Daring to Love ISIS

It was this time last year. A few months earlier. And ISIS was first making its broad debut in the media.

And I was faced with the reality of martyrdom for the first time.

The reality. The possibility. Perhaps even the probability.

Since I was thirteen years old, death has never frightened me. I'm not afraid of the thought of dying. The way I view death is that the Lord will never allow me to die unless He's finished using me here on this earth. So when I do die someday, I'll die knowing that I've completed the work He has for me to do here. That I've fulfilled my purpose here. And if I know that, then I will be content dying. I know where I'm going when I die. I'm going to see Jesus Christ face-to-face and to live without barriers or limitations in His presence for eternity. Why should I fear death?

"O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?" (1Corinthians 15:55)

But martyrdom.

Martyrdom is a different story.

Hearing of the rise of ISIS and of the persecution just beginning overseas disturbed me spiritually. I felt imminence weighing in my spirit. I knew that it would only be a matter of time before that persecution would too reach our own shores.

Time after time, I could close my eyes and see a vision of myself, back against a wall with a gun pointed at my chest, being posed with a question. "Are you a follower of Jesus?"

And I didn't know what I would say.

Would I say "yes"? Yes, I am a follower of Jesus Christ, the One True Living God. Yes, I am a Christian. Would I say "yes," knowing that the moment those words slipped through my lips, a trigger would be pulled and my life would end in a matter of seconds. Or what if death was prolonged? Even more, would I hold true to my faith in the face of suffering and pain? In the face of persecution of every form?

The more that vision appeared in my mind though, the more accustomed I became to it until I knew the answer to that question I asked myself. Yes. Yes, I would hold true to my faith and to my God. Yes, I would declare myself to be a follower of Jesus, even if that confession led me to my death. I'm not afraid of martyrdom anymore. I'm not afraid of persecution. Morbid as it may be perhaps, I still think of that vision often and imagine myself in that situation and it doesn't scare me anymore. I've accepted it. I know I would be terrified in the moment and I can't imagine its atrocities, but I'm okay with it now. I'm okay with the idea of losing my life for my faith and I am willing and prepared to die for my Lord and Savior if my life ever comes to that. I want my life to bring glory to God and draw others to Him. And if it's in my death that that would best be done, then so let it be.

But I had greater fear still.

And that greater fear was of being married and having a family. And of losing my husband and children for our faith.

I feared ever watching my husband be murdered for believing in Jesus and for standing up for his faith. I feared seeing my children lose their life because we are Christians. How would I pick up the pieces again after such a thing? How would I move on? How would life continue after losing someone I would love so much?

I didn't know if that was a chance I even wanted to take. Maybe it would be better if I just never married. Maybe it would be better if I never conceived and brought forth into this world children who would be subjected to the kind of persecution and difficulties that lie ahead in this life now for all of us who proclaim to be followers of Christ.

What's more, what young man my age in our modernized society of American comforts would even think as I do? Would even be considering the same possibility of death. Would even be wrestling to come to terms with martyrdom for our faith the way that I was. Would put himself in the same such scenario as I did and ask himself the same question of the decision he would make. I knew that if I ever were to marry, I would need a man who I could support. A man who I knew would be willing to risk our family's safety and security, who would be willing to risk losing his job, losing our home, losing everything we have, who would be willing to lose his very life for the sake of standing up for our beliefs and holding true to Jesus. A man who I could stand beside and who together we would support each other through whatever difficult times and doubts that we would encounter as a family, being strong for each other to lean on when the other was weak and questioning our decions in the face of persecution and want. In the face of seeing our children reaping too the consequences of our decision to stand firm in our faith and not compromise. What young man would be at a place to make such an equal level of commitment and sacrifice as I had come to terms with?

So I prayed. I prayed that if it was indeed God's will for me not to remain alone, that He would prepare a young man for me who thought as I thought about persecution, who felt as I felt about martyrdom, who would give up his life as I would give up mine. I prayed for my future husband. And I pushed the fear aside in my mind and forgot about it.

