Turning Jesus Away

Anna shot me a worried glance and slowly pulled up a pant leg to reveal tattoos. "I dunno, I mean, I have these and more in other places. Does He...does Jesus want people with tattoos? Somebody told me one time that God doesn't want people as messed up as me."

I fought down the surge of anger and smiled. "You're exactly the person Jesus came to earth to find." Tears filled her eyes when I showed her Jesus' words about her, and that Paul had her beat if she wanted to be the worst sinner ever. She had never known any of this before.
--------------------------------------------------------
Lacy shook her head in disbelief when we finished our first counseling session. "This is all so new to me. I started going to a church one time with my three kids, and some lady told me I couldn't keep coming back because I've never been married. I was so embarrassed. Since then I've thought God was for other people."
-------------------------------------------------------
My heart breaks at these stories. Unfortunately, they are not rare. What message has the church been sending these precious human beings, the very ones that Jesus came to find? Who are these church people who dare turn Jesus away at the door?

My favorite part of counseling is when I get to lead these hurting ones into the presence of a God they thought belonged to other people. When they grasp the reality that Jesus knows their names and loves them just like they are, they cannot give their lives to him fast enough. 

And no, the tattoos don't go away. The children still don't have fathers. But wasn't it Jesus who said, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick?" (Luke 5:31)

One of the greatest joys in life is watching a pierced, tattooed, single mom with battle scars on her heart slowly transformed by worship. Her complexion actually changes when she eagerly inhales the truth that she matters to God, sin and all. So many people never imagined that God has answers for their broken places. They've just been doing the best they can wandering in the dark.

Most likely the ones who are conveying the message that turns these people away at the church door do not realize what they are doing. They are complacent church people who are so settled in their religiosity and self-righteousness that they believe they are displaying spiritual maturity. It's a dangerous trap, set by Satan himself. They may not say so with words, but sometimes attitudes and actions send the same message: "Until you are like us, you are not welcome here."

Think about your church environment, the comfortable habits, practices, words, and expectations you accept without a thought. Could you be sending the message these ladies heard without realizing it? Are you turning Jesus away at the door?

.
.

A Day in the Life Of...

As I drove home tonight around 8:30 pm after nearly 9 hours of counseling, I thought of the apostle Paul's words: "I am being poured out as a drink offering before the Lord." (2 Tim. 4:6)

Do you ever feel that way?

I didn't, until I began this counseling ministry nearly 3 years ago. Now I get it.

Being poured out means you are drained from the inside. As a pitcher is emptied of every drop it contained, so my spirit is often emptied of every ounce of strength. It's not a physical weariness, such as anyone feels who has put in a day's work. That is part of it. But the pouring out is an intense spiritual and emotional exhaustion that must be replenished by the Holy Spirit before you can do it again.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A typical day looks something like this: (All names and situations altered to protect my clients.)

7:30--Receive a text from Andy about his broken heart. I'm seeing him tomorrow, but he can't wait.

8:00--Eat breakfast at my computer while sending reminder texts to tomorrow's clients. Check email and Facebook for new counseling requests or messages.

8:05--Begin receiving confirmations and cancellations about tomorrow's schedule.

8:06--Start trying to shuffle client times to accommodate changes so that I won't be left with a hole in my schedule.

8:25--Incoming call from new client. Sounds desperate and I'm concerned. He must have a time after 4:30 due to work. No open slots until next week. Schedule him next week anyway.

8:40--Pray that God makes an opening for this desperate guy sooner.

9:00--Shane, tomorrow's 6:30, calls. An emergency has come up. Can he reschedule for next week?

9:10--Reschedule him and breathe a 'Thank you' to God. I call the new client and let him know an opening has just appeared. Would he like it? He grasps it like a drowning man.

9:30--Drive to the church, praying for each client I will see today, and asking for the filling of the Holy Spirit that I might hear him and obey his voice every moment.

10:00--Welcome first client of the day. Spend two hours hearing Anna's tragic story of childhood molestation, failed marriages, drug addiction, and an attempted suicide. Show her that she is relying on herself to meet her needs and God wants to do that. She's a pastor's daughter, and thought God was one more angry male who couldn't be pleased. She meets a Jesus she never knew and gives him her heart. She eagerly schedules another session next week.

