Written By the God Who Sees

Dear Little One, 

You’re seen. Behind the instantaneous smile, the immediate laughter and the flamboyant charm, I see you. I recognize your desire to hide, even when you stand in front of the mirror and challenge Me to prove your value. I hear the brokenness in the laughter, I feel the tears behind the smile. 

You don’t think you can tell Me you’re hurting because you’re so accustomed to playing a part in healing someone else. Stop. I’m not broken. I’m not in need of you. You need Me. Let yourself be broken and hurt in My presence. As your Creator, I can only heal what you show Me. Your cracked heart merely hurts My heart, it doesn’t overwhelm, anger, or turn Me away. But you do have to give it to Me. 

Please? 

I see you when no one does. I hear you cry when everyone else only hears you laugh. I feel your fear when everyone else only sees your confident leadership. You’re not confident, are you? You believe in My power for everyone but yourself, don’t you? 

Why? 

Do you understand that your purpose, value, and reason was found the moment you were conceived? Do you understand that when I breathed life into your lungs, I not only gave you purpose, I gave you My purpose, My joy, My love? Because of Me, your pain isn’t weakness, it’s strength. Because of Me, your identity isn’t found in your mistakes.

You are found in Me.

I haven’t call you to lead alone. I called you to be Mine. Hold on to the fact that you’re Mine. When you feel invisible, you’re Mine. When you feel alone, you’re still Mine; besides, you’ve never been alone a millisecond of your existence. 

You tell people you love the fact you’ve learned I am Elroi, the God Who Sees. But Child, why haven’t you let that Truth sink in when you’ve needed it most? 

I love you. I’m here. You are not invisible to Me. 

Your One and Only Elroi

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End it More


It started yesterday. The #EndItMovement. Americans finally decided to admit that slavery still exists. Social media was inundated with red Xs as a way to be a voice to the voiceless. Christians finally decided to live out the mindset that sin festers in silence. 

I wept over each picture I saw. Tears of acknowledged bitterness now healed. Tears of fear now at peace. Tears which once went unnoticed now being seen by people who don’t even know who I am or why I cry. 

Acknowledging modern day slavery is near and dear to my heart for reasons not fully mine to tell. Regardless of that, I’m reminded of a truth which has haunted my friends for years and so, therefore, haunted me as well. 

You can free them, but it’s not enough to free their bodies. 

I have sat with people who were released from their captivity, but could not be convinced that restoration and redemption was theirs. I heard them explain the power of the gospel and then mutter the heartwrenching words, “…At least, it’s powerful for you.” 

I learned from these small encounters that sex slavery especially, no matter your gender, rips your identity to shreds. I’ve cried over humans who are released –“free”– and yet they long for captivity again. Not because they loved it… their nightmarish screams spoke against that belief… but because it was familiar. 

It’s a beautiful thing to stand up for people caught in slavery. Keep it up. Speak up. Scream, for heaven’s sake! But please, I beg of you, if you must speak up, put actions to your words. 

Don’t be shocked when you discover, as I did, that slavery looks normal when you pass it in the grocery store, parking lot or even church. When you see it, do what it takes to stand by these men, women, and children until they’re free physically, emotionally, and spiritually. 

They need you to do more than write an ‘X’ on your wrist. They need you to believe in the all-encompassing power of the Gospel for them when they can’t. That takes action. That takes mercy.

The #EndItMovement takes time.

Setting Spiritual Bones

Healing hurts like hell. There, I said it. For those of you that cringed at my words, forgive me. I try harder than you would think to keep my sometimes-sailor mentality off the white pages of my blogs. But today I was reminded not that healing is frustrating or that it’s hard, but that healing is dreadfully hard. I didn’t even remember that Spiritual healing is uncomfortable. 

I was reminded, ironically, that spiritual healing hurts like Hell. Quite possibly, it hurts this badly because the hell has to come out. But dang it, I’ve never been so apprehensive about facing truth or looking myself in the mirror. The funny thing is, it’s not necessarily healing over something I did but rather something done to me that left me in pieces spiritually. 

God has never forsaken me. I look back at the months of nightmarish moments years ago and I can still see the fingerprints of Jesus. Sometimes they’re horrendously and (seemingly) unfairly dim, but they’re there. I’m alive today because Jesus never left and God was never shocked by the wounds my heart holds. I don’t understand them, but somehow He does and He has drawn me to Himself so deeply it’s breathtaking. He’s allowed — and continued to allow — healing but man! Making beauty out of ashes hurts.

Very rarely do you hear honesty coming from those whom God has given the right to heal the parts of their hearts which they’d rather forget. I’ve gotten used to crying and openly telling people that today is a hard day (but never why). Don’t expect me to pass up the phrase “Brokenness is beautiful” for the more gut wrenching reality: “Healing hurts like hell.” 

Sometimes, I wonder if we Christians don’t reach the pennacle of healing Spiritually because we don’t face the fact that not only did the wound hurt, but so did the healing. We know this principle to be true when we set a broken bone… Why can’t we allow it to be true when we’re setting broken spirits? I wonder if we walk away from restoration still aching because we feel as if we can’t admit that, although restoration is beautiful, the pain left scars that restoration had to cut open first.

What glories would we reach spiritually if we let ourselves admit to the painful process of healing and didn’t expect perfect healing the day the wounds of our hearts start to scab over?