"Please don't make me look."

The Easter bunny wasn't really a part of our Easter when I was growing up. I suspect it was considered sacrilegious, or maybe it just wasn't my parents' thing. But when my own daughter was old enough to understand, I decided to let her benefit from everything the Easter bunny had to offer.

As I put her to bed the night before the big day, I said, "Just think, Mary Susan, while you are sleeping the Easter bunny will sneak into your room and leave you an Easter basket. Yay! Won't that be great?" With no hesitation, my sweet child sat straight up in bed and began screaming at the top of her lungs, "NO!  TELL HIM TO STAY AT THE MALL!"

Suddenly I pictured the enormous bunny we had seen earlier that day with the emotionless black eyes and enormous ears. I imagined that scary creature slowly creeping into her room, and she was right. That was a terrifying thought. What was I thinking? I wouldn't want him coming into my room, either.

I tried to explain, in every way I could, who the Easter bunny was and why there was no need to be afraid, but I was completely stumped. Why did we have an Easter bunny, anyway? And I had no explanation for why he would be carrying a basket of eggs. What's that about? 

Nothing I said calmed her down so I finally decided to throw in the towel and confess the big bad truth. "Guess what, there really is no such thing as an Easter bunny. The whole thing is a big, fat lie!"

There was a long, silent pause as Mary Susan carefully considered what I was telling her. After analyzing this new revelation she screamed again, "TELL HIM TO STAY AT THE MALL!" That's the year the Easter bunny died at our house and never returned.

Sometimes I feel like Easter bunnies, baskets of eggs, and fancy dresses (with even gloves and hats in my time) are big distractions for those of us who can't bear to think of what the Easter season really means.

I have finally realized I dread the weeks leading up to Easter because I can't stand to hear the agonizing stories of Jesus' death on the cross. I've never been able to watch movies that depict the ghastly details of Jesus' crucifixion because it's just too terrible to imagine - even though the resurrection story is so beautiful. Please don't make me look.

However, just because it made me uncomfortable was no reason to avoid it altogether - so one year I decided to read the various accounts of Jesus' crucifixion in the Bible, and maybe I'd find something new and very personal to make it less painful. I did find something that totally surprised me.

Apparently I was so preoccupied with the ugliness of the cross, I never paid much attention to what Jesus actually said while he was hanging there. This time, however, I found the four major cornerstones of our work at Blue Monarch - right there, tucked away in Jesus' own words.

Forgiveness:  Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." Forgiveness is at the very heart of the great healing that takes place at Blue Monarch. There is so much generational dysfunction and abuse, this statement is often very true. Many times the ones who have hurt the women and children of Blue Monarch really did not know what they were doing at the time. Their behavior was totally acceptable in their homes their whole lives. But through counseling and lots of prayer, our courageous women are able to forgive the ones who caused them great pain, which then begins their own supernatural healing.

Faith:  When the thief on the cross next to Jesus said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom," he responded, "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise." The thief was not a righteous man. He had lived a criminal life. But look how quickly Jesus embraced him once this man simply expressed his faith in him. I think that is why we see such huge emotion when the women we serve develop a personal relationship with Jesus. They are completely overcome with God's forgiveness and grace. This, in turn, gives them more than recovery. It gives them true freedom.

Love:  Then, this is the one that really moves me. When Jesus saw his mother standing there with John, the disciple whom he loved, he said to her, "Dear woman, here is your son," and to John, "Here is your mother." The passage says from that time on, this disciple took Mary into his home. Just as Jesus charged him with caring for his mother, whom he loved dearly, he charges us with caring for the women and children he sends to Blue Monarch, whom he also adores.

But there is more. Because the disciple was so special to him, Jesus wanted this man to be blessed by serving his mother. He wanted both to benefit from their relationship together - just as we are blessed by God's children that we welcome into our Blue Monarch home.

Trust:  Finally, there is this valuable cornerstone. After Jesus had completed his work on earth, had suffered on the cross to his final breath, he said, "It is finished." At that point he left us with the Holy Spirit for guidance and discernment. One of the hardest things we ever do is watch our women and children walk out the door after we have poured time, heart, and soul into them.  Even under the best of circumstances, it is still a frightening thought that they will once again be on their own to make decisions and choices. However, we must always remind ourselves that we have done our best, we have planted the seeds, and at this point we must trust the Holy Spirit, who will continue to be with them - even when we cannot.

