The Little Girl Far Off

Can I climb up in Your lap
I don't wanna leave
Jesus sing over me
I gotta keep singing
Oh You're everything I need
And I gotta keep singing

~Mercy Me


Recently, I was reminded of a little girl I worked with at summer camp. Sarah* had been terribly abused, and she wouldn't let anyone touch her. When all the kids crowded around me at night and begged for hugs, she stayed in the corner with her arms crossed. It wasn't OK for her to come close. It wasn't safe.

That's how I've felt with Jesus for a long time now. I've had this incredible desire to let Him hold me, to comfort me -- but He wasn't safe. He let bad things happen to me, and even though I wanted to forgive Him... even though I knew it wasn't His fault... I couldn't seem to get close to Him.

Then He gave me a picture. I saw a little puppy who had been abused. The puppy couldn't trust anyone. It was cornered, trembling and scared. Jesus wanted to come close the puppy, but He knew it needed time to heal. The puppy was scared of people in general, and thought everyone wanted to mistreat it.

And I realized -- I was that puppy. Jesus knew I needed time. And just like the little girl at summer camp, it was OK that I didn't want a good-night hug. It was OK that I needed to sit in the corner with my arms crossed for a little while. Even if it took the rest of my life, He would love me from afar.

Then, the other night, it happened. I didn't expect it. I found myself sitting in His lap. And I realized, it was OK. He hadn't put me there. Little by little I'd inched up to Him until it was safe. And when I saw His caring, loving eyes -- I knew He wouldn't hurt me. I knew He had only good, pure intentions toward me.

Sometimes I still get scared. Sometimes I'm not ready to sit in His lap. Sometimes He's not the first place I run.

But then I remember Sarah. I remember the day we stood by the swimming pool. I remember her big brown eyes as she asked, "Would you help me swim?"

"Are you sure?" I asked, uncertain. Would she really be OK if I touched her?

"Yeah," she smiled. "Just hold me up while I flap my arms around..."

I taught Sarah to swim that day. She flapped her arms in the shallow water while my hands held her up. Her eyes shone with happiness.

Recently I've felt a lot like Sarah. Happily swimming along in the shallow water, with Jesus' hand holding me up.

Then we reached troubled waters.

I got a phone call last week. It was from my doctor's office. After 11 years of being ill, and three years of blissful remission -- the doctor found some abnormal numbers in my lab-work. The numbers represented a new, different problem. Nothing life-threatening... but potentially life-changing nonetheless.

I felt betrayed. How could you, Jesus? How could you allow this to happen while I was floating happily along?

But then I looked into His caring, loving eyes -- and I knew He wouldn't hurt me. He had only good, pure intentions toward me.

I felt the warmth of His smile as He held me above the waters, steadying me.

"Jesus," I cried, "I've done this before but the water's not shallow anymore. Would you help me swim?"

He smiled as he whispered, "My child, just flap your arms. I'll do the rest..."

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I wrote this piece last year when I was looking at Jesus from afar. Looking back, I see how My Boy has made it so much easier for me to let Jesus come near. My Boy has loved me, sometimes from afar, and always so that I feel safe. I am so thankful that he is like my Gentle Jesus.
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*Sarah's name has been changed.

Enough

Some days I want to walk into Hallmark and ask, "Do you sell 'I'm Sorry' cards in boxes of 100?"

Not because my husband and I have been arguing (we haven't). Not because I'm offending people by the dozens (I'm not... am I?). Only because inside of my heart -- somewhere deep -- I feel like I should apologize for not being enough.

Not smart enough. Not funny enough. Not good enough.

Now that we've gotten my deep-seated psychological issues out of the way, I want to tell you about something that's changed everything for me.

Recently I met a guy named Bob Irvin. As we talked, he said something that really shook me. He said:

We need to reach teens where they are -- not where we want them to be.

I was so shocked to hear an adult say those words that I couldn't think of anything else for about five minutes.

And I wondered -- when it comes to ministry --

Is it our goal to make mini-replicas of us? Or is it to love like Jesus did?

This concept -- that we should reach teens where they are -- is the very one God gave me several years ago. I couldn't have agreed with Bob more. In fact, I told God so.

As usual, I was surprised by His response.

You believe this for the teens you care about -- but do you believe this for yourself?

It's a struggle some days... to see that Jesus wants me for who I am. Where I am. Today. Not who I will be tomorrow. Not who I will be 10 years from now.

Some days I can't get there on my own. I need reminders... from my husband, from my family, from my friends. I need to hear I am OK the way I am.

As I asked Jesus about my neediness, He reminded me of one of my favorite pictures. Four people -- struggling to balance one paralyzed man -- as they lowered him through the roof to Jesus.

And I realized -- those four people represent the dear ones God has placed in my life. On days when I'm empty, Jesus uses these friends to bring me to His feet. And at those nail scarred feet I hear the words,

"Go in peace. Your sins are forgiven you."

And suddenly, I know -- I am enough. Because He is enough.

Thank You, Jesus, for Your nail-scarred feet.
Thank You for Your enough-ness.
Help us carry each other to those feet. Consistently.
Because at those feet, we find healing.
At those feet -- we find enough.
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Question for 2Day:
Who has carried you to the feet of Jesus?

The Test

I'm not a test-taker. I'm just gonna say that right now. Give me a piece of paper with little bubbles on it, and my mind will go blank faster than a shaken etch-a-sketch.

