Last week, my kids were at sleep-away camp. They come home today. My girl did not want to go. When we drove to parent drop-off, she was sick to her stomach, overwhelmed with anxious thoughts, worried at the unknown, and got on the bus anyways.
Reports from friends on Facebook tell me she and her brother had the time of their life. Fun, friends, prayer, laughter …
I spent heaps of time praying for them this week, asking God to help them, realizing they’re growing up. By the third night of them away, my heart got that tender ache I know so well. The ache of transition. My children are growing up, they’re strong and capable. We’re in a new season, me and my kids – the season of gently letting go, of giving them room and space, of watching them settle and become exactly who they are.
Speaking of becoming exactly who we are, I am a woman who went to summer camp many many times over the years and there, around a campfire, under the night sky lifted my hurts and sorrows, my worries, my disappointments to the God I was coming to know.
Usually, by mid-week at summer camp almost every year, I’d feel a certain weight of holiness and understand God’s nearness. Maybe it was to give more of my heart or my hopes, or maybe give up a dream and choose trust over a known outcome, or loss over love. There, by the water, the crashing waves, in the sand dunes, or at the campfire in the most tender private way, I’d say yes to God. Tears would usually stream down my face as the weight of sacrifice lifted, more room would expand in my soul, and God’s presence would settle for a moment and I’d know, know, know that God was real.
The areas I was troubled with as a teenager were so profoundly intense. My parents’ divorce weighed on me, boys and the power of love weighed on me, my future weighed on me, and the financial insecurities of being a young woman with dreams and no savings or college funds weighed heavy … so I did the only things I knew to do. I threw myself, dreams and disappointments, full weight, onto the God I hoped in and I lived with my whole heart inside that hope. Not a hope in what God would help me accomplish, but a hope that God knew my name, had my address, and we could be friends. That God would help me live this life…
Now, so many years later, things aren’t all that different. I’m still choosing trust over known outcomes, I’m still wrestling with disappointments and sadness, and I’m still making a decision every day to live inside the hope that God is real and knows my name. I’m still asking God to help me live this life.
Several years ago, I had a major paradigm shift. I used to see things in very clear boxes, right and wrong, black and white, good and bad. This is what God wants and this is what God doesn’t want and if you do what God wants it will go well for you and if you don’t do what God wants it won’t go well for you. Clearly, if someone had spoken to me about this, I would have admitted there was some grey in the mix, but from my view, even the greys were simply lighter shades of black and white. In other words, do what’s right and God will take care of you. More importantly, I tried my best to do everything right. I was a good girl. Bold and passionate about the right things, eager to please and win approval …
I really don’t see the world like this anymore. I still have quite a strong traditional moral compass that guides me, but it’s not set to a particular cultural dial like it used to be. I see, in ways that are startling, how sometimes, doing what we believe God is asking or offering us, looks wrong to certain people in our particular brand of faith, and that in the end God’s ways are higher …
For many years, my faith in God and my faith in the institution of church were subconsciously interwoven. No wonder. I was raised going to church week in and week out and the church took me in and loved me, gave me a future when I was young.
However, over the years, as I’ve had to wrestle with disappointments and shattered dreams, it’s forced me to separate Jesus from the institution.
This doesn’t mean I think the institution is all bad and Jesus is great. Quite the contrary. Jesus can be super offensive. Blessed are those who don’t take offense at him and his ways … which don’t follow the traditional boundaries of the cultural times people live in … ever. Jesus redeems. Jesus loves. Jesus Heals. Jesus never manipulates or coerces people. Sometimes, I’d appreciate a little coercion.
When I separate Jesus from the institution – Jesus, as the author and finisher of my faith, not the institution – I see everything from a different perspective and I can approach the institution with love and clarity, with gratitude and with a gracious comprehension.
There is also a difference between the institution of church and The Church. The Church is made up of the people who love God and have chosen to make their lives all about practicing the ways of Jesus. The institution is the structure humans build to house and teach those practices. Sometimes we get it wrong and sometimes we get it right.
As I was praying for opportunities for my kids this summer, I knew if I sent my kids to that summer camp, people would love them. I had no doubts.
I knew this, because many years ago people loved me when I crashed into the four walls of the institution to learn how to practice the ways of Jesus.
Over the years, I’ve disentangled the institution from Jesus, but his people have always been and always will be His hands and feet … no disentangling needed.
May we continue to love those who crash into our lives with the love we’ve learned from Jesus …