12:00-1:00--Lunch and answer texts that have come in during the last session: Andy sends me an update on his broken heart. My youngest son wonders what's for dinner or is he on his own. My daughter tells me she loves me and she is having car trouble. Another client cancels for tomorrow. A voicemail message from a former client asking if I will see his daughter.

1:00--Welcome Ben and Liz. He's had multiple affairs and she has looked the other way. I ask about his porn addiction, which startles them both. He breaks down and admits it for the first time in his life. I assure them there is nothing God cannot fix. They commit to doing whatever it takes to repair their home and his heart. Begin teaching them about addiction.

3:00--Welcome new client James. Looks like a kook, but I ask God to love him through me anyway. Destructive anger driving everyone from him, including his family. Teach him about offering his rights up to God. Lead him to do that. He leaves with a big smile and a promise to return next week.

4:30--Do a one-hour with Brandon, the 15-year-old. Sullen and unresponsive. His mom made him come. He tells me things I cannot share with her and I struggle with finding the ethical line. By the end he has at least made eye contact and nodded a couple of times. I take that as success, but know he won't be back. Pray I gave him something he can hang on to when he goes home to his dysfunctional family.

5:30--Ten minute consultation with my pastor about a former client who is in trouble again. Get his advice on Brandon's ethical issues as a minor.

5:40--Welcome Jenny. She's one month out of psychiatric lockdown where she got no help at all and is considering giving up on life. Sense demonic presence and help her get rid of them. Then lead her to go back and forgive the 6-year-old Jenny who allowed her step-father to rape her for 8 years. She realizes her self-destruction is an attempt to punish that little girl and she breaks free. Sobbing and at peace, she hugs me and gets tears and snot on my blouse. I don't mind.

7:20--Take a ten-minute break to gulp a 7-Up and a bag of peanuts for supper. Answer a question from a former client passing by in the hallway. His marriage is in trouble again. Do I think more counseling would help? His wife cursed me and walked out last time. I'll have to think about it.

7:30--It's Rachel's third session. I spend an hour and a half contending with her about leaving the Jehovah's Witnesses--a religion that has left her terrified and suicidal. I can't help her if she won't let Jesus in. I rely on the Holy Spirit and my hours of preparation this week studying her religion to find some crack in her defenses. With tears on her face, she sets her jaw and shakes her head. It will be our last session. She walks away, broken and hopeless. This time I cry.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tomorrow I will go back and do it again. Different faces. Different stories. Each one a life that is indescribably precious to God. 

Were I to base my continuing ministry on whether or not I consider myself a success, were I to rely on my own strength, desire, or ability, I would quit. Too much risk. Too much at stake.

But my only goal--and your only goal as you pour yourself out as a drink offering--must be: Lord, was I as obedient to you today as I know how to be?  

For a Christian, is there any other question? Is total obedience to him optional?


His answer is enough. He will refill my tank and I will do it again. Because that's what an offering is. It means I let go and it is all His. His people. His victories. His reward.

Are you pouring yourself out as a drink offering before the Lord?

..

Even Socrates Needs Jesus

He slouched across from me, a study in practiced nonchalance. He had no problems. Needed nothing. Knew it all, thank you very much. 

He smugly informed me of his high IQ and his skepticism toward all things spiritual. His philosophy degree had destroyed any innate ability to think clearly and his mishmash of pseudo-facts about the Bible and Christianity in general made it difficult to resist the urge to be sarcastic. He was only here because his second wife was divorcing him and if his presence in counseling could help straighten HER out, he was willing to stoop to such nonsense.

As he sauntered away from our first session, I washed my hands of this client. He wouldn't be back. I wasn't sorry.

But the Lord said, "No. I want him."

Over the next several months, he was on my heart continually. I prayed, interceded on his behalf, and kept his name before the Lord. And he kept coming back. At first I wasn't sure why, but the raw hunger in his eyes behind the arrogant mask cried out for something real. 

We debated, parried, and sorted through the conglomeration of half-facts and misconceptions that made up his spiritual knowledge. Every session was a two-hour apologetics challenge that left me drained and wondering if this was going anywhere. 

His wife divorced him, but he kept coming back.

