Enter the darkness and come alive

We arrived home Sunday night from our full weekend away. I told Jeff I’d never felt more tired. But full too.  I told Jeff I was looking forward to a week of downtime, just relaxing, cleaning my house, holing up all by myself, stuff like that.

I had no idea the next morning would change my life.

The details aren’t blog-material, but God brought a miraculous (and unspeakably horrific) circumstance literally to our front door. Bus Stop 32. We spent the next 48 hours involved in a series of events–including police involvement and court-hearings–that will change me forever. Seminary doesn’t prepare you for stuff like this.

It’s late now and as I try to think of what to say to you, there’s no little cute stories or churchy sayings. My prayers these last 48 hours have been a lot different from before. They’re not the obligatory kind or the kind I say without thinking. They’re short and desperate cries, calling down power from on High, asking for the God of the universe to come rescue this broken world. Asking Him to do exactly what He says He came to do:

To bind up the brokenhearted.

To proclaim freedom for the captives.

To release from darkness the prisoners. 

That’s exactly what we need Him to do.

And I have to say, as Jeff and I maneuvered through these last couple days, despite the tragedy and exhaustion, there was this light, this power and hope and sense that this is what the Body of Christ is called to do. Stuff that matters. I get discouraged and weary when I’m just blessing blessed people and discussing the details of healing with those who are already healed. Jesus said, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”

He’s onto something.

Ministering inside my bubble is safe. Convenient. I can schedule it in. I’m not cursed at or put in danger. My children aren’t exposed to the sick, sorrowful world outside our door.

But is that really living?

Today as I swam through a myriad of thoughts and emotions surrounding this situation, even though I was heavy with sorrow and nervous with anticipation and exhausted from it all, I felt more alive than ever. The world outside seemed realer, brighter. God seemed nearer. And this came into my mind:

Whenever you are courageous the world comes alive a little more.

When we are courageous, we come alive. The world comes alive. Why?

Because the LIFE OF CHRIST flows through us to a dying world. 

We are Christ’s ambassadors; we are His light.

But we must go to dark places in order to really shine.

I am going to bed, right now, at peace. A tragic situation is still very tragic. But there is safety now. There is hope. A rescue mission has taken place in every since, and God is great and drawing lost and broken people to Himself.

This isn’t a pep-rally post saying everyone needs to storm the inner city and start trying to rescue people. This is a simple reminder–to me most of all–that when we are courageous, the world comes alive a little more.

We are His light.

Have the courage to enter whatever dark places He puts before you today. 

{Thanks for reading.}