Case-in-point: I scored pretty well on my pre-SAT tests. But the moment they put the "real thing" in front of me... well, you fill in the blanks:

B.J. ---- when she saw the SAT test, leading to the ---- of her college career.

A. smiled.. beginning
B. slept.. skipping
C. laughed.. happiness
D. panicked.. community college portion

And the correct answer is... well, I'll let you decide. The point is... I don't do tests.

Maybe that's why this whole Christian thing scares me sometimes. So many people talk about "testing". And I've been there myself.

I remember lying in my bed at the age of 10...11...12...13...14...15...16...17...18...19...20...21... and crying out to God to heal me.

I remember the office visits. The hospital stays. The friends who walked away.

I remember the day I realized -- that no matter how hard I tried -- I could no longer put two notes together on the piano. I -- the girl who lived for music -- could no longer do the one thing that brought me joy.

I felt helpless. Lost. Alone.

Tested.

I made an F on the whole chronic illness test. And I didn't care. I was too angry to care. I remember praying to God, "When will it be enough for You? I'm always doing things for You."

I couldn't have been more shocked than when I sensed His answer: I don't want you to do things for me. I want you.

I lay in bed as the tears streamed down my face.

If all you could do for the rest of your life was lay here and talk to Me, would that be enough for you?

He asked me that question every day for at least a week. Day after day my answer was no. But little by little, moment by moment, I began to cling to Him. He was the only thing I had left.

Until finally... my answer was yes.

He was enough.

I know what you're thinking. This is where the story gets better. This is where Jesus stretches out His hand and says, Rise up and walk. But that didn't happen. There was more testing. Another four years. More angry moments. More surrender.

More tenderness.

Because when it came down to it, this wasn't a cold impersonal test. There were no "right" bubbles to fill in. No "right" words to say. No actions that would make Him click the timer and say, "Well, time's up. You're free to go now."

No -- testing with Jesus is personal. Testing with Jesus is about clinging to Him, no matter how long the test lasts. No matter how bad things get. No matter if there's an end in sight.

He doesn't care what bubbles we fill in. He doesn't care what words we say.

He does care what's in our hearts. He does care if we cling to Him as our hope. But He's not going to force us there. He is going to leave it up to us. And when we are ready -- when we feel safe -- our hearts will cling to Him.

When I look back on those 11 years I'm so glad they're in the past. I'm so glad that four years ago Jesus stretched out His hand and said, Rise up and walk.

But it isn't over. Yesterday I came across this:

The crucible for silver and the furnace for gold, but man is tested by the praise he receives.
- Proverbs 17:21

I've received some praise lately. Not a lot... but a little. Some days it's hard not to take the credit for what is actually a gift. Some days it's hard not to say, "thank you", and just keep moving -- as if I have somehow accomplished what it took Jesus Himself 11 years to work in my heart.

Because I know that in a moment -- just like I lost my ability to play the piano -- God can strip away the outer temporary things. And all I will be left with is Himself.

He is enough.

A while ago, I came across something that changed everything for me. It goes like this:

Have you been called to serve
Where others tried and failed,
But with God’s help and strength
YOUR efforts have prevailed?

Touch not the glory.

Has God appointed you
To some great, noble cause?
Or put you where you hear
The sound of men’s applause?

Touch not the glory.

Have you some special gift?
Some riches you can share?
Or have you learned the art
Of intercessory prayer?

Touch not the glory.

A watching world still waits
To see what can be done
Through one who touches not
That which is God’s alone.

Touch not the glory.

– Erma Davison

Sometimes, I think the greatest test of all is the one of Success.

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Question for 2Day:

What tests have you faced that have lead you to believe that Jesus is enough?
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Photo source: Microsoft Clip Art

Farewell and Hello

Dear You,

I hate that it's come to this. But there's a lot I've been wanting to say to you for a long time now. A lot I've held inside. A lot I've let seethe until today. I am done seething. I am ready to boil.

I don't like you anymore. Sure, things were good for a while. There were the quiet evenings. The laptop-lit Healthy Choice dinners. The sharing of secrets.

Come to think of it, though, you never shared any of your secrets with me. You were too busy sharing my secrets. With the whole world.

What kind of friend are you, anyway?

The moment you found out I quit my job -- tada-- everyone knew. The moment you learned I was engaged -- wham -- you distributed photos to 100,000 of your closest friends. Then finally -- the clincher. You always wanted to hang out when I was in the middle of finals. Or wedding plans. Or column deadlines.

My friends tried to tell me you were holding me back. "Don't you realize there's so much more out there for you?" they asked. "Don't you realize this is a take-take relationship? It's draining you dry."

And they were right. You were draining me dry. One by one, my friends quit visiting. They said you were old and outdated. At first I stood up for you. After all, we'd been friends for so long.

Despite all this, you walked with me through the crummy night shift job at the hospital. You walked me through college so I wouldn't have to work the crummy night shift job at the hospital. You walked me through my first date. You walked me through my wedding day. You walked me through talks with editors, agents, and publishers.

You never complained about being second fiddle. Even when I neglected you. You were there.

Is that a tear running down my face? I believe it is. Because today I say goodbye to you. And as angry as I was a few moments ago for how old, outdated, and image-shattering you were... you were still my friend. And I will miss you, Dear Website.

Thanks for the memories.

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B.J. Hamrick is sad at the departure of her old website, but glad to announce that her new best friend can be viewed here: www.bjhamrick.com.
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Photo source: Microsoft Clip Art Gallery