Wet Pillow Theology

Today, I'm going to attempt to finish a blog post that has been on my heart for months, and which I've been attempting to write for weeks!   I know I won't be able to fully articulate what the Lord is trying to teach me, but I think there will be clarity in the effort.

God loves wet pillows. Well, He doesn't exactly love them, but He uses them.  He understands them. God invites us into suffering along side others.  He speaks to us through sorrow, exhaustion and grief as we cry ourselves to sleep.

I don't mean the "oh my boyfriend broke up with me", or "my dog died" kind of tears, although I know He is with us during those times too.  Up until moving to Chevak, those two previous examples are the only times I really remember crying myself to sleep before the age of 23.

No, I mean the kind of wet pillow that comes from deep sorrow.  From trudging with a friend or family member through cancer treatment or infertility, or experiencing such yourself.  From losing a spouse, or child.  From watching your son or daughter walk away from the Lord.  From being pulled down by depression or suicide.  From saying goodbye to someone you love deeply.  From watching children suffer.

The first night I cried myself to sleep in Chevak was only a few months after moving there.  I had begun the evening in the highest spirits.  Nate and I, with our warm coats and rose-colored glasses on, decided to take a walk through the village to see the sunset.  We stopped at the school and hung out at the dance for awhile.  At 10pm, it was time for the little kids to go home, and one little girl grabbed my hand and asked us if we'd walk them home. 

"Melt my heart, little one, of course I will!"

So, Nate and ended up in the middle of a pack of a dozen or so elementary school kids as they walked the muddy streets home.  Pretty soon, the little girl holding my hand stepped behind me to talk to her big sister, who was probably 10.  I don't think she meant for me to hear, but you know how it is when little ones whisper.  She started crying and saying she didn't want to go home.

"No, no, no, I'm scared.  I'm scared.   I don't wanna go.  

Let's stay outside.  Let's go somewhere else.  I'm so scared."

"It's okay.  Don't worry, sister.  Dad won't be home yet. 

You can use my crayons.  It's okay.  Shhhh shhhh. 

I'll protect you.  He won't be there yet." 

And I had to let them go.  Down the dark street.  With the rest of the kids who heard the conversation, but didn't even flinch.  Just kept walking, probably afraid to go home themselves.  There was little we could do.

It broke my heart.  I held it together, but when we made it home I cried myself to sleep.  It was our first peek into what life was really like for these kids.  It was our first time knowing people who were abused and neglected, poor and hurting, not just reading about them in books.

There were other wet pillow nights in Chevak, too.  Like when our dear friend, Maya, died of liver cancer.  She whose name we would give a daughter, who helped start the youth group at church, took us on our first boat ride in Chevak, loved Jesus, left behind her only daughter, Deanna, now an orphan.

Or the day I came across one of my 4th graders sitting outside her house crying because she had just been beaten by her intoxicated mom.

Or the day I heard one of my 7th graders had been raped.

Or the time we got the news that two of my brightest students' mom had shot the dad and then herself in a moment of drunken rage.

Or the day we found out one of Nate's former students, who had returned from Iraq, and was a role model for the younger generation, committed suicide.

Or the day we found out one of our friends accidentally shot his young daughter with his hunting rifle.

Or the time we heard that a tiny baby had been run over by a four-wheeler and killed.

Or when we heard the news that our dear teacher friend Lena had succumbed to cancer, leaving behind her 5 sons and 1 daughter.

Or, most recently, when we found out that one of Lena's boys died of a concussion. 

And many, many more.

Wet pillows for us.  And probably for you, too. 

But why, oh why, are these wet pillows good?!

This is where my theology is still being shaped.  This is where I have so much to learn. This is what I am struggling to understand. 

Jesus walked the earth doing battle with suffering.  If he crossed paths with someone who was crippled, unclean, leprous, or blind, soon their suffering was turned to joy and dancing.   God hates suffering.  When Jesus returns again, there will be no more.  "Sorrow and sighing will flee!"

Indeed we must remember that Christ himself suffered on our behalf.  Isaiah 53:4-5 "Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering, yet we considered him punished by God, stricken by him, and afflicted.  But he was pierced for our transgression, he was crushed for out iniquities. The punishment that brought us peace was on him and by his wounds we are healed."