I sent him home with every book from Strobel to Lewis and finally he agreed to take a Bible, New Living Translation because he had "issues" with the King James.

The mask began to slip. The Holy Spirit, whose existence was in question, began to work in his heart. He started attending church. "That preacher was talking right to me," he complained one week. "It was like someone had told him about me. That's never happened before."

And then last week, the questions and doubts turned to faith and "Socrates" entered the kingdom of God. The new air of humility was my first clue that something had changed. His humble apologies to his ex-wife was the second. He'll be baptized this week.

There is no one too lost, no one too angry, proud, or skeptical to withstand the power of the Holy Spirit. When God calls your name, you can't help but hear it. You can resist it, fight it, turn away. But if your heart is hungry for something real, no amount of philosophical reasoning can satisfy it. Only a relationship with the living God can do that.

And now young "Socrates" will spend forever in the presence of God. And with me. We can continue our discussions--from the same perspective this time. I'm looking forward to that.

Welcome to the family, little brother.

.

A Counselor's Prayer

(This post has received more hits than any other and is currently number 1 for a Google search of this title, so I'm running it again. Feel free to copy and use it, just give proper credit when you do. Thanks.)

Oh God, remind me why I'm doing this.

Why me? What do I know about anything?

They sit across from me, broken dolls whose dull eyes beg me to offer hope that they no longer believe exists. Hope is a four-letter word that belongs to someone else. They've given up because they are out of options. They can see nothing in the future but more pain.

And I'm IT? I'm all that stands between desperation and hope? Sometimes, life and death? What were you thinking, Lord?

Who am I to tell a young rape victim that God loves her?

Who am I to advise a wronged wife to stay with the man who tore her heart out?

Who am I to offer understanding in situations I have no ability to understand?

How can I make a woman believe in a loving Heavenly Father when all she knows is fatherly abuse?

How do I gather the scraps of a shattered life and put them together again?

How do I convince a woman consumed by rage that it is safe to leave that anger with You? She's mad at You too.

How do I pretend to believe that this round of sobriety will be different for the lifetime drug addict? The last eight times didn't work, but this one will? Because now he faces ME? I'm not sure I believe that myself.

I feel so inadequate. So unworthy. Who am I to be trusted with this great responsibility? Who am I to meddle deep inside the private recesses of a human heart, to hold it in my hands, twist it, turn it, hurt it so that it can finally struggle free from its prison.

It's scary, Lord. Sometimes, right in the middle of a session, I don't want to do this anymore. Why am I doing this?

But now I'm remembering something.

I'm doing this because You asked me to. You promised that you would do it through me if I would just stay out of the way.

And now that I think about it, You have every time.

You put a smile on the lips of that rape victim.

The young couple is holding hands again.

The ones who knew only hate are experiencing love for the first time. It's hard for them. They don't know what to do with it, but You're showing them a little at a time.

And as I watch, I know it isn't me at all. It never was.

You always seem to enjoy choosing as your tools the least likely people: the frightened Gideon, the obstinate Jonah, the renegade Moses. And look at that ragtag band of disciples Jesus chose. What an unlikely group to be entrusted with Your plan of salvation for the entire world! Frankly, I would have chosen some better candidates, if I'd been given the opportunity.

So I guess I'm in good company, huh? Is that what You're telling me? My inadequacy fits the profile?

Is this what you meant by "My grace is sufficient for you. My power is made perfect in your weakness"?

I'm glad to know that, because if I wasn't sure You were doing this through me, I would quit. The burden is too great. The price of failure too high.

But You're right. I have seen You work. I've sat there and watched Your Spirit open a closed heart, purify a perverted soul, cleanse a dirty conscience, heal a damaged spirit. And I just sit there. You're doing all the work.

If You called me, You will enable me. I'm just a warm body for Your Spirit to flow through. Healing is not my job, it's Yours.

I panic when I forget that. Help me never to forget again.

.

Whose Terms?

He twitched across the short lobby and shot me a grin.

I followed him into the counseling room and shut the door.

His hands shook and his knees knocked together as he tried unsuccessfully to hold my gaze.

"How high are you?" I began.

"Oh," he laughed and wiped a boney arm across his forehead. "No. I know how this looks, but I'm not high. No, I'm' always like this. Jis' nervous, I guess."

