the problem with generosity.

i have a client without a lot to call her own. she is disabled, so she does not have the status or understanding of the common person. she is poor, so she relies on food stamps to feed her and social security to help her pay rent for her tiny apartment. she says that she will not be spending the holiday with her family who live in close proximity because they don’t include her. they didn’t even wish her a happy birthday. 

my client’s neighbors are her family. when she has had surgery, they have taken care of her physically, giving her baths and carrying her groceries and doing her laundry. they have spent time with her when she is confined to a couch alone. 
but she has done the same for them. recently she gave her dresser and some dishes to her neighbor that she told me she “didn’t need.”

my client has given me so much. she has given me the opportunity to see the love of Jesus and what it means to extend that love to your neighbor…literally. 

it is easy to consider myself a generous person by the world’s standards (which says we are to be progressive and enlightened by becoming better people) or even by religion’s standards (which says that the if the Bible says to do something then we must), but the truth is that both of these are rooted in selfish motives. whether we give to relieve our own guilt or to feel better about ourselves, we have missed the mark of true generosity by a mile. 

webster’s dictionary defines to be generous as
openhanded. liberal giving. bighearted. 

sunday in church, pastor brian said we like to think of generosity as a tool to relieve our own guilt. i couldn’t help but think about all the times i have given a dollar to a bum or the offering plate to feel as though i’ve done “something.” this is a greedy, ugly reality: doing “something” is a far cry from the radical sacrifice Jesus made for me. 

when i finally do something, i like to put a limit on my generosity. 
we limit the who (believe it or not, people love to stereotype and judge). 
and we limit the when (katrina, 911, joplin..these are all noble causes, but what about every other time people need help?).

recently i’ve been moved to ask God how He wants me to exercise radical love and generosity with my life, from the little opportunities to the bigger. i am blessed to have examples like my client. she has hardly anything to call her own, but whatever she does have she holds in her hand, openhanded. 

why are the poorest among us the most generous examples of Jesus’ love?

i don’t remember the time my sister got into my father’s chemicals that made her legs burn. i don’t remember falling into a door hinge and getting stitches. i don’t remember disney world, learning how to ride a bike, or if i ever saw my father hit my mother. 

the earliest years of my life never happened…not to me. it’s as if i were born at the age of 7, a 50 pound baby, entering in to a world more painful than my own mother’s childbirth. if i had known then what i was bound to experience, i’m sure i would have stubbornly positioned myself feet first, or clawed my way back up the birth canal to my mother’s womb. i don’t remember being in her womb, of course, but i know it was safe. i yearn for safe places. 

i do have one memory. i think i was five or six. our living room had a sliding glass door that looked out onto an extended carport, where i would often play with neighborhood friends. on this particular occasion, my father was there, gutting a fish he had recently caught. my father loved to hunt and fish. there was something about it that thrilled him. to this day i don’t understand killing for sport, but it was one of my father’s loves and loving did not seem to come easily for him. 

i wonder what my father thought when he saw me, his first born child, with her wide eyed face pressed up against the glass. i wonder how much love he had in his heart for me then and how that love compared to his love of fishing. 

i’m not sure what i was thinking in that moment or why i remember it. perhaps watching him carve in to that fish at such a young age was a traumatic thing for me. or maybe everything in my life points to that shared moment between my father and i — a relationship obstructed by a single plate of glass, close, but far away. whatever the reason is, it seems appropriate that my earliest memory is of him.

as i become an adult, i try to shed the memories left. still hardly a day goes by when i do not think of him or i do not struggle or learn or feel things because of him. 

the beauty of my memory is the way God has used and is using and will use those things for good. to make new memories full of tenderness and tenacity and healing and love. there is no other God in any other religion who will so lavishly and freely promise such beautiful things. 

so on nights like tonight i remember those promises and pray to trust He will complete His good work in me. 

words from the (less) unlovable. 

dear friend,

this time last year i was man-hating.
you probably know what i mean because if you’ve ever been a girl or known a girl then chances are you’ve encountered reasons to talk bad about the male sex. maybe it was one guy. maybe it was several guys. maybe it was cheating or lying or abusing or name calling or belittling or being selfish. whatever it was, he(they) did it, and consequently you were forced to play and replay a host of kelly clarkson and taylor swift songs to remind you you’re not alone. 

