Offensive Grace

I have been wrestling with this blog for quite some time.
Some nights it has kept me awake for hours.
I just couldn't be released from it until I let it be.

I was afraid of how many may take it, but my writing is different because it doesn't hide.
It lets others know they aren't alone.
It lets you see straight into the human heart, even the ugly parts.

I have worn a scarlet letter on my chest since April 3rd of this year.
Some of you wear it too.
Some of you wear more than one.
You've tried everything to get it off of you.
Pulled, prodded, cut, clawed at it.
Nothing works.
When you wake up you see it.
When you see old friends they stare at it.
People can't help but talk about it.
The church squints at it.
That big, red, damn letter "D."

Divorced.

Every letter has a secret, a story to it.
You wear that secret everywhere you go.
You can wear it forever it you like, but personally red isn't my color.

I've never been one to wear whatever label someone handed me.
When I'm handed a "hello my name is ______" sticker I always put some smart name instead like "Your Mom."

So, likewise when I was slapped with this big ugly D I wasn't having it, and Jesus wasn't either.

He didn't think it suited my destiny, so He ripped it off, threw it in the trash and sewed a huge G where that shameful D once lived.

The G is for grace.

When I was a child, me and my mother were on our way to church one evening.
She had dressed me up in a beautiful little dress, strapped in the car seat in the back.
Pulling into the parking lot of the church I felt disaster coming from deep down in my stomach.
Yup, it happened; I puked Mac and cheese all over that gorgeous dress.

Just when I was expecting to be scolded, shamed, grace stepped up instead.

My mother did not yell or raise her voice.
My mother did not roll her eyes or stare at me like, " are you kidding me?!"

My mother turned the car around, took my vomit dress off, ran me a warm bath and sang me to sleep that night.
She probably does not remember that night; but I do.

Grace.

I don't know about you, but I've puked all over myself more than a few times as a follower of Jesus.

This year was one of those times that God looked at me with Grace and cleaned up my vomit.

This may offend some people.
That's what grace does to folks who haven't hit the bottom before.

Grace offended a lot of people when Jesus drew a line in the dirt and stones dropped one by one at the feet of a prostitute.

Grace offended a lot of people when He ate with the tax collectors and healed the leapers.

Grace offended a lot of people when He made ex-murderers disciples.

Incredible grace, like the kind that took me, a big mess of straight up puke, and turned me into a testimony of mercy tends to offend those who think following Jesus is just about being good.

Grace took my mess and turned it into a message of hope.

Your letter may be different than mine was.
It may be a D for druggie.
It may be a P for prostitute.
It may be a T for thief.
It may be an A for affair.
It may be an F for failure.

No matter your letter, it's time to change out of that letter that you were not created to wear.

Try on Grace for a change.
Trust me, it suits you.

Dirty Kisses and Forgiveness.

I had just written 3/4 of a completely different blog and my power became unplugged.
I lost it all.
I was avoiding writing about what God told me to write about.
See what I put up with?

So, here God.
Have it Your way.

As many of you know,  I work with toddlers at a childcare center.
I think the main response I get when telling people my occupation is: " Oh my...I could not do your job."
Many people just see the screaming, snot and diaper changing when they see my job.

They probably walk in on me with half my hair missing, chasing some two year old around the room with a broom in one hand and butt wipes in the other.
I do clean a lot of snotty noses.
I change dirty diapers.
I wipe tears from dirt-stained faces.
I get frustrated.
I get angry, even.

But if that's what you see, you have missed it.
Big time.

You have missed the hugs, the kisses, the "I missed you Bwitney!" i get in the mornings.
You have missed the dancing, the laughing, the story-telling.
Most of all, you have missed the incredible, confusing, offensive display of love I am slapped in the face with every day.

I hate when me and a child are arguing.
I hate disciplining.
It is the least favorite part of my job.
I hate putting them in time out and seeing their tears just roll and roll.
It is annoying, but it's always hard to see the same face that lit up when walked in the room turn to disgust or distain.

Yet, they get over it.
It does not matter what I did to that kid that day or how at odds we were with each other that day, when the day comes to an end they are sitting on my lap, playing with my hair and stroking my face.

This week at work me and a small girl in my class were at it all day.
She just would not listen.
She made the corner her home that day.
I was so frustrated.
I pulled her into the time out chair over and over again and kept having to raise my voice at her for her to even pay any attention to instruction.

She glared at me with her folded arms and swollen eyes.
In that moment you would have thought I was the most disgusting woman she had ever met.
I took away her toys, I embarrassed her in front of her friends, I separated her from everyone else.

May seem like nothing to us, but to a two year old that's pretty much the worse day of their life.

You want to know what that disgruntled, disgusted two year old said to me at the end of my work day?

"I love you Bwitney. I'll see you tomorrow!"
She climbed in my lap, hugged my neck and gave me a dirt/frosting kiss on the cheek.