Who knew? All these years I avoided one of the most beautiful stories of all time, unaware there was a special letter waiting for me - hanging right there on the cross. I am so grateful I finally uncovered my eyes and found the powerful message because Easter has looked different to me ever since. 

Thank you, Jesus, for showing me the beauty in the cross - that even in your darkest hour and greatest pain, you spoke truth that would become treasures we need even today.  Amen
    

"So, I'm going to ask you again."

There was a season when my husband and I were searching for a new church and in a period of eighteen exhausting months I visited thirteen churches. I would go by myself the first time and if I thought Clay might like the church we would return together the following Sunday. 

On one particular visit by myself, I walked into a small country church and found a seat toward the back of the sanctuary. But over the next fifteen minutes, I was asked to move seven times because I was in someone else’s seat. Seven times this happened! It surprised me that no one was the least bit uncomfortable asking me to move as if I was clearly the one out of line.

I eventually settled into a vacant seat on the very back row, which was apparently still up for grabs. Or perhaps the owner was out sick. Regardless, we were off to a rough start, and I’ll admit, my feelings were a little hurt.

Shortly after the service began, I suddenly smelled a strong odor of burning sage, which surprised me. About that time, I turned around to find two men waving smoldering sage in a big circle all around me as if to run off evil spirits. They seemed to be on a mission and didn’t change the expressions on their faces or stop what they were doing when they realized I saw them. It was hard to settle on an appropriate expression for my own face under the circumstances because I was concerned any look on my face might be incriminating. They offered no explanation – and definitely no apology. I couldn’t help but compare this welcome to the collection of gift baskets and goodies from the other churches I had visited. This scene was in a category all to itself.

Naturally, I was tempted to get up and leave but since that would only confirm their suspicions, I decided to wait it out. Can’t say it was a particularly moving or enlightening sermon, the music was dreadful, and a few still seemed to hold a grudge over the seat thing. So, another one bites the dust. Check. 

I have reflected on that day several times and can’t help but chuckle as I imagine how this congregation might respond if our Blue Monarch tsunami showed up one Sunday. No doubt our busloads of women and children would probably end up standing in the back, and with the abundance of tattoos, the burning sage might set off the fire alarm.

When I pick apart this experience, it may surprise you to know that I blame myself for what happened. The fact I visited thirteen churches and found something wrong with every single one of them only shows that my expectations were ridiculously unrealistic. I don’t remember now what was on my list of requirements, but I’m sure décor and music were close to the top, and probably the pastor’s sense of humor, which had to be clever and dry. Three Stooges humor was a definite deal breaker. (The pastor who compared his wife to all women “who only care about a closet full of shoes” was out before he could say amen.)

In hindsight, I was clearly looking for my church to serve me, not for a place to serve. And I was looking for entertainment, not for a place to worship.

Once again, the women we serve are my greatest teachers. They are given choices of churches to attend because we want them to develop relationships that will remain with them even after they leave our program. Naturally, the options are not extensive because they depend on available transportation among other things, but instead of finding something wrong with every single church, they are only hungry and thankful for the opportunity to attend somewhere. Many have found ways to serve, and they jump at the chance to bring a covered dish.

I have found the women of Blue Monarch tend to gravitate to churches that allow them to be exuberant with their worship. This makes sense. After all, their life experiences have been intense, so it is natural they would want their worship to be equally as intense. When I watch them worship, usually in the front of the sanctuary, they show a hunger for Jesus that is moving. Perhaps they know too well what a life of darkness feels like without him, and the memory is still very fresh. The tears in their eyes demonstrate a sense of humility and raw gratitude some of us take for granted.

Many years ago, I received a phone call from a major television network. I had been nominated to receive a national award and the first step was an interview. I was eventually asked if participating in Christian activities was a requirement at Blue Monarch. Naturally, I explained that for a Christ-centered program, nearly all our activities were Christian. But I also explained that the women who apply are typically seeking us for that reason. We don’t have to require it because that’s what they want. In other words, it's their requirement of us - not the other way around.

The woman on the phone said, “You will be disqualified if you answer the question like that. So, I’m going to ask you again.”

She repeated the question and got the exact same answer. And yes, I was disqualified, which was fine. 

