He Who began a good work in you, is faithful to complete it.
Part One
Midday, crouched in a corner of the shower, streams of hot water running down her back barely faster than the warm tears running down her face, she could speak only two words.
Help me. Help me. Help me.
Though she had just woken, she was weary to the bone, sealed in her own pocket of darkness, trapped in her own cavern of shame.
Help me. Help me. Help me.
Doubting that God, Who had already given His life for her, wanted to do it again, wondering what happens when people run farther than His grace, her life uncovered and laid bare, she wept for hours.
Help me. Help me. Help me.
This is her story.
First born of a young couple deeply in love in the late 1960’s, she was celebrated, cared for, and nurtured. One move to Missisipppi, two siblings later, she was growing into herself. Avid reader, lover of sharpened pencils, and good with words, she especially loved learning at home, at school, and at church. She was deeply imaginative and found it easy to connect thoughts, words, ideas, and stories out loud and in her head, preferring the latter.
In order of what came easiest for her: learning was first, music second, friendship third, and athletics, well, a very distant fourth. Learning things involves comparing ideas and concepts and putting them in order, synthesizing and connecting them in new ways. This she did with ease, but just as we are prone to do, she over applied her greatest strength until it also became her greatest weakness, comparing herself to others then writing a better version of herself in her head to cover the gap. One world outside, another world inside, each competing to define her.
She was wired for perfection and order, as many of us are. Since we are made in the image of a perfect God of order, it is not surprising. Living in a broken world, perfectionism becomes a god of its own, turning the truth and beauty of an attribute solely attainable by Him into something we chase, warped, empty, and unquestionably out of reach. Recognizing our desire for something perfect illuminates our need for the only One who can be.
Long blonde hair, ridiculously thick glasses, and profoundly buck teeth rounded out her skinny frame, but it was important to her to aim for perfection, so in her head, she became the prettiest person in the room. People who loved her told her she was beautiful. In her head, she disagreed but wanted it to be true.
Able to learn quickly, she was a gifted student in school, but it was important to her to aim for perfection, so she was only satisfied with being the smartest person in the room, even if it meant taking shortcuts to get there. People who loved her told her she was intelligent. In her head, she wondered how that could be when what she saw fell short of others.
Finding joy in telling stories on paper or out loud, she could remember details and dialogue, recreating them for others, but it was important to her to aim for perfection, so she used this gift often to craft different versions of the truth when she wanted. People who loved her asked her to tell the truth. In her head, she only trusted truth she could control.
She was a liar. A good one. Lying to herself and others at will, creating an entirely different reality in her head when she wasn’t satisfied with the one she was living.
Even among family who unconditionally loved and celebrated her, friends who accepted and encouraged her, teachers who challenged and helped her find perspective, her fleshly nature ruled.
It ruled as it does for all of us no matter how good we think we are, how well we are parented, or how effectively we are educated.
But God.
God was beginning a good work in her, and He is faithful to complete it.
Her mother was committed to discipling her children. Both parents were committed to taking the family to church, and her church was committed to investing in future generations.
She would sit wide-eyed and enraptured with stories from scripture.
Eve eating fruit Moses throwing tablets Samuel hearing God David slinging stones Elijah praying fire Isaiah seeing God Daniel taming lions Esther standing firm Nehemiah rebuilding walls Mary singing songs Shepherds watching sheep Jesus growing up Jesus welcoming children Jesus healing the broken Disciples learning, leaning, leaving Jesus… …Jesus… Jesus…
She and her family attended church more regularly than most do now, more even than most did then. She loved it all.
Sunday School, “Big” church, Training Union, and Sunday night church on Sundays, mid-week meals, missions classes, and choir on Wednesdays, Vacation Bible School in the summers, Bible Drill every spring.
All of it.
Bible Drill was when she shined the most. For a season, elementary age kids would spend Saturdays at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Smith. She never knew their first names.
Mr. Smith, gray headed, always slightly stubbled, wore a white T-shirt and overalls with butterscotch candies in his left pocket even on Sunday nights which was the only time she remembered seeing him at church. Mrs. Smith was at church all the time, always in a two-piece dress suit, blouson top, and sensible shoes. Saturdays at their home meant three things: two sessions of study seated in straight rows on a plastic covered couch and folding chairs memorizing Bible verses written on manilla sentence strips, popcorn popped by Mr. Smith to eat after a brown-bag picnic lunch, and jumping the ditch.
The drainage ditch in their front yard was deeper and wider than most. It was also wetter than most and Bible Drill tradition was to eat lunch as fast as possible during the 30 minute break, then jump the ditch until it was time to study again. No nonsense Mrs. Smith knew her pupils needed a physical break, but failing to clear the muddy gap resulted in messy clothes unwanted in her pristine den, so children had to keep a change of clothes in a brown paper grocery bag to change muddy britches in the garage in case efforts proved unsuccessful.
Lionel, a young boy in the group, changed clothes every week, but not because he misslanded the regular jump. He would take huge running starts, always risk-taking to jump higher, farther, faster…muddier than anyone there. Mrs. Smith was serious about memorizing Bible verses but even more serious about her furniture, and Lionel spent more than one Saturday learning his verses with his face pressed against the screen door, wet Mississippi mud dripping off what had already caked around his sneakers.
That never happened to her, though.
She did not take risks that would have made her look dirty on the outside. She was unaware of all the risks she took making her dirty on the inside.
But she did memorize verses. Lots of them. Seemingly, she could say them forwards, backwards, and on command. And one Sunday after church, one of those truths purposefully deposited by others in her mind pierced her heart for the very first time.
She was standing on the sidewalk, watching other children board a white bus with red stripes to be driven back to their neighborhood after church. A recycled school bus purchased to begin a new bus ministry provided a ride for children whose families did not attend church. Periodically, just for fun, she got on the bus when it came through her neighborhood then rode home with her parents.
That sunny Sunday on the sidewalk, she thought about the other children coming to her church to learn about Jesus. She thought about what she’d been taught, about what happens to those who choose their own way instead of God’s. She thought of Jesus inviting people to be loved. She thought of heaven and she thought of hell.
Jesus teaching. Jesus welcoming. Jesus calling. Jesus dying.
“You too,” her heart heard.
She considered.
Understanding danced in her head like fireflies, lighting up and going dim. All at once, she felt invited and excluded, loved and unworthy, known and far off.
“I want to be included” her heart answered.
A good work began.
Faithful To Complete 