But earlier in this year, a few months ago, I was reminded of that fear. The prayers I had long ago forgotten about now returned to my memory and with it, that fear. That fear that a year before, I had never quite dealt with.

It returned and haunted me.

It plagued my mind and began corroding my faith.

I closed off my heart. I considered the decision to stay single. To never marry. To never have children. To never risk the possibility of losing someone so much a part of me.

I began pouring myself, my energy, every ounce of my time, into my work. A distraction. A safe place. A place where I didn't have to think and face the reality of my emotionally running away. I was a run-away.

I became disconnected from those around me. I grew irritable. I grew to feel isolated. And I grew to convince myself that my withdrawing was better for myself and for others. That it was safer and more certain of never bringing hurt.

But the Lord began a work in me, healing me and freeing me from the bondage of my own fears I was running from.

I realize now that love isn't something to run from. Love isn't what induces pain: love is what conquers it. Love is what conquers all.

I can't run away. If I tried, I would be running away from the very Person Who I've committed myself to to my death. Because God IS Love. (1John 4:8)

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:38&39)

Love requires sacrifice and that sacrifice may someday be grieving the loss of my husband or children. It may be watching them persecuted and suffer and killed for the sole reason of being a follower of Jesus. A Christian. But I can't live my life in fear of what may be. I can't live my life running away, trying to escape feeling a hurt I never want to know. I can't. We were not made to live held hostage to fear and trepidation.

"For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." (2Timothy 1:7)


A video was shared with my church young adult small group several months ago, in April. The video that brought back to surface my fears, my prayers, my past envisonment of the trials ahead that are to come. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uSv4vBcFyvo&feature=youtu.be

I've watched the video many times since. And every time, like the first time, something stirs within me. Something from somewhere deep within me is drawn to tears. My spirit cries when it watches this video.

Because it overwhelms me.

Because it overwhelms me with a swell of love that rises within me.

A swell of love for ISIS.

I am an enemy of ISIS. I am the person they would behead. The person they would rape. The person they would burn alive. I am that person.

But as the months have worn on since the Lord has been working on my heart, I have come to feel a love in my heart for these people I once hated with everything within me. A love for these radical jihadists. A love for these people who would persecute and kill my family and me. Who have killed countless people just like me.

Maybe I should feel anger toward them. Maybe I should declare that they should be annihilated and wiped out, as I've seen other believers cry out. Maybe I should be roused to hatred.

But I'm not.

I hate what the people of ISIS do. I hate their violence and the deeds they commit. But I do not hate them as themselves. I do not hate the individuals that the Lord God formed and created and loved.

I cannot.

And looking at the lives and deaths of martyrs from the past, I don't believe those who have already given their lives for Christ would want me to.

I pray for those being persecuted. I pray for believers overseas already facing torment and trials for their faith. I grieve for their families.

But when I think of ISIS, my heart is burdened with such a love and compassion. With such sympathy. I grieve for how lost spiritually they are. I cry for the lostness of their souls. I pray for their salvation.

Because if ever the day comes when my back is pressed against a wall and a gun is pointed poised at my chest and I'm asked if I am a follower of Jesus Christ, when I look into the eyes of my persecutor, my tormenter, I don't want to feel anger. I don't want to feel hatred or hardness or bitterness. I want to feel love. I want to be filled with compassion and forgiveness. I want to see them as Jesus saw His persecutors, those who had beaten and mocked and bruised Him and had nailed Him to a tree. To see them with the same love in His eyes as He declared, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." (Luke 23:34)

No one is unworthy of my love. No matter who they are. No matter what they've done.

Because no one is unworthy of God's love.

If the Lord can love and forgive a persecutor of His people such as Saul and a wretched sinner like me, how can I love and forgive any less?