in some severe cases of man-hating, it may be that you have to give it up for lent…a feat, i’m sorry to say, that was easier determined for me than accomplished. 
one thing i learned from the pathetic 2 weeks i managed to give up is that all the anger toward men was a front for how i felt inside. i didn’t know why, but i really loved men. and i wanted them to love me, too. 

the thing is that none of them ever had. they’d said it or tried to act like it, but in the end i proved to be far from anything like that. and by the time i turned 22, i’d pretty much decided none of them ever really would care for me. 
and maybe it wasn’t even their fault. maybe, i thought, i’m just unlovable. 

in Mark there’s a story about Jesus and a leper. the leper is an outcast of society. he cannot come near anyone or be approached without, as mandated by law, yelling “unclean!” the leper is not only sick, but he is alone. 
unlovable.
but Jesus. He comes along and chooses to heal the leper, not by saying “be healed!” or thinking it in His head, but by touching the man. by being close to the leper. this is powerful, because we see that Jesus is not only healing the man physically, but healing his heart, letting him know that Jesus is not afraid to be near him and that he is worthy of love. the unlovable is loved. 

i felt like the leper on friday night. i spoke to my boyfriend for the first time about much of the shame i had and things that had happened that made me lesser than him. i cried because it hurt to be vulnerable and i was angry that i had to tell him things that would make me less beautiful or desirable to him. i feared making things awkward, losing his respect, or making him see me in another way. but something told me to take the chance, to answer his questions, and to be honest to him about the things that break my heart. 

my boyfriend responded, “you are so beautiful…susanna, i love you. you don’t have to say it back, but i’ve been wanting to say it for awhile. and while you were talking i wanted you to know it even more.”

even more! everything i said made him want to say he loved me even more.

amazingly, i believed him. and i realized i loved him too. 

i’m not sure if he knows the impact he made on me when he said those words. i’m not sure if he knows it all was so much bigger than me and him. but in that moment i felt not only loved by him, but God. i knew this was just a small glimmer of the way God sees me. it seemed that God had sent me cole…spoken through him…wanted the man-hating, self-loathing part of me to listen and understand what i’ve been told over and over again. 

it’s sad to me that it took so many wrong guys to discover a good one. and it’s sad to me that it took so long to really see that i reflect the image of God. but if i can find it in my heart to believe my boyfriend and trust him, how much more so should i with the One who created me and has been here, loving me, always? 

this is my biggest wish for you as well. that you would know how loved you are, no matter what you have done or what has been done to you or what you’ve thought or felt or believed. i pray that God’s heart overwhelms your own. i promise, you will never be the same.

healing comes through different vehicles, but the source is always the same. 

love (and being loved), 

susanna

are like my kids. i drive to their houses every day, take them to appointments, teach them how to cook, remind them to clean and take showers and exercise. for the higher functioning ones, i am there to help them write checks, remind them when to pay bills and help them budget some of their money every month in to savings. in many ways i’m a soccer mom. i root for them, encourage them and try my best to help them through life without doing everything for them. 

but they’re also like my friends. i have one client who likes to dye her hair but can’t do it herself or she gets spots all over her face. i help her dye her hair and say things to her husband like, “doesn’t your wife look so pretty? you’re gonna have to take her out on a hot date when i’m through with her.” i told one client that my boyfriend hates the cardinals. true to his inner cardinal fan, every time the cubs lose or the cardinals win, he tell me in the hopes that i’ll pass along the information. i have another client whose parents are very negative about the person she is and is becoming. they think by scolding and belittling her, they’ll motivate her to “better herself.” when she and i go to the gym together, we talk about boys and movies and every time she weighs herself and asks me, “is that bad?” i respond “you’re beautiful.” we listen to britney spears in the car and i help her paint her nails. she tells me “you’re one of my best friends.” 

i don’t think i’ll be working here forever. in fact, i probably won’t be here too much longer. but i can’t explain how blessed i feel to engage a community of adults with disabilities that i never really did before. i honestly did not notice individuals like them in the past. and if i did, i distanced myself from them. in my distance, i made them much different than me in my mind, as if they were something other than people. 

