seemed to disappear so quickly! She was learning the hard way that you can’t just get what you want when you want it—even if you have worked hard for it.   “Wrestling”   So, the second month at the Hope House rolled around and rent was due. And she didn’t have it. The lease she had signed was clear: if she didn’t have the money by the third of the month, she would be served eviction papers. The world was closing in, gripping tighter, strangling her newfound freedom . . . stealing her joy.   I know she didn’t want to tell me; it was nearly the third of the month before she finally admitted where she was financially. Broke. As we sat in the car, I witnessed a very real wrestling—old man vs. new man. Paul’s letter to the Romans, in chapter 7, describes this wrestle—in words. I was seeing  this wrestle—in the flesh. She was clearly tormented. “It would be so easy,” she whispered. To just make a quick deal. She could have the money she needed in no time. Romans 7:21 , “Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me.” I watched her wrestle her demons in the seat right next to me.   Getting a Little Crazy   I was raised, thankfully, with tough love. Healthy boundaries were set, consequences were laid out and metered out if I crossed the boundaries. It was helpful in my formative years, shaping me into the (mostly) responsible woman I am today. And so, my natural inclination was to throw down the tough love card. You blew the money. You pay the consequences.    But thankfully, God had been doing quite a lot of work on my heart. Teaching me so much about crazy  love. Unconditional love. Love that wasn’t deserved. (Just like God’s love for us.) This woman wrestling next to me had not been taught about hard work and financial stewardship when she was a child. Her options in this moment were to be evicted—leaving her homeless—or to try to come up with the money herself. Her most likely options were selling drugs—or herself—or borrowing money from someone who could hold it over her, possible trouble down the road. I just felt so strongly that what she needed in this moment was not tough love, but crazy love. Some might call it bailing her out, but I think Jesus would call it . . . grace.    Her paycheck would be coming soon. She assured me that she could repay the $300 once it went into her account. I believed her, but I also knew that the odds were great that I would never see that $300 again. The Bible says, never a borrower nor a lender be. So, I gave her the money, telling her that while I could sure use it back, I would never hold it over her if she didn’t. I would never want it to get in the way of our relationship. Turns out, child support took out a lot more than she expected. I would never see that $300 again.   Germinating Generosity   Some may think that is the end of the story, but that is where they would be wrong. You see, my husband and I had been saving to buy a different car. The one we had was nearly 20 years old with more than 250,000 miles on it. We had been keeping our eyes open for a while and, right after I dipped into our car fund to give her the rent money, we found a great deal. We would be $300 short. Part of the plan was to sell the old car for what we could get for it—hoping to get maybe $500, if we were lucky. Our ad read (hitting the highlights), “High mileage . . . rust over the wheel wells . . . transmission needs work” . . .  That oughta really bring 'em in!   Well, the first guy to respond to our ad showed up, started the car (never did drive it), asked a few questions, and handed my husband $1,100 in cash. $600 more than what we had hoped to get. Twice what I had given, at God’s prompting, to my friend in need. Double portion. The concept is biblical: the firstborn sons got a double portion of their father’s inheritance, Elisha received a double portion of Elijah’s spirit, Israel was promised a double portion of joy and blessing, Hannah’s husband gave her a double portion . . . because he loved her. I don’t think I was as tickled about getting the money back, or even the extra money, as I was that I felt that God approved of my decision to help my friend in need. He gave a double portion . . . because he loves me. I pray that he continues to work on my spirit of generosity. May I hold the things of this world more loosely and cling to him more tightly. It’s amazing to see him at work!   “One person gives freely, yet gains even more; another withholds unduly, but comes to poverty. A generous person will prosper; whoever refreshes others will be refreshed.” Proverbs 11:24-25 NIV   “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8 NIV   “Instead of your shame you will receive a double portion, and instead of disgrace you will rejoice in your inheritance. And so you will inherit a double portion in your land, and everlasting joy will be yours.” Isaiah 61:7 NIV

Sunday nights were usually our Freedom Ministries at church—recovery groups and a service for those with “hurts, habits, and hang-ups.” From grief counseling, to divorce care, to addiction recovery, the group was truly there to find hope and healing and their gatherings were some of the most genuine “church” I have ever been a part of. On this evening, it was a church-wide praise and worship service, but many of the usual Sunday night attenders were there. The first person I saw as we approached the church was a friend of mine, who I met at the jail. She ran to give me the biggest hug ever! As we entered, I spotted another friend who had been working on recovery for the past eight years—mentored extensively by a friend of mine who, like me, had not struggled with addiction herself. I went to get a hug from her, but I could tell as I approached that not all was well. When I asked her how she was doing, she admitted—not well. And then the tears began to fall, and a litany of her struggles began to pour out. I just gave her another big hug and asked if we could grab a coffee the next day, to which she quickly agreed.   The next day, we had about a half-hour window between when she got off work and when she had to pick up her daughter from daycare. We indulged in the sweetness of some decadent cupcakes as we jumped right to the heart of matters. We quickly made our way through a couple items from her litany before landing on that thing which God had made plans for. She shared how she and her long-time mentor and friend had just been struggling lately. There were so many times where her mentor said things that, although well-intentioned, cut deeply. Things that were probably truth, but how they were said . . . when they were said . . . wounded her to the very core. Her AA sponsor had suggested she should “put up healthy boundaries” and maybe even end the “toxic relationship.”   As so often is the case, even as I came to bring wisdom and counsel, I found myself the recipient of wisdom and counsel. I needed to hear her words—perhaps more than she may have needed to hear mine. She helped me see myself through the eyes of those whom I go to serve. I was able to help her see her mentor through my eyes—another one who didn’t really understand addiction, who stepped on toes without ever meaning to. I gained insights into how to love better. She gained insights into why her mentor may do things the way she does. At one point, I asked her if she knew how much her mentor loved her. She began to weep. Oh, yes, she knew how much she loved her.    Of all the people who were at that service that evening, I was just the one that could help her see that, in spite of the misunderstanding, the hurtful words, and the stepped-on toes, this relationship was founded on love. It wasn’t “toxic.” It may be messy—most relationships are! But it was most certainly worth fighting for. I assured her that her mentor needed her just as much as she needed her mentor. That her mentor was in need of as much grace and forgiveness as she may be. We need each other. There are so few who dare to cross the bridge across societal and cultural divides. To go there often enough and stay there long enough to truly get to know those on the other side. To dally in the middle where we can learn so much from each other and bring the best from both worlds. Iron sharpens iron. Sometimes we can get wounded in the process. But the battle is worth it, for when our wounds heal we are braver and stronger and wiser . . . and we love so much more deeply. En garde!   “Whoever would foster love covers over an offense, but whoever repeats the matter separates close friends.” Proverbs 17:9 NIV   “Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.” Ephesians 4:2 NIV   “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” Ephesians 4:32 NIV   “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” Proverbs 27:17 NIV