God likes to teach me lessons in strange ways.
Most of our conversations are on car rides, runs, or while I'm knodding off to sleep.
Most of the deepest snippets of wisdom He allows me to snatch up are not in a sanctuary blaring from a pulpit, but from the mouth of babes.

Guilt immediately swept all over me when this child reacted with love, grace and forgiveness without a second thought.

I heard I was supposed to have this thing called "child like faith" from the get go.
But what in the heck did that mean to me?
Blind faith?
No thanks.

I'm a natural skeptic.

This is where God does a face palm and says, "Britney, no. I want you to love like a child. I want you to forgive like a child. I want you to be like that child was to you today when all you did was scold them and they loved you still."

Duh.
Biggest fail.
Today we are taught to "forgive but to never forget."
That is not what Jesus taught.

When He cast our sins as far as the east is from the west He meant He did exactly like that.
He didn't hang on the cross and say, "Well, I'll forgive you but I'll remember this when handing out crowns of gold later."

No.
No.
No.

I missed the mark on this one, guys.
In the wake of recent life events, many people have slapped me in the face.
Instead of turning the other cheek, instead of forgiving and casting the pain they caused as far as I could from me, I dwelt.
I held contempt.
I couldn't let go of the fact that they "took away my toys."

I do not forgive with ease, and even when I do I keep a nugget of resentment with me just in case.

Something sparked when I received that frosting kiss on my face.
It isn't forgiveness if you don't trash everything with it.
Trash the bitterness.
Trash the resentment.
Trash the mistrust.
Trash the anger.

The wrong done to you may never be made right by the other person.
Thats a hard fact to swallow.
Pride doesn't want to accept that.

Let pride die along with it too.

When you follow Jesus, you give up your rights.
All of them.
The right to be right.
The right to hold on to your pride.
The right to forgive but not forget.

Be a child again.

It doesn't make you naive, it makes you obedient.

The Heart Transplant

The rain beat on my windshield as my wipers tried to dance in between the blows.
I was crying, trying to drive through the tears and rain drops, unsure of which was which anymore.

This wasn't your typical cry.
I was sobbing like a child who just lost sight of his mother in the supermarket for the first time.

It was a cry of release.
A release of so much.
Too much to tell you in one blog.
Too much for those of you who have just met me to get.
Years of just...turmoil.

When I held my newly born nephew in my arms, my sister tiredly smiling up at me I felt the innocence, the freshness of this life.
Untainted.
He had never experienced heartbreak.
He knew no pain or chaos.
He would love easily and freely to anyone who held him.
He was the definition of simplicity.

I was holding a fresh start in my very arms.
I brushed his face with my fingers and held back the tears from all the things my sisters little gift brought to me.

The rain washed off my windshield and the sunshine began to reflect off the remaining drops onto my face.

With that passing rain went every scream I wanted to let out for the past 4 years of my tiny life.

That cry was not one of sadness.
Or mourning.
That cry was a cry of being overwhelmed with absolute joy; one I've never know before.
I hadn't ever cried of...happiness before.
Of complete release.
I had been holding my heart so tightly to my own chest, my own husband who has fought more than anyone on the Earth to open my rigid grasp hasn't even seen its full capacity to love.
The absolute innocence of baby Benjamin broke me.

I wanted his softness.
His naive outlook on the new world around him.
His ease to love.
His ease to trust his heart with whoever claimed to keep it safe.

I broke because I had become so rough to the touch.
My heart cold and incapable to love how it once had when I was freshly 16.
It had been broken.
Not your typical broken.
Absolutely shattered.
While my husband daily attempts to find every piece he can to make me completely whole again I knew only the gentle touch of Mercy could do the job.

Mercy reached down and broke my heart again when I touched Benjamin's tiny fingers.
He broke it how a heart is meant to be broken.
He broke it so everything good and lovely could now be let in.
He broke it in such a way that Light could kiss every dark corner I had tucked away in shame.

I rolled down the windows, letting the freshly damp air mist on my face.
Heart break never felt so right or good.

Hope returned that day.
My rough edges were smoothed out.
With the birth of a baby boy came the birth of a new, unscarred, untainted, trusting heart.
My heart.

I had been putting patches where God wanted to do a full transplant.


I had to let Love win.
Over the past.
Over heart ache.
Over the longing to expose truth.
Over mistrust.
Over fear.
Over bitterness.
Over anger.
Over hopelessness.
Over seemingly lost prayers.
Over everything that keeps the Light out.

I'm not the girl I was 6 months ago.
That girl was small, weak, broken, pitiful, indifferent to each day she woke up.

I don't even recognize that girl.
She can stay where I left her, along with the heart I donated to the garbage.

I stuck my hand out the window and let it just dangle for awhile.
Swaying back and forth to some old Beatles song.