I am grateful for all the many churches that welcome our families with open arms, grace, and even patience. But I am also aware they are equally blessed. They can’t help but be reminded of why they are there when they see Jesus on the faces of the precious women and children we serve. May we all have that same hunger for him – regardless of where we are.

Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshippers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. John 4:23 

"When did witchcraft become the new black?"

The woman was in her eighties and from the way she talked, she had been unhappy in her marriage for decades. She spoke of her husband with complete disdain, and they basically barked at one another, which was uncomfortable to watch and impossible to ignore. From what I could tell, there was mutual dislike that might cross over into hate. 

I often wondered why she married the man in the first place. What made this woman want to spend the rest of her life with him? Whatever that was, must surely be gone by now. 

One day I saw a photo of this woman’s husband as a young man. He was tall and surprisingly handsome with a strong jawline and thick, wavy hair. He was a star athlete at her high school and looked very strong and masculine in his football uniform. She was a beautiful girl, couple of years younger, hanging onto his arm with an adoring gaze. He, on the other hand, looked completely indifferent as if it would ruin his reputation to show her any affection. From the stories she shared, he was apparently what her generation would call a “hellion.” 

And then it hit me. She fell for the bad guy. And now she regrets it.

I could only imagine how exciting it must have been for her to snag this football star, especially as a younger high school student. No doubt any attention from the hard-to-get-guy must have made her feel very special. She knew the difference from right and wrong and it must have been absolutely intoxicating that he lived on the edge of that line with no remorse. When he asked her to marry him – over any other girl - she must have imagined a life of bliss that would end happily ever after. 

But apparently, through the years that rough, unapproachable exterior became less and less attractive. Perhaps all the self-serving sweet talk that lured her in the beginning turned to ugly control. Her values were constantly challenged as she found herself slowly lowering to his standards simply to avoid the conflict. And all the things about her that caught his attention in the beginning, became all the things he wanted to control or destroy.

In many ways I feel the incredible rise and popularity of witchcraft is no different than what happened to this woman. What begins as an enchanting promise of great fortune, opportunities, and happiness can eventually become a life of control and helplessness with what looks like no way out. 

No longer is witchcraft something only a few misguided people practice in the dark or in some faraway jungle. It is in our faces everywhere we turn. People with great influence in the entertainment industry, and even political realm, demonstrate elements of witchcraft, sometimes to unsuspecting audiences. It has somehow become fashionable and trendy in many circles and even a requirement in others. When did witchcraft become the new black? The outward expression of satanic worship is in places we would never expect, and parents are even teaching the practices to their children as if it is just another after school activity. The shock factor has become an unachievable high – there is a temptation to outdo the last revolting act, which is a contest that seems to have no limit.

Sometimes witchcraft masquerades as a sophisticated, more highly educated form of Christianity – beyond anything simple Christians can comprehend. It is even full of ideology that sounds good, designed to respect and help others. So, how could it possibly be bad? The line between good and bad gets very blurred.   

Witchcraft is nothing new at Blue Monarch and in fact, due to the rising acceptance of this practice, it is now a question on our application. Not for disqualification, but to alert us to the challenges the applicant will face in her recovery. I sometimes feel Blue Monarch has become a refugee camp for courageous women who have been able to escape witchcraft and run to us for help. 

For many years we have had women who regretfully participated in satanic rituals at some point. I have heard the disturbing, graphic stories (I will spare you the horrific details) and I have seen the resulting trauma. Thankfully, I have also witnessed the tremendous healing that can ultimately replace the regret and shame. 

Typically, they did not seek out this lifestyle. Individuals the women trusted lured them in with glamorous promises and before they knew it, they had fallen for the bad guy, which eventually caused them to suffer tremendous loss. The most common description I have heard is that witchcraft leaves an emptiness that can never be filled. They constantly reach deeper for more and more but never feel satisfied.

You see, witchcraft is not a game. It is not just a quirky practice. It opens a door that is often very difficult and even dangerous to close. And the bad guy is the one standing at the door saying, “Turn around sister. You’re here to stay.”

However, there truly is hope. In fact, the internet is full of videos by people who love to share “from witchcraft to Jesus” stories. I’ve noticed for many of them it took a rock bottom moment or even supernatural encounter with Jesus to realize how deceived they were. One thing that is consistent, though. When they finally asked for help, Jesus was already waiting at the door offering a way out.

