I didn't wake up this morning thinking today would be one that I would hide in my heart forever. I looked forward to church like I usually do, maybe more so after Cord's wreck last week. I longed to be in the presence of my Father and to quiet my heart. I didn't expect the worship to be blurred with tears and my mouth unable to sing. I didn't know that we would have women sharing cardboard testimonies with us. As David Crowder's song "How He Loves" was played, one by one these brave women walked across the stage bearing a cardboard sign. On one side, it read of their crime, addiction, or poverty. On the other side, words of their redemption and freedom. These women were from the Lovelady center which is a place that offers life, love and a new start for women who've lost it all or who are fresh out of prison. Our church partners with the center and what a blessing it has been to us. I watched and wept as I saw the ransom was paid ~written there for all to see on a cardboard sign. Bob preached on how the Lord is our Good Shepherd following that powerful display of God's grace and I knew that I had been on Holy Ground. After church, our family had the opportunity to crash the luncheon for visitors and help welcome them to Oak Mountain. I was thrilled and intimidated all at once to see the room filled not only with visitors, but also with the women who'd just shared their stories earlier. Jeremiah wanted to come along so he and I ended up at a table full of these broken and healing lives. The lady next to me was experiencing her 3rd day of freedom as she'd just gotten out of jail Friday. One was an addict who'd been clean for 2 weeks and longed to have her kids back. Another was a former prostitute whose cardboard testimony profoundly read "Prostitute" on one side and "Princess" on the other. I sat silently begging the Lord to grant me words of hope and life to give them....something that would make them feel loved, valued and welcomed here. On the outside, it appeared that I had nothing in common with them. That couldn't have been further from the truth. My cardboard sign could read a number of those things and worse. I'm an addict. Maybe not to drugs, but to any number of things that help me escape and numb the pain. No, I haven't done time for murder, yet in my heart I have been a serial killer. And I could have sat where the prostitute sat and filled her shoes well. After all, have I not sold myself time after time to thousands of other loves forsaking the one True Lover of my Soul? How in the world could I make them see that we are really not that different. How could I love them well in that short hour given? I wondered, and my son acted. I heard Jeremiah's soft spoken voice say "Excuse me Mam, but I can take your trash." There was my son putting arms and legs to the Gospel, loving and serving what society discards, offering to take the trash of prostitutes and convicts. I wish I could have frozen their faces in my mind...the smiles and pride the women showed going on and on about what a little gentlemen he was.
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