"But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you." (Luke 6:27&28)

"Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse." (Romans 12:14)

 

As the Spirit Leads

The Lord's been speaking to me and growing me a lot lately and one of the things He's been convicting me of is the need to intentionally make time to rest my inner self in His presence and just spend time with Him. That said, one of my new favorite things I've begun doing is setting aside several hours a week to be alone with Him. It may be a Saturday afternoon when my parents are busy or it may be an early Sunday morning before church or it might be a weekday when I have a short day at work and get off early in the afternoon. But no matter the day, each of these rendezvous with Jesus have one thing in common: they have no set plan or agenda. I dedicate those hours to simply living however He leads me to. 

And they are the best, most radical hours of my weeks. 

Thursday was my set alone time for the week. I worked a short but busy shift at work, eleven to two o'clock, and then had lunch with my mom when she surprised me at work to eat with me when I clocked out. I love it when she stops by my job. 

Then I resumed my tentative plans for the day. I changed out of my Chick-fil-A uniform and I drove up to IHOP, International House of Prayer, which is conveniently only fifteen minutes from my job. I took my time driving there and listening to worship music, singing along praising Jesus. I had no time schedule or anyone to meet. I was in no rush. 

I arrived at IHOP and parked my little Altima. I love spending my Jesus time at IHOP. It's quiet where I can feel alone and be by myself, but with people always there 24/7, I feel safe as well. I also love spending my quiet time outdoors in nature. I feel closer to God that way. And IHOP has a the perfect patio and grassy parking overflow to give me the outdoor space I need. 

Armed with the picnic blanket and backpack I carry around in my car (the backpack in which I keep a Bible, journal, and pen), my lunch bag, my sketch book, and my peach milkshake, I found a grassy place and made myself at home. And I just stayed there for hours. By myself. In silence. Alone with Jesus. Praying. 

Dinner plans I tried making with a girlfriend fell through so when I felt like it, I packed up and drove down the street to Moe's to eat dinner and sit on the patio by myself. And as I sat alone, one of my guy coworker friends showed up getting dinner before meeting a friend for a movie, called out to me, and we ate dinner together. We talked about opportunities the Lord is opening in each of our lives and about both our excitement and fears about them. I asked for his prayers and we exchanged phone numbers for me to keep him posted. And I realized that had my attempts to make dinner plans fell into place, I wouldn't have had that God-orchestrated time with my work friend. I had needed someone to talk to, thinking aloud, and the Lord had provided me with company. It didn't matter that I was late for worship at the IHOP Forerunner church service. I didn't have anyone waiting for me there. I didn't have set plans and I was willing to be flexible with whatever the Lord brought into my path. 

I arrived at IHOP again in time for half an hour of the remainder of worship time, I worshipped alone in the dark sanctuary without my usual girlfriends at my side, and then having to open at work early the next morning, I slipped out after worship before the message began. 

I drove home leisurely. Again, I was in no hurry. I turned on some Bethel Music on my iPhone and drove through Lawrenceville on the roads so familiar to me now from my weekly excursions to IHOP. Dusk was settling. To the east, the sky was darkening to night; to the west, the horizon was still aglow in the last burst of pinks and orange and violet. Oncoming headlights shone brightly passing by, but all of nature was preparing for slumber as the day came to rest. Dusk. My favorite time of night. 

I thought about life. I thought about the passion and the burden the Lord has on my heart. I thought about the plans He has for my future and the calling He has for me. I thought about my purpose. 

I stopped in the left turn lane at a red light and I saw a woman holding a cardboard sign walking along the grassy median beside me. I could hardly read her sign in the dim twilight but I saw the words "Homeless" and "God bless you." Once upon a time several months ago, I had felt pricked with compassion and prompted to action one afternoon, an afternoon when I hadn't had cash on me to help the homeless person on the side of the road and I had driven away that time feeling a deep regret I couldn't erase. Since then, I had kept cash in my wallet and I had prayed for another opportunity to bless such a person. 

So when I saw that woman, that prayer came back to mind and the only thought I had was of getting to the twenty-dollar bill in my wallet before the light turned green. 