I lifted a brow and we took a seat.

He coughed. "I-I c-can see why you'd think that..."

"Are you clean?" I continued.

"Well, I'm gonna be honest with you, Ma'am. No, I-I did take a hit last night. Just one. Really small."

"Thank you for your honesty," I said. His continual jerking was making me tired.

I studied the blank page before me while he tried to fill out the intake sheet. I didn't need to write down my observations. I would remember this clearly when I typed up my session notes.

Meth addict. Heavy denial. Convinced he was fooling me and convinced he could have a beneficial counseling session while under the influence. He wanted what I had to offer, but he wanted it on his terms.

We spent a fruitless hour-and-a-half as I unsuccessfully urged him to get serious medical help. He shook his head patiently, as though he was speaking to a small, dim-witted child. "I can stop taking this any time. I just t-took a little to help with my depression."

"You are a man in shark-infested waters with a shark chewing off your leg. I am the Coast Guard. How smart is it to argue with the Coast Guard?"

He left with tears in his eyes. "I g-guess I hoped you could help me, tell me why I do this. Give me some tools. But I don't need no doctors, de-tox, or Celebrate Recovery. I know God can help me without all that."

I watched him stagger away, miss the door, and try to open the plate-glass window. My heart cried after him: Why won't you listen? I'd love to help you, but I can't like this.

We've all been like that meth addict at some point in our lives. We find ourselves in a pickle and cry out to God for help. He shows us His plan, His requirements for healing, the steps we must take to get back to sanity...and we balk.

"I want your help, God, but I want to do this my way."

It doesn't work like that. God watches us stagger away, miss the door, and try to open the plate glass window. And His heart breaks.

Satan convinces us we can hide our pet sins, our selfish choices, our willful goals from God and He won't care. After all, God is love so surely He will rush to help me when I call. Won't he?

And when He doesn't, we get angry. Pride calls the shots. Mankind has been trying to get to God on his own terms since the Garden and it has never worked. God offers all the hope, health, and healing you need. But only on His terms: drop the willful sin, humble yourself, stick to it, seek Him with all your heart.

It's easy to roll our eyes at the meth addict, but are you sitting there twitching and trying to convince God you're not as bad as He says you are? If you want help, it only comes His way.
.

Who Touched Me?

The eager crowd pressed against him. Hands reached out, voices called, beggars pleaded. Everyone wanted a miracle.

Suddenly he froze and the clamor quieted. His expression changed and he looked over his shoulder. "Who touched me?"

Snickers rippled through the throng. Touched him? Everyone is touching him. We're pressed together like a sandwich. What's he mean?

"Sir? It was me." A gnarled woman dressed in rags bowed before him. "I-I'm sorry, but you see I've had this awful bleeding for eighteen years and it's destroying me. My money's gone, my family, my health...I thought...well, I thought if only I could touch the hem of your robe I would be healed and...and...something's happening!"

.

The old woman gasped and straightened.

.

"Yes, you've been healed," he replied softly. "Go and enjoy your life."

.

Have you ever wondered what he meant? Why was one woman's touch so much different from all the other hands that grabbed at him? After all, he'd been healing people right and left for months. Touching the crippled, the blind, the lepers...

.

But this one touched him.

.

Mark 5 tells us that Jesus "felt the power drain out of him." Her touch depleted something in him and he felt it.

.

This woman's healing cost Jesus something. She received the power of God at Christ's expense. He didn't begrudge her that. He knew where to get more power. That's why he spent so much time alone with his Father. His Source.

.

Last night, I learned in a personal way what he meant. As I lay flat on my back, drained from the last two days of counseling, I felt like an empty sock. It was more than tired. Tired is spending all day at the zoo with a toddler and a crying baby. It was more than mental exhaustion, the way you feel after doing your taxes. It was a hollowness, a draining of spirit that reverberated through my being like shouts echoing through a canyon. The power had "drained out of me."

.

As I tried to identify the feeling, Mark 5 came to mind and I finally understood it.

.

Within the past 48 hours, I had been the instrument God used to transfer His healing to 7 broken people. Seven different cases, different issues, different needs. But all received His healing, coming alive again when they had believed hope was gone. Each one had touched me uniquely. Their pain, their past, their sorrows became mine as God's wholeness became theirs in a Divine Exchange.