i have realized since working with my clients that they are probably more human than i am. for many of them i find they are much bolder and passionate and live life more deeply than me. they tell you what’s on their mind without apology, and they love with their whole hearts. but to put them in a box of “all of those people act this way,” is not only inaccurate; it’s damaging. they are all so different and unique. i wish you could meet them.

i am thankful for this experience because it is teaching me further how to love the way that Jesus does. 

i’m still not over you. i love you, like I did the first time I said it. i love you like when i lost you. i love you all over again and haven’t stopped loving you. but what do words mean? how can words take away what was done? how can words mend a heart?

for months i felt i have been alone. i thought you didn’t care about how i was doing. i thought you didn’t really mean it when you said you would protect me. the days have passed, empty, meaningless without you. i haven’t gotten a solid night’s sleep since. you’re everything to me and you never left me. i know that now. i’m not the same person. whether i’m better or different, i can’t decide, but i’ve realized my faults. it takes me a long time to trust people because of the way i’ve been treated, but i know now that you are not just anybody. if anything, you gave me a new outlook and shaped my character. i admire you more than you know. you are everything i wish i could be - strong, moral, stable.

it’s so hard for me right now. but here you are, teaching me. you show me how to achieve my dream and fulfill my purpose. you grabbed hold of me, and look what happened. my joyous moments are all owed to you. i’m eternally grateful for you.

it’s hard to know where to go from here. you’ve graced me with your presence, and i like to grace you with my foolishness. so much has changed. so much innocence lost. nothing feels the same anymore and it seems an eternity has passed, but really it’s only been a few months. it seems like looking years into my past when i think of how in love i was.

quotes and books that reminded me of you were shelved away in shame, gathering dust. i recently turned them back up. your words were resting in one of my notebooks, and just now i stuffed it in my purse. i said i’d tried to recognize you, but everything was hazy. i’ve missed you.

instead of pushing you out with the pain, i’ve decided to use you to help me rise above it. i can only find outlet and expression through the things i love. and you, dear friend, surpass it all.

i love you. i see it all so clearly when I take a look in to my heart and feel your comfort radiate from it. it all makes sense with the tiny, timid, half smirks we let each other steal.

it all comes back to me with the familiarity of these feelings. i know it’s not based on feelings. how did I get so lost? i want to be with you forever.

i love you Jesus.

Some days I say I’m going to be a writer. Those are the days I imagine myself to be the kind who wears sloppy buns with hairsticks and a beaded eyeglass chain around her neck, sitting and typing all day with a cat on her lap. Or maybe the kind who lives in a village for a few months and writes about life there so the rest of the world can glimpse the hidden place. Sometimes it’s the kind that sits under an old oak tree, writing for hours on end until she falls asleep in the very arms of her imagination. I want to write words that impact people sometimes…sometimes I just want to write.
Some times I want to be a brain surgeon. I want people to ask me if they’re going to make it, knowing their life is in my hands. I want to know that my hands work miracles. I want to see the evidence of all my hard work and study. I want to be appreciated and admired for all the great work that I have done.
Some days I want to be an artist. Maybe the kind who lives in a studio on the fourth floor in a Manhattan apartment building with only a mattress and a refrigerator with celery and peanut butter. Or maybe one who sits on a sunny porch filled with exotic plants, listening to New Age music and dirtying her hands at a pottery wheel. I want to lay canvases out on the floor and splatter blues and reds and yellows across it, but not before meticulously planning where each splatter should go and its size and shape and color. I want to draw bitter women and fearful men, and let my portraits tell their stories. I want people to look at what I create and remember it for an hour, a week, or forever.
Sometimes I want to be a super model. I want the stick thin frame with the size zero jeans and the extra small shirts that hang on me like a manican. I want to walk down the run way with hundreds of cameras flashing at me as I step, strut and twirl. I want to be air brushed and put on the front of glamourous magazines. I want to get paid for being pretty and get free products from high-paid designers. I want to know little junior high girls idolize me.

But sometimes I get writer’s block.
I couldn’t deal with all that blood.
All the time even my stick figure’s are sad representation’s of people.
And I could never handle the pressure to be perfect looking all the time.

It is such a good thing that true successes and failures are not measured on how much I accomplish and how many people I impress. Rather, my value should be placed on how much I loved and served others and God. That means I can be whatever I want wherever I want. As long as I recognize God as the ultimate author, physician, artist and image of beauty, then it gives my little life meaning in this great big world.

