in her shoes

 

Her hair was still damp from the shower she rushed through earlier in the day. I caught the faint scent of shampoo as I hugged her tight. The nutrition staff brings a tray in because she's a breastfeeding mama. She gives the tray a once over and decides she's just not that hungry. No surprise. Most mamas aren't very hungry when they wear her shoes. 

Today is a Tuesday. Oh, these precious Tuesdays. Her baby is exactly two weeks younger than Luke; she was also born on a Tuesday. 

The ride there had been a long one, longer for her than for me; I know because I'd been in her shoes not too very long ago. The heavy shoes of a mama desperately wanting answers and traveling to the one place we were told we may get them.

I took her a basket of things four days into their stay. The day after her baby's brain surgery. None of the stuff really mattered, but that's what southern women do, isn't it? We give folks stuff. Food, mostly. There's a purpose for the stuff though, it gives us a reason to make ourselves present. I always felt better when people showed up and even better than that when they brought Jesus. 

We couldn't take the basket to the baby's room because you can't take food into the PICU. There are some strict rules to follow back there. I left it in the waiting room with my moral support and braved the same hallway I traveled the night I walked to the room where nurses worked desperately to save the little life of My Sweet Luke.

My shoes were impossibly heavy that night. 

She's wearing the heavy shoes now. 

This isn't easy for me by any stretch of the word. But the Holy Spirit nudged me on, reminding me that what she's going through at this moment is much, much more difficult. 

The real point of my visit was to hug her and to remind her that others have worn the shoes she's been wearing. Others are wearing them right now; just take a quick little walk down the hallway to see. The basket of stuff I bring is just stuff; the Love, the Hope is the real purpose.

I couldn't bear to let her walk this path under her own strength. I had to let her know that others have taken those impossible steps. And, above all, that the only way this mama gets through it is with Jesus. I know she knows, but the presence of others helped me. So I go to help her. 

When I saw her eyes and heard her voice, I knew immediately that she isn't carrying it alone. She's got the strength of God in her, just like her beautiful baby girl. And a husband beside her who, I could tell immediately, has enough love for his two ladies to send them to the moon and back. If only a daddy's love could shrink a brain tumor...

What a beautiful family...

Then I start talking. I feel like I need to say something but oftentimes words are useless,  so I call on the only words that actually brought real comfort when my deepest pain was new. 

First I tell her what one of my role models in high school said on Facebook when I wrote about Luke's last day, "God handpicks the people who will make the biggest impact on His Kingdom." 

God, I hope that's true. I meant to think that, but it comes out of my mouth before I can catch it. 

Her eyes tear up, and I hope it's not more heartbreak. That's the opposite of my goal here. 

Then I tell her what Luke 2:19 and and 2:51 say about Mary's heart. "She treasured up all these things..." I tell her the same thing a wonderful woman that used to teach with me wrote in a letter about those verses. Mary was a real woman, a real mother, and God did not take that lightly. He let those verses into His Word twice to let us know that He cares deeply for a Mother's Heart. He has a higher purpose for all of this, and He would never let any of this heartache touch a mother's heart unless it was for His higher purpose. He allows it. And when he allows this type of heartache, you have a choice. He's either good or He's not. You trust Him or you don't. 

I can already see what her choice is. 

This mama is strong. Those heavy shoes are no match for her God; you can tell by looking at her that Jesus is carrying her.

And that sweet baby? She looks just like her mama. 

I'll bet she's just as strong, too. 

the center of His Word

 

I Choose Jesus

The afternoon sun was hot on my face in the Target parking lot as she talked about the "real Christian" girl she knows. I know my face must've contorted when she said it or she wouldn't have felt the need to explain herself. 

She said, "You know. A 'real' Christian, like you. You know how you read your bible every day and witness to people and stuff?" 

My heart broke. 

It doesn't work that way. We don't live on a scale. 

Thank Jesus. 

No really, thank Jesus. 

That thought, the one that made her feel 'less than' when she compared herself to me or the girl she works with, that was nothing but conviction telling her what she already knows. She should read her bible more. She should pray more. She should go to church more. But not because it'll push her up a few notches on this fictitious Christian scale. She should want to do those things to draw near to her Savior. Trust me, that relationship is a beautiful thing when you can no longer trust your own strength to carry you. 

I know why we don't do those things sometimes. I'm guilty of it, too. We don't like feeling convicted, and conviction has a way of slapping you in the face when you open The Good Book or hit your knees in prayer. 

I had just finished explaining to this beautiful soul why I started Luke's Legacy, essentially witnessing to her, and she wanted to share another woman's story. As she started, the devil whispered a little lie into her ear that she isn't a "real" Christian because her works don't measure up to mine.

I wish I could tell you that I said, "Not today, Satan!" and straightened her thinking out right then and there. I'll be honest though, I was surprised (and okay-fine, a little flattered) so much by her statement that I missed an opportunity to tell her that my works don't make me the follower of Christ that I am. And they certainly won't get me to heaven. If I said otherwise, it would make me no better than the Pharisees that crucified Jesus. 

What she sees are fruits of the Spirit that resides in me, but they are certainly not the way to get to Heaven. Nope, there's only one Way. 

That's Jesus. 

Thank You, Jesus. 

What she sees are the products of my walk with The Lord. Evidence. Nothing more.

Now, is there evidence in your life? If not, maybe you should ask yourself if you're really saved. That's not up to me to decide, or anyone else for that matter. 

That's between you and Jesus. 

I can tell you this though. There isn't a scale that ranks Christians in order of their authenticity. There's either Salvation or not. 

Grace or not. 

Hope or not. 

Victory or not. 

Jesus or not. 

I choose Jesus.   

John 14:6-7 NIV

[6] Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. [7] If you really know me, you will know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.” …