You see, that is the distinction. The bad guy wants complete control, regardless of her cost. The good guy, on the other hand, gives her a choice, regardless of His cost. And it’s our responsibility to teach the difference.    

Lord, please give to those who have been deceived, eyes to see, ears to hear, and courage to reach for your hand.  Amen

"Made you look."

There is a scrapbook in my head from twenty years of Christmases at Blue Monarch, but this year’s page will have the corner turned down. I don’t think I will ever forget it. It was as if Jesus held my face in his hands and said, “Open your eyes. I want you to see this.”

I found a safe spot in the corner of the great room and poised my phone to begin recording as soon as the families burst into the room to be directed to the pile of gifts for their individual families. As I gazed across the quiet room with Christmas music peacefully playing in the background, I was completely overwhelmed by the demonstration of generosity from so many faceless people who selected angels off angel trees in the community, and the church that added abundance on top of that. There were literally hundreds of carefully wrapped presents filling the room. It was truly spectacular.

My aunt and uncle used to have an enormous chicken house and I couldn’t help but have flashbacks of very calmly walking among the hundreds of clucking chickens until one quick movement suddenly turned the place into a tornado of squawking and flying feathers, creating a cloud of complete chaos. That’s what it feels like when we open the doors. We go from zero to a hundred in a split second as kids run wide open through the gifts while their mothers try to keep up.

This moment is powerful every year and always puts a lump in my throat. But something happened this year that opened my eyes in a completely new way. 

As the kids were ripping into brightly colored packages and screaming over the surprises inside, there was one boy across the room who was crying his eyes out. We immediately assumed he was disappointed about a gift for some reason, but when Deanna went over to check on him, with big ole' tears streaming down his face and dripping off the tip of his nose, he yelled, “This is the BEST CHRISTMAS EVER!” This boy was completely overwhelmed by the presents he received and was literally moved to tears, which he couldn’t control. He seemed shocked that his boxes were filled with all the things he wanted! 

As I fought back my own tears, I couldn’t help but note this was the one-year anniversary of the day that boy’s baby sister tragically died while he and his siblings watched. Wasn’t it great this day was creating a good memory to hopefully make that traumatic memory less painful.

When I looked around the room, it was as if a veil was pulled back and the powerful significance of the moment made the entire room suddenly fill with brighter light. I was keenly aware of the joy in the room that was bringing healing for every woman and child.

• I watched as a grown woman (who had lived in the woods for an entire year) marched around the room showing off her new tennis shoes, with a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

• Another woman who had suffered severe trauma as a child and probably had no fond Christmas memories whatsoever, was moved to tears when she saw that a perfect stranger, "someone who believes in you," had given her the very Bible she wanted.

• One mother who is still waiting to be reunited with her children could have been sitting alone grieving for her kids, but our graduates recognized how painful this might be and circled around to celebrate with her as she opened each gift. Hopefully this is her last Christmas without them.

• Then, I couldn’t help but notice a woman and child who had struggled so much to bond, but they were sharing each other’s joy in the sweetest way, showing how much closer they had become.

• And of course, I couldn’t miss the little girl who struggles with sensory issues and can’t even tolerate rain on her skin, but she was prancing around the room in her new princess outfit as if she had never been happier in her entire little life.

The room was filled with countless similar stories and I had a brief vision of God scooping up every woman and child, holding each one like a baby in his arms. It was a vivid reminder that he has trusted us with his precious children, which is an honor and responsibility we must never take for granted. 

While our moms and kids transported their Christmas bounty to their rooms to enjoy all over again, our amazing staff gathered for lunch. The topic of the day was the boy who cried, and we fought back tears over that one because we all felt the tremendous significance of that child’s joy and gratitude beyond his years. He made us look. We were reminded of why we do what we do – despite the frustrations and challenges we face every day, which can sometimes cause us to question whether we're really making a difference.

Suddenly, with no one coming or going, the most unbelievable fragrance filled the space, and we immediately agreed it had to be the sweet aroma of Jesus. It felt like a gentle pat on the back for our hard-working team, from the very one we celebrate in this season, and there cannot be a greater gift than that.