UNICEF reports approximately 30 million children have lost their childhood through sexual exploitation over the past 30 years.

St. Louis, Missouri has been reported as the 3rd highest in the nation for sex trafficking victims.

Currently when girls are taken out of sex trafficking, they are treated like criminals for prostitution and sent to juvenile detention centers, because the state has no where else to put them. These girls are innocent.

Go to International Crisis Aid’s page (www.crisisaid.org) and donate! Help them open a SAFE home at the end of this year for girls being rescued from sex trafficking in the St. Louis, Missouri area.

Orrrr e-mail me (susannaschultz21@yahoo.com) your address and I’ll send you one of these cool soda tab bracelets for $10! Every penny goes to rescuing sex trafficking victims in the STL area.

there is a friend i have with a dark outlook on life. every time i see her, i ask her how she is doing. and nearly every time in response, she says, i’m here. 

the implications of those two words is that there is a struggle to survive — to make it through the day without crashing and burning like a semi with a flat tire. 

i talk a lot about living life to the fullest and seizing every moment. i think that’s because there was a time when i wasn’t sure i would make it to college, even. i know the value in appreciating the little things and in loving everything you can, as much as you can. 

still today if you were to ask me how i’m doing, my response might be “oh, i’m doing fine” or “everything’s great,” but on the inside there is that quiet, debilitating voice: i’m here. 

there were two main occurrences that catapulted this season, driven by doubts about if God is really good, if He really loves me, if He is really watching over me and if His promises are really true. these unanswered questions and the unfelt presence of God led me to make some poor decisions, driving me even deeper in to emotional isolation. an inward quietness settled over me…not the kind that manifests itself in peace, but rather in a certain amount of lonliness and feeling that words cannot convey. 

last weekend there was a pinnacle moment where i found myself literally staring in to a mirror, asking myself who i was and where susanna had gone. i realized then that this is not who i am and that i was made for more than this. 

there are still a thousand questions in my mind and a heaviness in my chest that pulls me back to the comfort of my bed throughout the day. i want to lead better, i want to walk straighter and i want to believe everything i know to be true. but in the midst of my brokenness and every complicated thought, my prayers, which somehow manage always to be honest, have also become very simple. 

they sound something like, 

God, i’m here. can You show me You are too?

she’s the oldest of 5 and has to help take care of her family. she told me she was in the juvenile detention center for fighting. 

megan is only 15. 

i asked her what her plans were for the future and it became very clear she didn’t have any.

megan said her mom wanted her to go to college because no one in her family ever had, but she didn’t think she’d make it. i tried to tell her she can do anything if she puts her mind to it, but she reassured me that she barely even went to high school the last couple years. when i asked her how she payed for things, she said she mooched off her boyfriend and her family. i tried to convince her that wouldn’t work all her life, but it was evident megan couldn’t see past tomorrow.

sadly, this is the case for many people in the juvenile detention system. it’s much of the reason that many of them are released and then come back. at the foundation of how they feel is a loss of hope and sense of purpose. they don’t know why they are here and they don’t feel that they can contribute anything meaningful on this earth. 

my time with megan helped me understand more about our need for Jesus. psychology is important. medicine helps. punishment and incarceration can help push us in the right direction. but all of these things have to work with the healing power of God, laid as the foundation.

the kids i’ve met in the juvenile detention center are funny, smart, beautiful people. what separates many of them from the outside world is an inability to see the value they have now, and a lack of hope for their futures and the people they possess the potential to become. juvenile delinquents are not less than people. they are searching for peace in their chaotic worlds — peace found in drugs, in sex, in status, in wealth and in other things they think will cure the way they feel.

what they’re really searching for is Jesus. they just don’t know it yet.

when my little brother drinks out of a cup, there is a certain amount of desperation. his sticky fingers grip the two sides of the cup, probably too big for his tiny hands, and he tilts it clumsily toward his mouth. the slurping sound commences and he alternates between letting the water fall in to his mouth and lapping it from the edge of the cup. either way, half of what he attempts to drink ends up on the front of his shirt. his breaths are short and come out in a gasp as he tries to simultaneously inhale the liquid and the oxygen he’s afraid to go without. when he finishes, the cup is slammed down on the table. what remains spills in droplets around the cup’s perimeter. though the effort was sloppy it was sufficient. he is hydrated and ready for adventure. 