I rolled down my window as the woman approached and I handed her the money bill. She was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and a baseball cap. Her clothes looked dirty and her skin wrinkled and tanned. She had beautiful blue eyes. A space away, I could see her bags and a bicycle laying in the grass. I wondered how long she had been holding that sign that day. What kind of life she had once had. How she had ended up where she was in that moment. She didn't look to see how much money I had given her, but she took it from my hand gratefully. "Thank you! Thank you so much! God bless you!" She continued repeating the words over and over again. I couldn't remember when I had last seen anyone so grateful. "Maybe... maybe I can get... a place to stay tonight!" she said haltingly, almost breathlessly. She seemed exhausted and nearly delirious. "God bless you! You have a lovely evening and safe evening, Miss," she told me. 

I smiled a little, my heart crying out for this poor woman though. "I'll be praying for you, Ma'am," I promised her. How unhelpful and pathetic the words sounded to me on my lips though! What I would have given to have been able to help her in some other way! But her sincere reply struck my mind and continues to echo to me. 

"Thank you! A prayer is worth more than any money you could give." 

The light turned green and I drove away as she walked back to her bicycle. I drove away with my Moe's receipt in my wallet- money so easily spent- away to my beautiful home, to my loving parents, to my comfortable bed, to my security of a roof over my head and a job to wake up to in the morning. To stability. I was out twenty dollars. But what was twenty dollars to me? Dinner with my friends? How much I have, I realized, compared to some who have so little. Was I helping fuel an alcohol or drug addiction? Maybe. I don't know. But it wasn't my place to scrutinize her motives or sincerity. The Lord knows the thoughts and intentions of the heart (Hebrews 4:12) and judges accordingly. I'm only called to love, to serve, and to help those in need as He leads me to. 

I think of that woman and pray for her often since that night. I don't think I'll ever forget her. 

These are the days that I live when I set aside a few hours to intentionally spend with the Lord. And while I wish that I could live with no agendas, no plans, no timetables, every day for the rest of my life, that sadly wouldn't put money in my bank account. 

But I do think that it's important to set aside intentional time when we break the routine of our society's mentality that we always have to be busy and on the go and have plans. When we break that routine and allow ourselves to simply move and live as the Spirit leads us to. When we're entirely open to whatever He places in our path without having the constraint of meetings and appointments and places to be at at the back of our mind. When we don't have to be so time-conscience but can lose ourselves in Him. It guards us from stress and burn-out as we learn to take care of our spiritual inner self and to rest in His presence. It teaches us to be still, it tunes our ability to hear His voice, it heightens our awareness of His presence, and it frees us from any hindrance or distraction to be wholly obedient to the Holy Spirit's stirring wherever we are and whatever it looks like. It trains us to live by the Spirit. It's grown me and changed me, and I believe it can and will change anyone who makes quiet time- a quiet getaway- with the Lord a regular practice. I'm so thankful for this season of my life when I have the independence and the time for moments like these! When I'm young and can take advantage of these years for Jesus and for growing in Him like never before. 

Independence Day

The United States of America. Land of the free. Home of the brave. 

Strangely, yesterday hardly felt like Independence Day. We had my mom's annual homemade chicken wings. We all gathered round together. We watched fireworks as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Everything was as it's always been. I didn't know why it didn't feel like the Fourth to me. But it didn't. 

Maybe it was because I wasn't wearing red, white, and blue. Maybe it was because I wasn't listening to patriotic songs. Maybe it was because in light of the constant stream of dim news in our politics, there sadly wasn't a swell of pride in my heart for our country that I was celebrating. 

But regardless, it was Independence Day. America's birthday. 

As with many people, my family has celebrated the day with fireworks for as long as I can remember, and this year was no exception. It was my one-year-old niece's first time ever seeing them. She loved them. Being the immensely contemplative person that I am, I can never simply watch fireworks and enjoy them for merely what they are though. My mind always wanders as I sit there, watching them rocket into the dark night sky and explode into brilliant bursts of color. And as I sat there on the damp grassy lawn last night, my thoughts wandered once again. 

