jesus – Meagan Louise

Grace, Given.

I’ve been hearing a lot about grace lately. When the same word or idea presents itself over and over again, eventually my ears perk up and I realize that there’s something for me here. At first, it was the fact that I have RECEIVED grace, and Jesus died so that I could have it. He bore the weight of all of my sin, forever, so that I could be blameless before God. This is a big deal. Then it became the idea that if I have received grace, I should also GIVE grace.

Jesus told this story of a guy who owed a ton of money (like a TRILLION dollars worth of money), and after begging and pleading, the king actually forgave him of it. He gave him GRACE. Then this dude went out to people who owed him money, (like a couple hundred dollars) and even after they begged and pleaded, he threw them in jail until they could pay. Once the king heard about this, he was furious! Grace etiquette had been broken. This guy received grace at a high cost, but when given the opportunity to extend grace, he chose not to.

I had to ask myself, what do I chose? I thought, surely I choose to extend grace.

Jesus was waiting for me to ask this question.

Not an hour later, I got a phone call from someone I haven’t talked to in over 9 years. For good reason.

Long story short, when I was 18 my great-grandmother passed away, leaving me a trust fund my grandparents had set up for me when I was born, and everything in their home. Including furniture, pictures, clothing, jewelry. All of this was stolen from me, by family.

I ended up with a couple pieces of moldy furniture, and some costume jewelry that they claimed were wedding rings. My aunt was wearing my great-grandmothers wedding ring as she asked me to sign that I had received everything in full.

I was young, and naive. Thinking that people who once loved me, would always have my back. I was wrong. And I got screwed. My grandparents had a lot to give, and a lot to be taken…and it was all taken.

I didn’t care about the money, except that Babu and Papap wanted me to have it. They thought my education would be paid for, that they were setting me up for my future. I wanted to wear my grandmothers wedding ring on my wedding day. I wanted to sit in the chair my great-grandfather sat in EVERY day and smoked his cigars in. I wanted to hold pieces of them that reminded me of my time with them. The glass grapes my sister and I always got yelled at for playing with. The mink scarf Babu would delicately place on my shoulders as I twirled in her mirror. Memories of summers spent with grandparents. History. Family.

This phone call, was from one of these family members. All of the sudden, I realized I had NOT forgiven them. Even though it didn’t harbor on my mind, one second of their name appearing on my phone flooded my heart with anger and bitterness.

I was reminded quickly that those who receive grace, extend grace. And all of the sudden that question I had asked earlier was given a different answer. When given the opportunity, do I withhold or extend grace?

I didn’t like my answer.

Jesus said that we should forgive over and over and over and over. Seventy times seven. But can I forgive this transgression, just once? Forgiveness is not free. If someone steals from me, and I forgive them, I am saying, “It’s okay. I’ll pay the cost.”

What a difficult thing to say. But Jesus did. For all of us. The cost of offering us grace was death. I mean, someone FREAKING DIED FOR ME, and I can’t let a few thousand dollars go.

So I’ll think I’ll be focusing on grace. Memorizing it. Swirling it around in my mind, and absorbing what it means. Maybe if I soak it in, I can pour it out. Not forgiving, not offering grace, those are chains I put on myself. I want to be free.

Jesus. Thank you for offering me grace. For forgiving me the millions of times I’ve needed it. For dying for me so that I can come to you clean and new. Help me to see what that looks like, and help me to offer that same grace to the people around me. I want to rejoice in opportunities to extend grace, because it’s opportunities to be like You. Bless my family. Heal my family. Soften their hearts to receive love. Never stop chasing after them, and never let them forget that they too are forgiven. No matter what.

A Story of Mercy

Mercy: (especially of a journey or mission) performed out of a desire to relieve suffering; motivated by compassion

Walking through a tough season of pain, disappointment, and loss, I am feeling jaded and worn. My hallelujah is tired. I am tempted to draw a line in the sand of my faith and say, “I can’t go any further. I might even take a step back. This is TOO MUCH.”

But God is waiting in my doorway, standing on my doorstep, just waiting for me to open the door. He hasn’t left, and he hasn’t yelled to be let in. He’s just…waiting. I look out my windows at Him and contemplate the person that disappointed me. Who didn’t answer me when I called. I am angry at Him, and I am unsure of our relationship. How do I act if I let Him in? Can I hear what He has to say?

But then He sends people to me that I do trust. He softens the blow and heals my heart even though I’ve kept him standing on my doorstep. They tell me that He is waiting for me to show Him my brokenness. That if I would let him offer me mercy, He wants to relieve me of my suffering and fill me with the only things that can fill this hole in my heart. Faith, joy in suffering, and hope.

I unlock the deadbolt.

Unable to stop thinking about the storm swelling under the surface, I tell Him, “I’m not ready to let you in yet. But I’m here. I am still here.” I pull a chair up to the window and talk to Him through the door.

I ask a lot of questions, laced with distrust and anger. He listens.

I stop asking. And open the door a crack.

He reaches around the frame and holds my hand.

All he offers me is comfort. Reminders of his love for me. He tells me that His heart breaks too. That I am brave. And that the mercy of redemption is always on the table, and He is always sitting at it.