**********

As I drove home reflecting on all that had happened, the song, “The Prayer” came on the radio. If you haven’t heard it, you should grab a tissue and listen to the version recorded by Natalie Grant and Danny Gokey. Here are just a few lines that summed up our day pretty well...

I pray You'll be our eyes
And watch us where we go
And help us to be wise
In times when we don't know

Let this be our prayer
Just like every child
Needs to find a place
Guide us with Your grace
Give us faith so we'll be safe

"Your grandma's in jail this Thanksgiving."

Last week I was about to leave my office for the day when I found one of our residents crying hysterically on the phone. In the lives of the women we serve, this could mean just about anything. I immediately reflected on all the times I have witnessed this scene through the years. My word, how many of our moms have gotten bad news while they were with us? Children's fathers who have overdosed, parents who have died unexpectedly, friends who have gone missing. Even an occasional homocide.

Turns out, Andrea had just learned that her grandfather, the only stable and healthy support system in her life, had died suddenly. But what made it even more tragic was that he had passed away three weeks earlier and she had no idea. How could this happen? Well, unfortunately, there was no one capable or sober enough to let her know. 
 
Andrea’s heart was broken and the expression on her face showed how crushed she was. At this point I’m sure she felt completely abandoned. Her Blue Monarch family rallied around her, and in that moment, Andrea probably believed we were the only family she had left.
 
We deal with complicated family issues every single day at Blue Monarch, but naturally, the holidays highlight them in new and unexpected ways. 
 
I often feel that our moms play a constant game of musical chairs with their family members. “Who’s in charge here?” The grandmother may be the matriarch presiding over Thanksgiving one year, but sitting in jail the next year. For some of our ladies, any one of their siblings, cousins, aunts, or uncles could be in jail on any given day. Even Grandma.
 

Just like musical chairs, the family roles can switch places every time the music stops. Some of the kids who show up at our door have been taking care of their moms and solving big grownup problems, so they feel like they are the parents. Perhaps the moms have been behaving more like the children. With loads of time, patience, and many ups and downs, we do see them settle into their appropriate roles, but it's quite a struggle while they fight over the same chair.
 
At the same time, the ground beneath the family outside of Blue Monarch is shifting as well. As the woman we serve gets sober, healthier, and more mature, her family members don’t know where they fit in. Perhaps the parent who was the rescuer is no longer needed in that way, or the sibling who looked great in comparison no longer shines as bright. “Who’s in my chair? Move over!”

Occasionally, there is another dimension to this shift that is not so obvious. As our moms become healthier parents to their children, we often see them act like parents toward their own mothers and fathers at the same time, but not because of their ages. How many times have I heard a resident talk to a mom or dad in jail, who is still struggling with addiction or criminal behavior, offering advice she wishes she had gotten as a child? It’s so complicated.

So, basically we have a woman still longing for a childhood she never had, who never observed healthy parenting growing up, and yet she's trying to be the best mother she can to children and parents at the same time. Just imagine how overwhelming that must feel. No doubt, it's a tough place to be and there's no textbook for that. Thankfully, that's where the incredible Blue Monarch team steps in to walk alongside her through this uncharted territory.
 
This Thanksgiving, I am grateful for the beautiful gift Blue Monarch offers for healing and restoration, and I say a special prayer for our courageous moms as they settle into their new seats at the table. May they find peace in who they have become, wisdom to lead their children well, and strength to nurture their new family trees.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:6-7

"Too bad she wasn't willing to wait."

If you have ever heard me speak or if you have read my book, From My Front Row Seat, you may already know that as a child I had a very unhealthy, unexplainable fascination with Elizabeth Taylor. I found it completely intriguing she had so many husbands – and apparently, even recycled one.

 

So, it comes as no surprise that I have been married three times.  

 

I never talk about my first brief marriage and in many ways it’s as if it never happened. In fact, shortly after we split up, there was a day when I discovered someone (who thought was helping me) burned every shred of evidence this man ever existed in a big bonfire with no warning. Every letter, card, photograph, and every cassette tape. Remember those? In a puff of smoke that entire painful, complicated chapter of my life vanished. 

 

Many years later, it occurred to me that my aunt, who kept everything, might have saved a wedding picture. I needed something to document this period of my life to prove it really did happen. Sure enough. She had a wedding photo that included my cousin who was an unfortunate bridesmaid. When I looked at the faded image, I couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe there were other reasons all evidence was destroyed.