.

Jesus understood this exchange better than anyone else. He let himself be touched by this wasted woman, knowing that it would cost him something. And it costs us to be used as God's tools to heal others. It's a power we do not have in ourselves and it runs out quickly if we don't stay replenished.

.

One aspect of being God's vessel of healing is that we must be willing to allow the sick to touch us, to drain us until we feel like an empty sock.

.

We hear a lot today about "burnout." Why didn't Jesus burn out? That's what happens when you feel the power drain out of you. If you stay depleted, you burn out.

.

We must learn how to stay continually plugged into the source of strength and power. We must be continually replenished, filled to overflowing with God's love, wisdom, truth, and power or we have nothing to offer anyone else. The time Jesus spent alone with his Father was more than a typical "quiet time"-- those twenty minutes of trying not to watch the clock that most Christians call "spending time with God."

.

Jesus lived there. Stayed at the feet of his Father. Lived in a different zone than everyone else and most people thought he was nuts. People will think you're a little off your rocker too, when you emulate his lifestyle.

.

But that's where the power is. That's where you go to be replenished. You live there. You dwell in the secret place of the Most High. You abide in the shadow of the Almighty. You stay in constant communion with the only One worth expending yourself for.

.

And you allow the wasted ones to touch you, grab like drowning swimmers at that power that heals.

.

Yes, it drains you. Yes, they take it all, but there's more where that came from.

.

Only when you drink daily, hourly, moment-by-moment from that never-ending supply, the way Jesus did, can you allow them to touch you and be healed.

.

Faith Requires Action

She wasn't as old as she looked, but decades of chain-smoking, stress, and misery had added years to her face and curved her shoulders.

.

"So, I been to counselors, therapists, psychologists...you name it. I heard it all, and what I wanna know from you is what am I supposed to do?"

.

Beady brown eyes locked on mine and I had a sudden, desperate wish to be anywhere else. Every counselor's nightmare sat in the chair opposite mine and now she was my nightmare. God had brought her to me.

.

I made a mental note to discuss this a bit further with my Heavenly Father as my new client launched into what would become a 2 1/2 hour marathon session.

.

Her problem came down to one that is surprisingly common: she knew what she needed to do, but had every excuse in the world why she couldn't do it. She keeps looking for that Wizard of Oz who will give her magic dust to sprinkle over her horrific life and fix everything without her having to take that scary step of faith and obey God.

.

So many people live their entire lives right there.

.

We try everything we can think of, talk to everyone who will listen, consult Oprah and Dr. Phil until we can repeat all the psycho-jumble as well as anyone, but all the talk in the world can't fix what's wrong. We have to take action; change what we have the power to change.

.

And that terrifies us. Change? Take that hard first step?

.

We'd rather complain.

.

Faith always requires action and action is scary. Hebrews 11 gives us an amazing list of people throughout history who have taken that first scary step by faith--and been blessed by God because of it. God knows change is hard, that's why it pleases Him so when we do it anyway.

.

Would you rather complain about your pesky situation or change it? Have you grown used to the irritation the way a blister grows around a splinter? You don't like it, but it's been there so long you're used to it. And familiar feels comfortable after a while.

.

Staying with the familiar stunts our growth. God presses us toward change because only then do we experience Him in new ways, rely on His strength, and learn more truth about ourselves. The familiar does not require any faith. We can do that in our own strength, but in doing the familiar, we miss out on the pleasure of working hand-in-hand with God.

.

What obstacle are you hiding behind? What might God be asking you to do that terrifies you?

.

Is it time to take that first scary step toward change and let God begin His transforming work in you? It may not be easy, but it is always better because now God is in it with you.

.