He stills sits on my doorstep, but my door is cracked a little. We are talking now. Maybe we’ll laugh some too.

But I’m not hiding anymore. My shades are not fully drawn. I’m letting the sun in, even when my skin cringes at the exposure.

{God, thank you for never withdrawing your mercy. Thank you that you never take mercy off the table for me. Help me to take it today and offer myself to follow you.}

People Pleasers Who Hate Pleasing People

It’s a dilemma. A HUGE dilemma. I love defying expectations and hate doing things just so that so-and-so can be happy / comfortable if those “things” don’t make any sense, but I am in complete shambles if someone doesn’t like me. I mean, it is the WORST if someone doesn’t like me.

So I am very confused.

What does a people pleaser do if they hate doing things just to please people? They freak out. All the time. About everything. And they argue with themselves a lot. I mean, it’s a real mess up in here.

For example: Family coming to visit this weekend was a HUGE meltdown waiting to happen. (Okay, it happened, twice. Or maybe more, but who’s counting.) On one hand, I want to make sure that they have a good time, that all of their expectations and needs are met, they have the food they like, the activities they enjoy, the air temperature they prefer. But on the other hand, why do I have to bend over backwards because they need GREEN apples, not red ones. Butter, soft and unsalted. Hawaiian Punch to drink, because water/lemonade isn’t right. Oh, and that loaf of bread? It looks weird.

I woke up at 4 AM the first night, paranoid over expectations and feelings. The pizza took 55 minutes to get here, did they even WANT pizza anymore? I should have picked different pizza!!! What do we do tomorrow? Will it be too hot? If it is, then what? Oh my gosh, do they hate it here? Do they regret coming? Who cares anyway, I’m doing the best I can and that’s all I can ask. So what if my bread doesn’t look the same as their bread. GET OVER IT. But I want you to be happy, and for what I have to be ENOUGH for you!

I just want to be enough.

BOOM. I just want to be enough, and I hate not being enough. If you aren’t happy with me, or what I have to give you, I feel like I am not enough for you. So I try to make you happy because I NEED YOU TO SAY that who I am, what I am, is enough. That you don’t need a constant smiley face, the perfect response, or the perfect brand of cheese.

And therein lies the dilemma. I hate pleasing people because I just want them to be satisfied, and say, “it’s okay, what you have here is enough.” But I don’t feel like enough, so I want to please them so they’ll say, “wow, what you have here is enough.”

The crazy thing is, this all goes back to something I already know, and I already tell myself over and over. Humans are flawed and damaged. (Hell, I’m flawed and damaged.) I cannot, under any circumstances, seek my sense of approval from other people. THEY will never satisfy my unending need for love and approval.

So why do I keep going back to this? I obviously haven’t learned how to receive my worth from the right place yet.

Jesus said, “My grace is sufficient for you”. And Paul prayed in Ephesians, “that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.”

Filled to the measure. No worry. Sufficient. Yes, I want ALL OF THAT.

I learned an important lesson today, and that is that I haven’t yet learned how to receive my identity and His son/daughter. What a tough lesson to learn, and what a difference it will make when I do! I pray that this sinks in, the God continues to show me how high and deep His love is, that I learn to receive that as the source of who I am, and not the opinions of other people. That I would have the grace and love to extend to those who come against me, and to walk in the freedom of knowing that I am flawed and equally loved.

Humans Are Incredible

I spotted this video that went viral on Facebook today, and (I know I’m emotional) it brought tears to my eyes. Three strangers outside of a Kroger started jamming on the spot, and it SOUNDS AMAZING.

I follow this blog called, “Humans of New York”, the first of many replications, and I am constantly reminded of people’s crazy stories, talents and lives. Strangers that you pass by on the street have complex stories weaved with heartache and love and struggle. Seeing their faces tied to excerpts of their stories usually leaves me in awe of the human race and how diverse we are.

Also, that we’re never alone.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this on Sunday’s, when I’m volunteering at church. How everyone that walks through those doors has a different story, and a different reason why they are there. In the sea of people, there are so many questions, so many tears that have been cried or anger that hasn’t been released, or forgiveness that hasn’t been had or freedom that hasn’t been found. The single mom whose ironically been singled out by her community, the confused teenager who has no idea who they are, the overwhelmed Dad who feels like a total failure.

SO MANY STORIES.

And that is why I want to look at people with open arms and to be able to say, “I have no idea what it is like to be you, but I’m sure it can be tough, and I’m sure you fail at it, but I’m also sure that you are freaking amazing.” Because, you are.

The talent of these three totally random guys, is shake-your-head-in-amazement wonderful. And we might never have gotten to see the beauty behind the rags so to speak, had they not let us. There is beauty in all of us, God DELIGHTS in us (it says so in Zephaniah 3:17), because we are all wonderfully made. (David talks about that is Psalm 139:14.)

So I love to see the beauty shine through, and to soak it in. Because that stranger on the street, the nameless person sitting next to you in church, or the dude with a guitar outside of Kroger…sometimes, you just don’t know.

P.S. If you want to check out Humans of New York, you can find it here:

https://www.facebook.com/humansofnewyork?fref=nf