i don’t drink like that anymore. being a grown up, i’ve learned how to adapt to decent manners and take my time. i know now that the drink isn’t going anywhere and that there is plenty to go around. there is no heavy breathing, no slurping, no dripping. there is only a polite sip here and there.

i am so thirsty for so many things. i long to be appreciated. i wish my friends cared more. i wish boys payed attention to me more. i long to feel normal. i wish i really felt loved right now. i wish this semester would be over so i could start my future. 

but all these things are the result of a deeper thirst, forming before the dryness ever reached my mouth. that thirst started in my soul and it longs for God. 

i want to be like my brother, drinking from the cup of living water, gasping for breath..desperate to know God more and to feel His love. i don’t want to quietly sip from His hand while i run desperate for so many other things that i think will make me happier. in the end, my heart only hurts tonight. even when i taste them, these things don’t satisfy me the way Jesus does. God tells me that His love is more than enough to satisfy me…that i cannot drink enough to deplete what He gives me. 

tonight i am praying that God would instill in me a heart desperate for the only One who can make these feelings of lonliness, sadness and envy go away. a heart that longs for the wellspring of the true peace i’m desperate for. 

there are a lot of things i could fill in that blank. and i’m right. i can’t. 

and neither can you. 

you can’t forgive your enemy. you can’t break up with your boyfriend. you can’t find time to read your Bible. you can’t stop looking in the mirror and hating what you see. you can’t clear away the lustful images in your head. you can’t find the right job to make the right kind of money. you can’t stop giving your body away. you can’t pull your grade from a C to a B. you can’t deal with the death of a loved one. you can’t feel loved. 

there is no 12 step program. there are no magic pills to swallow. there is nothing you can buy for 3 easy payments of $39.99 that will make can’t become can.

still — we all know those who did. the exceptions. the one’s tattooed over the scars on their arms. the one’s who lost 40 pounds in a healthy way. the one’s who memorized an entire chapter of the Bible. the one’s who are 7 years sober. the one’s who find their identity in who Christ says they are and not the world.

if we were to ask them, what would they say made it all happen? what brought them from a place of hopelessness to hope?

God spoke. 

God said you are beautiful. God said you have worth. God said freedom from addiction is found in Him. God said your body is His temple and worthy of honor. God said He forgave you, so you can forgive others. God said singleness is not brokenness. God said He’s called you by a new name. God says that you are His.

the war i fight every day is not against flesh and blood. it is not a physical war. there is no diagnosis or self-help book or practical advice that holds a candle to the power of God working in us.

this is a war for our hearts, and it’s a war only Jesus can fight for us. 

i am the girl who went too far with the boy. i am the girl who thought her world ended when her parents divorced. i am the girl who skipped meals and went to the er to look prettier. i am the girl who thought she wouldn’t survive the abuse. i am the girl who would judge others i thought were lesser than me and envy others who seemed better. i am the girl who hid herself in darkness. 

i am this girl. i grapple with this girl. i struggle with her. i fight her. 

because there is one thing this girl knows to be true:

when i can’t, Jesus can.

i remember reading that line in a poem once. it sounded pretty in the stanza, but all by itself it scared me a lot. 

i started wondering…is that true? can your heart ever be whole again, or is it this new deformity that you can’t shake?

lately i’ve been living in my brokenness. i’ve struggled with believing in the myth of damaged goods.

the way i live my life: objectifying myself as something fragile — as a glass jar that’s shattered in to a million pieces on the floor…with no hope of being put back together again…at least not properly. a little glue and tape make for poor attempts, and then the glass jar shatters again.
after awhile the owner of the jar wonders…what’s the point in picking up the pieces? it will never look the same. it will only break again. 

the owner’s right. it doesn’t matter what she does, her jar will never be the original. but just because it’s flawed…just because it was hurt…just because it made a mess…doesn’t mean it’s not worth the trouble anymore. that jar is a new kind of jar, with character. 