 

This wedding was at Christmastime and for some crazy reason I thought it made sense to have my bridesmaids dress up like Santa. So, for every woman out there who wants to whine about her ugly bridesmaid dress she will never wear again...you have no idea how bad it can get. Each bridesmaid was dressed in red with white fur around the cuffs and neckline. In fact, I remember how hard I worked to find white boas to create these masterpiece garments. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, they carried flowers that looked like big snowballs. No doubt every single bridesmaid hated my guts in that moment, and for the life of me, I can’t imagine what I was thinking. So, I carry this photo on my phone now, just to validate there was this crazy season in my life and it really did happen. 

 

My mother asked me recently if I thought God had blessed that marriage. Not hardly. In fact, I honestly don’t remember even asking God what he thought about it. Nor did I ask his opinion the second time, either. (The third time I prayed a lot and we’ve been happily married twenty-eight years.)

 

I can only imagine when I made the decision to get married my second year in college to someone that I clearly had no business marrying, God must have told his angels, “You might as well have a seat. This will take a while.” No doubt it would take many years before my life got back on track in the direction God intended all along. I sometimes wonder how different my life might have been if I had asked for his thoughts way back then instead of forging ahead with my own plan.

 

Recently I had a powerful vision that I want to share with you. I had been praying for a miracle that I felt God had promised me. But it was taking way longer than I ever thought it would and I was impatient. It was tempting to take control and act on my own, even though I felt strongly this was not God’s plan and he was telling me to wait.

 

Suddenly I had the most amazing vision, which was like a dream with my eyes open. I saw Jesus sitting at a small craftsman’s table. I could see him from the side, leaning over the table, carefully and meticulously stringing beads onto a long necklace. The beads were beautiful colors, each one with its own unique, intricate design. I could see there were still some beads on the table and the necklace was not yet full.

 

He held up the necklace by both ends and said, “You can take it now if you want, but it won’t be the perfect gift I had in mind for you. In fact, it may not last and may even fall apart. But it’s up to you.” I realized in that moment that he really wanted to bless me with something greater than anything I could imagine – if I could just trust him and be patient.

 

Many times, I feel this is exactly what happens with the women we serve. They have lost custody of their children, perhaps through mistakes of their own, but once they are going through the steps to make things right, this can feel like an eternity. No doubt for each mother, it’s tempting to take matters into her own hands, drive over to the foster home and snatch up her child right now rather than wait through difficult months and perhaps even years to jump through the necessary hoops and navigate the complicated process to regain custody. It takes supernatural faith and patience. This is especially challenging for those with a history of addiction who have been accustomed to acting impulsively for a very long time. It’s incredibly difficult. And painful. They wake up each morning with the same empty hole in their hearts that was there when they went to sleep.

 

But time and time again, when that miracle comes in God’s timing and not ours, it is more beautiful and spectacular than anything we could have imagined or manufactured on our own. Those are the times when a sudden, unexpected shift or event happens, or all the hundreds of moving parts just amazingly fall into place in the most remarkable way. And I’m certain that’s when Jesus gets the greatest joy – when he’s able to give the perfect gift he had in mind all along. "Here you go. Now it's finished." 

 

Don't you know when Jesus saw the Santa dresses, he must have shaken his head and mumbled to himself, “That is NOT what I had in mind. Too bad she wasn’t willing to wait.” Maybe that's why I keep that photo on my phone.  

 

Lord, thank you in advance for the perfect gift you have in mind. May we have the patience that only true faith can bring. Amen

 

“Is that really you, Mama?”

For some unexplainable reason, I seem to be packing a backlog of questions for God that I’m saving until I can see him face to face. I realize I can ask them now - but in the interest of time, perhaps it makes sense to wait until we have eternity to chat.

 

Of course, there are the big ones, such as “Where did you come from?” but there are others that I just really want answers for one day.

 

I often wonder if God wishes he had done things differently when he sees how we flounder. For instance, I don’t think I’m the only one confused by Israel the man and Israel the nation. Does he ever wish he had made that easier to keep straight? 

 

Or there’s the armadillo. I’m dying to know; did he make that creature just for fun from leftover parts of other animals? The eyes of one, the ears of another, etc. Did he chuckle to himself when he decided to throw on an armored shell - and then, even better, make it jump three feet straight up in the air when it’s startled? And why not make it stink just to finish it off.