I thought this year about how much had changed in the past year. "Can you believe it's been a year already and here we are again," I heard my dad say to my mom. "This year went by so fast." And indeed it did. I thought of how that time last year as I was watching the fireworks, I had been thinking of my sister's upcoming wedding in two weeks and of all that it would be. I had no idea then how much would change in the next year. How much change in my own private life I would see, I would experience, I would feel before another Independence Day would come again. I thought of the year before, 2013, and how my thoughts and my prayers had been thousands of miles away as I had watched the fireworks, and I thought of the loneliness I had felt that summer, that fall, that winter. How long ago that seems, yet I can remember those feelings again as if it was just a day ago. 

I noticed this year as my mom, now a grandma to a toddler, was no longer preoccupied in keeping track of me in the busy crowd as she was when I was younger, and I realized that I'm grown-up. I'm an adult now. And unlike years past, I'm now responsible for looking after my own self. But my mom lovingly rubbed my back during the firework show and noticing the goosebumps on my arm, expressed concern about my tendency to catch pneumonia in cool damp weather. And I was reminded that no matter how old my sisters and I get, no matter how self-sufficient and independent we all have become, she's our mother and always will be and will always be there for us, loving us, still caring for us in her own way. 

As I sat there, holding my knees drawn up, I thought this year about what changes would come before next Independence Day. I wondered where I would be this time next year. Would I still be sitting on the same lawn, in the same spot, on the same blanket with my family as I had been year after year since I was a young teenager? The future is such a big place and so much can happen in one year. Where would I be watching fireworks next year and who knows, but would I be watching them with people I've yet to even meet. 

I was lying on a separate blanket by myself, beside my family

but partly alone as well and excluded. It wasn't intentional: I was lost in my own thoughts and as a strange loner, I genuinely don't mind being alone with my own company. But my family coaxed me to join them on their other blanket and we all crowded close together. And I was reminded that no matter where life takes me and no matter how it might isolate me on the outside from the loving world of friends and family I know now, my family will always be here for me with arms open to never allow me to feel on the outside and alone. With them, I'll always have a place to belong and a home to return to. Family is a warm and wonderful, beautiful thing. 

The fireworks exploded overhead with a thunder I could feel in the depth of my chest. And I thought of freedom. The great freedoms in this country that we enjoy, that we've always known, that I've been blessed to grow up with the privilege of. And freedoms that I'm slowly watching slip away before my own eyes. And it grieves my heart. It breaks me to see and to catch the glimpses that I do of the country I once knew changing and someday discriminating, persecuting, ridiculing my loved ones and me for our faith in Jesus Christ and our beliefs. I thought of ISIS. I thought of Christians across the globe being beheaded and already persecuted for their faith with no religious freedom to enjoy. And I wondered painfully if this time next year, in a country I hardly recognize anymore, we would still have our own freedoms left to be celebrating. 

I felt a little hand gently pat my back, breaking my contemplative daze and drawing my thoughts back to the present. I looked over my shoulder to see my niece decked out in her patriotic red, white, and blue star-spangled outfit and glow sticks, waving her soft chubby toddler hand at me. So small. And my heart melted. 

And in that moment of returning to current reality, I was reminded that the future is unknown. And no amount of wondering or worrying will make it any more clear and the path any more certain. It's in God's hands and He knows its beginning and its end. But the present is now. And it passes faster than we can imagine. Blink once and you might miss it. Because right now, I was sitting on the same lawn, in the same spot, on the same blanket, surrounded by a family who loved me and who was always there for me. My heart was full. I was listening to my niece "wow" breathlessly in her soft baby voice at every firework that lit up the sky. And I was living in a country where I was still free to worship openly, in public, without consequence my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. 

The present is here. This is life. Life to be captured in our hearts and held close for the future that lies ahead. This is now. This is life. This is the greatest freedom found in Jesus' life and death and resurrection so that we might live and have life eternal. And it's worth celebrating.