Outward Appearance

Emma getting ready to flip over the bar.

Last Friday night, our family had the privilege of watching a Special Olympics gymnastics meet. There were many amazing moments—the flair each athlete brought to their floor exercise, the impressive balance demonstrated on the beam, the jumps on the vault, and our own Emma’s bar routine that she had mastered minutes before the competition began.

But there was one young man who captured my attention. His body is bent and twisted, and I’ve assumed he participates in gymnastics to help him stretch and straighten his limbs.

I had no idea the boy has SKILLS!

I know better.

I have a child with special needs.

I know not to assume that small size or specific facial features or the inability to talk means that the person living inside that body isn’t a fascinating, unique individual with opinions and extraordinary abilities.

But I was unprepared for what happened when this young man approached the high bar. He needed help stepping up on the squishy mats and as he stood under the bar, I wondered what his body could do?

Well, he showed us.

The coach lifted him up and he grasped the bar with both hands. As soon as she stepped away, he pulled himself up until his chin cleared the bar. Then he let himself back down and pulled his knees up to the bar. Then he hung there and twisted his entire body round by 180 degrees before letting go and landing back on the mat.

The crowd went wild as he made his way back to his seat, and I fought tears as I realized that I had allowed my assumptions to cloud my ability to see how extraordinary he is. It takes incredible strength to do what he did. More strength than I have. And not only physical strength, but mental and emotional strength to refuse to allow his body to hold him back!

Me, Emma, and Brian - after the meet.

I thought about him again this morning as I read the story of Samuel anointing David to be king. Each time Samuel thought he’d picked the right son of Jesse, God said no, reminding Samuel that He was not interested in the outward appearance, but the heart.

I know we all want our children and grandchildren to have role models to look up to.

Can I make a suggestion?

Don’t rule out the young woman with Down Syndrome or the young man with Cerebral Palsy.

Imagine what kind of adults our children would grow to be if we could teach them the skill of looking for the heart of the person rather than making assumptions based on their outward appearance.

I’m almost 39, and clearly, I’m still learning.

How about you?

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A Playlist for the Broken

So many things are messed up. So many people I love are hurting. So many friends are broken.

And while I’m a lifetime member of the “I can fix this” club, there are some things I cannot fix. Some hurts I cannot heal. Some wrongs I cannot right. Some hearts wearing scars I cannot fade.

But I know Someone who can. So I pray.

And I pray.

And I pray.

When God answers, I rejoice.

When he doesn’t? I beat my head against the back of my chair and I look at my husband with tears streaming and I say, “I’ve prayed so hard. So hard. And it hasn’t done any good.”

I am broken.

And I cannot fix myself.

I have so much in common with Eve.

I think I know best. In fact, I think—although I never say this out loud because good Christian girls know better—that maybe God hasn’t thought this out as well as I have. Because if He had, He would agree with me. 100%.

I want my way.

And when God’s way makes no sense to me?

My faith cracks. Sometimes it’s a tiny fissure. Sometimes a gaping cavern.

Always it’s a wound. A wound that will not—cannot—heal without Him.

It’s at this point that I have a choice. We all have a choice.

We can stay broken, wounded, bleeding. Live out our lives miserable and bitter.

We can try to fix ourselves. Patch up the wound with whatever feels good. Cover up the scars with laughter and a heavy layer of denial.

Or we can let Him fix us.

We lay it all out there. Our hurt, our confusion, our anger, our desperation. We hold back nothing from Him.

We believe with the shards of faith we have left and we beg Him to help our unbelief.

And He does.

When He takes our broken pieces and puts them back together, the craziest things happens.

Our faith grows back . . . stronger than before.

But how do you do it? When faith stumbles? When belief wavers? When you don’t know where to start?

For me, it’s music. Songs that give voice to my pain and confusion. Songs that remind me of what I believe. Songs that help me worship when I don’t feel like it.

Here is my playlist for the broken. If you're hurting today, I invite you to listen. Just listen. Let Him put you back together again. Stronger than before.



Abba - It hurts. So much. Nothing will ever be the same. It feels like nothing will ever be right again. We don't understand. But we choose You. Over getting our way. Over what we think is best. Over having what we want. We choose You. We choose to believe that You are God and that there is no one like you. You are worthy of our praise. Father, we believe. Help our unbelief.

(edited from the archives)

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Let's Talk About Poetry

April is National Poetry Month. Hop on over to The Write Conversation for my thoughts on poetry...and why writers should read it!

Grace and peace,
Lynn

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