Life is tough to figure out. So many forks in the road, so
much self to discover through God’s plan – if you can pull aside the veil of
self.
Several times God felt enough urgency to speak to me
directly. I followed Him every time, and eventually most of those steps made
sense. Others are on my list to ask Him about when I get to Heaven.
Every time has felt the same. In an instant, threads that
previously hung on question marks merged into one beautifully woven thought.
God has told me to minister at churches that, for all their
wonderfulness, were not a great fit for me. Only in hindsight do those make
sense.
Once God stripped away all my earthly representations of Him. At age 49, after I had worked in music ministry for 41 years, God methodically stripped away my earthly church body, my pastor, and
my spiritual-head husband. All of a sudden, it was “just” God in Heaven and me
here on earth.
Looking back, that also now makes sense. As soon as the only view I had of Him was...well, Him...I began to learn who He really was. As I worked through
grieving all I had lost, He showed me Hebrews 13:13-16. That
passage tells us to go do good “outside the camp,” where the bodies are burned.
Outside the camp was a foreign place to me. One benefit of
all those years of music ministry was protection from my painful
insecurity. As pianist, you get regular reinforcement that you are special, and
you have the Music Director and Pastor to take all the complaints and grief. Expressing
your faith through music means you do not have to explain it in words, so you
never have to face the possibility that you would say the wrong thing and cost
someone their eternal life.
In my season of loss, God placed me where I could not hide
in weakness. I had to be strong for my kids and for myself. By the time he told
me to outside the church “camp,” I was terrified, but was also determined to step.
I had to share this God that had done so much in my life.
Within a month of venturing out, I found myself standing at
a portable keyboard under a bridge in Gainesville, GA, playing and singing
worship songs with homeless folks with whom I would then share a meal and a
Bible study lesson.
God led me to live part-time, then full-time, in
midtown Atlanta to work with local ministries. There He broke my heart for
vulnerable women. I worked with them in the Atlanta Transitional Center, on
their way back to society from federal prison. I spent time with them in Seven
Bridges Ministry’s shelter for homeless women and children. I taught and sang with
women sent to a residential center instead of to jail for their (hopefully last) recovery from practicing their addiction.
My journey began to make sense. It was not until God led me through those tough years that I had a passion for sharing what He had done
in my life. Instead of feeling like a failure because my life fell apart, I
found that God went everywhere with me and worked His perfect plan through
every single moment. All those verses really were true. He really did love me!
Then I met my now-second husband. Part of settling down with
him took me to the suburbs a new church home; one with an outstanding music
ministry and ministry leaders under which I felt comfortable ministering. For
two years, it was home.
Earlier this year, out of the blue, God tugged at our hearts
again for those that never come through the doors of a church. I began feeling anew
the cries and pain of women that do not know how much He loves them as they wander
alone, lost and disconnected from Him.
As He always does, He pushed us to deal with this tug. Our
beloved Music Director retired from our church. Suddenly, the peace of being
securely planted in a church fell away.
Standing at the edge of yet another fork in our path, I read
of a 7-year-old girl who died in the closet of an abandoned apartment building
not 30 minutes away from our house in the ‘burbs.
Suddenly, dangling threads wove together in that
all-familiar way. My heart broke that my arms could not comfort that girl or
her mom. Then it broke for all the little girls and moms out there who were not
being hugged, or fed, or loved on by Christ through human arms and hands. My heart
cried to my arms to reach out!
But my arms were too far away.
I knew it was time to leave the fold again and live outside
the camp where the bones are burned.
I shared the impact of that little girl’s story with my
husband. His heart was in the same place.
So, as summer ends, we will no longer be singing in a church
choir, ringing handbells, leading the youth bell choir, playing pre-service piano,
or writing and directing skits. We will say a wistful good-bye to the wonderful
fold where God allowed us to rejoice for the past two years.
We know that there are plenty of people that will step into
those roles, but far fewer that will or can go where He is leading us.
Our arms cannot remain too far. They must reach where our
hearts have already gone.
So, we go.