 

But there’s another question I ask all the time and hope to hear the answer one day. Why does he allow children to suffer? I wish I had an answer for that one. 

 

For the past two decades, I have heard stories of gruesome trauma that are mind boggling. In fact, we had a graduation recently and all our amazing women shared portions of their personal stories, which included the impact on their children. It stood out to me that multiple testimonies included the death of a loved one, primarily from drug overdose, abuse from a partner, and neglect as children. But I was aware there were still other stories withheld that were too shocking to share in that setting. I looked across the room and imagined the facial expressions if those events had also been described. 

 

So, I am not unfamiliar with stories of profound trauma. But if I were looking at a graph to measure the level of intensity, it would have spiked a couple of years ago and stayed at that heightened level ever since. I believe the isolation due to lengthy quarantine did significant damage to the social development of our children and created the perfect petri dish for abuse of all kinds to grow out of control. The kids most at risk had no outside eyes to protect them. Therefore some of the children we serve are showing up with extreme anger and behavior that is off the charts. It is not what we already expect. It is beyond that, in direct proportion to the trauma the children have endured, yet they have every right to feel the way they do. 

 

Let’s take just one example. As a three-year-old, Nicholas saw his mother beaten countless times and even stabbed. He was abused by the same man and basically lived with Freddy Krueger, never knowing what was around the corner or in the dark. He didn’t live on the periphery of his mother’s chaos; he was in the middle of it for most of his little life and the details are horrendous.  

 

But then Nicholas and his mother eventually come to Blue Monarch because she bravely decides to get help and build new lives for both of them. Nicholas, on the other hand, still views the world through eyes that see the ghost of Freddy Krueger. Imagine the conflict. He looks to his mother for comfort, but the very sight of her brings him back to the horrific trauma they endured together. He despises her and yet he loves her. He wants to trust his mother but fears she’s actually Freddy Krueger in disguise. “Is that really you, Mama?” He doesn’t know when the monster will reappear and sometimes can’t go to sleep without asking this question one last time before closing his eyes.

 

In the meantime, the slightest disappointment or aggravation sends Nicholas into an intense rage that extends way beyond the typical temper tantrum. He becomes vicious, violent, and strikes out at his mother or anyone who gets caught in the crossfire. He bites. He scratches. He destroys everything within reach. He thrashes and kicks. He yells as if he is in excruciating pain and the truth is, he is. 

 

So, is there hope for this family? Remarkably, yes. But honestly, if they were not here in this environment with the support of our gifted staff, I really don’t know what would keep this child from landing in jail by the age of ten. Even the limited outside resources available to this boy illustrate how terribly unprepared our system is for a small child with teenage behavior. 

 

The struggle for this mom is so great it is overwhelming just to watch. But she works as hard as she can to apply what she learns from our amazing parenting coach. Imagine the overload of emotions for her: regret, guilt, anger, frustration, hurt, embarrassment. The list goes on and on because she realizes her role in what has transpired and it often feels hopeless. 

But still, with tears in her eyes, she wraps her son in a big bear hug, revealing the bloody bites and scratches up and down her arms, and patiently waits for the episode to end. She tells Nicholas he is safe, and that she loves him even though her heart is pierced from the ugly things he is saying and doing to her. Together they fight the devastating nightmare they share until they both collapse from exhaustion. Little by little, they take baby steps toward healing.

 

A few days ago, Nicholas’ mom came running into my office with a smile from ear to ear. She said, “I have something exciting to tell you! It occurred to me Nicholas isn’t too young to know Jesus, so I asked him if he wanted to invite Jesus into his heart and he said, ‘Yes Mama, I do!’ So I prayed with him and he did just that!” Her face lit up as if she had seen a light at the end of the tunnel for the very first time. 

 

As I looked at this mother’s brand new smile, I knew we would be seeing great healing for this family - and it’s because she had reached for the one who knows better than anyone, the love for a child that is worth the pain. 

Lord, thank you for this beautiful place where even the most wounded women and children can find healing and comfort in your arms. Amen

 

Update: Since Nicholas invited Jesus into his heart, he has not had another violent outburst toward his mom. After twenty years of God’s miracles, they still take my breath away every single time.