I cannot even pretend to "solve" the problem of pain for our world and they way it seems to be counterintuitive to a Good God (I'll leave that to the great theologians like C.S. Lewis).  What I know? Suffering happens.  As a consequence of the Fall, as a consequence of sin, because His Kingdom on Earth is not yet complete.  I love Luke 4:18, where Jesus says:

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, because He has anointed Me to preach the gospel to the poor; He has sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed."

So, if I am a true disciple of Jesus, and I am taking up my cross to follow him, if God Himself suffered on my behalf and fills me with His Spirit to be His hands and feet for those around me that suffer...then I myself should be brushing shoulders with the poor, brokenhearted, captive, blind and oppressed.  I should KNOW them enough to feel their pain.  I should be internalizing their pain.   Even enough to cry myself to sleep some nights. 

Am I? 

You see, it's been quite a while since I cried myself to sleep.   Since moving here to Washougal, my family and I have been pretty sheltered from the suffering of others.  Our bubble is comfortable.  I like it.  We are blessed and I do thank God for His goodness. 

Yet.
 
In my soul, I feel the Lord calling our family to more.  If we REALLY believe what the Bible says, then shouldn't our lives look more like Jesus' life?  Shouldn't our hearts break for the things that break His heart?  Shouldn't we love others so much that when they suffer, we cry along with them?

Then, the other part of me says:

"Yeah, but I have kids!  They might feel neglected.  They might be badly influenced.  They might not have a perfect childhood.   I'm too busy already!   There are too many people to know and love and serve!"           

But, you know what's crazy?  My kids are some of the greatest advocates for our neighbors and the poor around us.

"Mom, what does his sign say?  Let's buy him food!" 

"Dad, we should have Cassie's mommy and daddy over for dinner."

"Let's go visit Melle today, Mom!" (our disabled neighbor).

"Yay!  Movie night!"  (at the low-income apartment complex where we volunteer once a month).

So, my excuses ring hollow in my ears.  My children not only want to help others, but need to learn how to do so through the strength God provides.  Just as I spend time providing them healthy meals,  sending them out to get exercise,  practicing reading and math, I need to be teaching them how to embody Jesus by loving those that are hurting.  Actually, that most of all.

And do you know what else I've noticed lately?  I am a better Mom when I take my eyes off of myself.  When I allow God to burst the comfort bubble we live in.  When He fills me with His fruits of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control.

I can share with my boys what it means to care so deeply about God's children who are suffering, that they will also cry themselves to sleep.  In my arms.  In His arms. 

And, very practically, because sometimes I need practical steps, I've thought of a few things my family can do:

1. PRAY that God would give Nate, myself and our children (and our church) a heart like His, and compassion like His.  That we would love Him with all of our hearts, souls, minds, and strength; therefore, loving our neighbors as ourselves.

2. That God would help us SEE the needs in our community and the world, giving us a specific Call.
 
3. After hearing the Call and seeing the people in need, pursuing them and KNOWING them by doing life with them on a day-by-day basis.

4. POSTURING ourselves in worship to our Savior and humbly walking closely with others through His strength.  So closely that when they cry, I cry.  When they hurt, I hurt.


So closely that at times I cry myself to sleep.


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Here's a few books/sermons/blogposts that have inspired this post, written/spoken by people that have a whole lot more experience, wisdom and right to elaborate on this subject than me!

Kisses from Katie by Katie Davis, about a young woman who lives in Uganda and has adopted 13 young girls, even though she is just 23.

A Hole in Our Gospel by Richard Stearns, president of World Vision, and a former millionaire whose heart God has shattered as he reaches out to the poor.

Josh McPherson's Story/Sermon about how God has brought their family through the difficulty of two children born with Spina Bifida, and how God has used their disabilities to teach them more about Himself.  I went to GFU with Josh and his beautiful wife, Sharon.

Gary Haugen's talk at the Justice Conference 2013, where he talks about the "slow and tedious" work of the International Justice Mission, as they seek to set some of the 27 million slaves in our world today free.

Love Does by Bob Goff

I Don't Want My Kids to be Happy:  A blogpost by Missy at "It's Almost Naptime" talking about what we should really want for our kids.