i’m not sure i look anything like a jar anymore. i think by now i look more like a bowl or some kind of modern deco art. sometimes i feel like i don’t serve my purpose in the way it was originally intended. i feel useless. helpless. fragile. 
the thing about it is that being a clumsy believer means that life is lived genuinely, with all kinds of spills and shatters. it is only through the mess that i am able to gain wisdom and experience and understanding. yes, i have been damaged. but to those who have never been damaged, do you know the power of healing in the way that i do? 

tonight i watched a video of part of my messy story. it was hard for me to look at myself. everything i saw was ugly. the sound of my voice made me cringe. what i managed to articulate came out awkward and weird. i thought...i can’t believe i’m going to show this to an audience of people. what will they think of me after they see this? 

i guess what i was really thinking was after people watch this video, they will know me. how can i manage to be fake after that? it hit me tonight as it has many other nights but in a different way — the heart behind that video is real. i don’t look or sound perfect, but my intention is so that others will know Christ and know the healing power that can only come from Him. 

if it’s possible, my heart is somehow broken by the world, but made whole by Him. i don’t believe God lets hearts grow back crooked. i don’t believe He lets them do anything. He makes them. and He makes them right.

perfectly, the way He intended.

not exactly spring fashion, but floral patterns and recent trends don’t really matter in her world. where she lives all they care about is obedience, order and putting the allotted amount of time in. 

when we drove up to the juvenile detention center, i was honestly nervous, but i kept praying that God would give me clarity (to know what to say to them), understanding (that i would be able to find a way to relate to them) and opportunity (that God would open up doors of really great conversation).

i tried to shake my nerves, walked into the classroom and found a desk nearby, finding myself sitting across from a 16 year old girl. 

she’d been there 6 months for petty crimes, but since it was her 6th time being there, they kept her there longer to teach her a lesson. 
she had a pretty smile and a funny laugh. she commented on what i was wearing. i love your hair and you make me miss my nose ring. being locked up left her isolated from the world and she seemed to appreciate the connection to the outside through me. in some ways it was as if i was talking to an older woman missing her younger days. at such a young age, she’d already experienced so much. 

she was adopted. her mom was dead. her dad was in prison. she told me he’s getting out this summer though. i asked her if she wanted to see him. i do, but i’m afraid of what he’ll say. i’m afraid he won’t want me or he’ll say i’m not his. but i’m trying to not have expectations. i’ve just never had a father figure in my life. i really want that. i silently said a prayer of thanks as i proceeded to tell her about my life with my dad. there were so many parallels i was able to draw. the conversation flowed naturally and the more we were able to relate, the more she opened up. 

eventually she began to tell me how miserable she was — not just in the JDC, but in general. she told me she’d tried to kill herself and sometimes she thought she would always be miserable. “i used to feel that way,” i told her. “i used to think i would always be at rock bottom. i didn’t really get the point of living or my purpose. but you know what really changed things for me?” 
what?
“honestly…God. i don’t want to get overly religious with you, but really i wouldn’t have made it without Him. i just remember thinking…what is the point? so you’re born, you suffer, you die and your buried back in the ground? is that really everything? why am i here?” 
i told her that the search for meaning was a difficult journey, but it was worth walking. “God takes away a lot of those miserable feelings, so that even when everything around you is crumbling, you have this inner peace. because you know why you’re here: to love God and love people. and you know that won’t stop when you die. it’s forever.” 

she was in such a vulnerable place and everything i said really resonated with her. she shared her church story and asked a lot of questions. i honestly couldn’t believe we were able to talk so long about our lives of faith. God provided a way for it to happen and it happened easily. we talked almost an hour or so about life and Jesus and spirituality and how He’s the only one who can really change your life. 

the crazy thing is that her court date was that exact day. she was probably getting out of the JDC in a few hours, and i’d had the chance to talk to her right before.
i’d been so nervous that i wouldn’t know how to talk to this girl and that i wouldn’t be able to relate to her, but we were really so much alike. we had a lot of the same fears, insecurities, struggles and feelings. we’d both tasted the pains of loss and defeat. we’d both searched for meaning and significance. suddenly the only difference between she and i seemed to be an orange jumpsuit and the only thing seeming to separate us was where we laid our heads at night. i kept wishing i could give her a hug.

while the criminal justice worker reminded us not to leave our pencils (there’s no telling what those kids will do with them), i couldn’t stop smiling thinking about how God had answered every one of my prayers.