Forwarned

"You're going to need to be more than a counselor to him."
.
The words were like cement blocks, sturdy, unmovable, coming to rest in my spirit with the certainty of having been placed there. I knew who they concerned, but what did they mean exactly?
.
As I finished my morning routine, I sorted through several options. Inviting him for the holidays? Over for dinner? Nothing seemed to fit.
.
"I'm open, Lord, but I don't know what you mean."
.
"He longs for a family, a sense of importance, to know someone values him. You can show him how much I value him."
.
My youngest client's needs were great, but I had to be careful not to violate boundaries. Stepping outside the client/counselor role was not comfortable. Not even advisable. To approach a relationship outside the counseling room was not a good idea. Maybe God didn't understand that.
.
Two hours later, his name was on my caller ID. He had a need I could meet. He had no one else. It was a need a friend would meet. What family should do for each other.
.
I smiled into the sky. "I get it. I'll do it. Thanks for the two-hour lead time."
.
Isn't it nice when God prepares us ahead of time for a task we might otherwise refuse? Isn't it amazing how He just thinks of everything?


.

Why I Do It

His eyes were pools of hopelessness. Shoulders sagged, hands shook as he slumped into the chair and stared somewhere over my left shoulder.

Twenty-five years old and he'd already seen the worst life could dish out. Was it worth sticking around for more? Who would care? The only person who had ever loved him died last year.

He'd been through a fleet of psychiatrists, sampled the drug buffet, and ingested reams of worldly wisdom, but here he sat. "They don’t help me. Nobody can help me. I was...I was hoping God could."

Two hours later, tears misting both our faces, he gave me a crooked smile. "Yeah, I can do that," he said and looked at me as though I'd just descended from Mount Sinai.

He held out two scarred arms and studied them as though seeing them for the first time. He was a cutter. "I’d never thought of my arms as belonging to God. I'm glad I came. I was hoping God could help me."

As I watched him walk away, God spoke: "He's the reason I called you to this. There are lots more like him. Keep feeding my lambs."

They come in without options; they leave with a glimmer of hope shining in their eyes. It's not me. I don't know anything. I'm just the tool God uses to pour his love, truth, and hope into desperate hearts. But I get to watch Him work—and nothing compares to a thrill like that.

"Do you get paid to be a counselor?" my son asked last week.

I remembered the trembling lips of a young man not much older than my son. The ray of hope that hadn't been there before. The frantic grasping for the hand of God.

I swallowed hard and smiled at my son. "Yeah, Sam. I get paid."

.

Are You Hiding?

"I'm not ready."

"Yes, you are."

No...but..."

"You'll never know enough. You can't help anybody, but I can and I need you to stop hiding and get out there."

Such was the conversation the Lord and I had Sunday evening.

.

I've spent an intense 4 1/2 months training for my lay-counseling certification and have learned more than I imagined I could. Of course there are places you can find which offer you a "paper" for a simple how-to course, but I wanted much more than that and the Lord directed me to the perfect school for me. It's deep, it's intense, it's full of incredible spiritual revelations, and when I realized I could continue on in the Master's degree classes for free, I decided to do that too. After all, you can't learn too much. Right? These are people's LIVES I'm dealing with. Can't be overly prepared. Right?

.

All well and good, but the problem was, I was putting off gaining the actual paper--which I could do at any time--and get going with the ministry. I hadn't realized that's what I was doing, but the Lord made it pretty clear. "You are hiding. You are waiting until YOU feel secure and I don't want you like that. I need your weakness, not your strength."

.

I stopped my prayer, went downstairs, and ordered the one certification class that was lacking. The next day, my pastor called.

.

"Got someone I need you to talk to."

.

"But...I'm not ready..."

.

"You can do it."

.

I could feel the Lord nudging me from behind. Probably smiling.

.

How many other times have I hidden myself, just as Adam and Eve did in the garden? We hide behind our weaknesses, our frailties, our insecurities, arguing with the Lord, certain he can't mean what we think he means.

.

"I'm not good enough..."

"I'm not smart enough..."

"That's for other people who can do better than I..."

All through history, God has called the least likely individuals to do the greatest work for him. Gideon and his measly army; Rahab, the town whore; that crazy, unkempt wild man they called John the Baptist. God delights in taking our inability and doing great things with it.

It's our abilities that get us in trouble with Pride.

The counseling session went just as the Holy Spirit wanted it to go, because I had to rely completely on him. I think that's what the Lord had in mind all along.

So what are you hiding from? What gentle nudging do you feel in the back of your spirit? The one you've successfully tramped down until now, covered with your reasonable excuses, and tried to ignore because you're just "not ready."

If you don't feel ready, you're probably right where God wants you. Come out, come out, wherever you are. Stop hiding. You're missing the game.