Kerry Hasenbalg

Fear of Death

When times are really tough, I find myself often wondering, how human was Jesus really? I mean, was life easier for Him in some ways since He was also God?

Today, while sitting down at my Aunt Bonnie's boatdock at Smith Mountain Lake, I was reading the book of Hebrews and found some answers which spoke to my heart about this very thing.

In chapter 2 of Hebrews, it says that "Since the children have flesh and blood, He too shared in their humanity so that by His death He might destroy him who holds the power of death - that is, the devil- and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death.

Wow!  It is our fear of death that enslaves us all our lives. At least until we understand the work of Jesus on the cross.

Then, in chapter 5 it says that, "During the days of Jesus' life on earth, He offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears to the One who could save Him from death, and He was heard because of His reverent submission."

See that?  Jesus cried out to God with tears so that the Father would save Him from death!

And it says He was answered because of his reverent submission. How much more reverent should we, who are only human, be before God?!

Then, it goes on to say that, "Although He was a son, he learned obedience from what He suffered and, once made perfect, He became a source of eternal salvation for all who obey Him."

Wow again! Jesus, who cried out to God to save Him from death also learned obedience through suffering! 

So, there are my answers. God truly  became man in every way in the person of Jesus Christ and He knows our greatest pains intimately, and then some!

Thank you Jesus! Thank you that we no longer have to fear death because of your death and resurrection which gives all of us who believe access to eternal salvation!

And Lord, a couple more things...I ask you to comfort all those in your body who are sharing in your sufferings and especially those who have chosen to be vulnerable in their own pain for the sake of others. Heal and comfort your people Lord! I implore you for a special blessing and powerful grace to be to those who are currently facing their own mortality through illness or the mortality of their own loved ones. Show yourself strong and make heaven ever so real to them. Encourage them in what is to come.  Also, heal and strengthen those who have lost children, whether in the womb or after birth.  Heal them perfectly Lord! And also strengthen those who are in the waiting process of adopting. You tell us that hope deferred makes our hearts sick but that a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. There are so many in your body who are heartsick. Sustain them Lord and fulfill the longings of all who read this prayer and choose to seek your face!  In Jesus name.
      

The Wounded Tree

Jeremiah 8:21-22 "Since my people are crushed, I am crushed; I mourn, and horror grips me. Is there no balm in Gilead?  Is there no physician there? Why then is there no healing for the wound of my people?

"It seems that the tree in my yard is dying" my mother said to the hired gardener working in her neighbor's yard.  "And I was wondering if you wouldn't mind taking a look at it?" The gardener replied, I'd be happy to".

After looking at the tree, the gardener said, "Your tree is dying because of this cut which continues to bleed at its base. Because a branch was cut off at the tree's foundation and not sealed over properly the bleeding sap is keeping the nutrients from going up the tree's trunck and reaching the rest of the tree.  As a result one side of the tree where the cut was inflicted and not covered over has begun to die."

"Can it be saved?" my mother asked the gardener.  He told her to seal it over now and that perhaps it would be saved. 

Growing up I had heard many times that when tragedy strikes someone's life, that person will either become better or bitter. And I had seen this to be true in the lives of those around me.  But it was not until a foundational branch from my own family tree had been severed, that I ever really thought about the PROCESS of becoming better or bitter.

Very soon after my first miscarriage in 2005, I began to ponder questions like, "How long should the healing process take for something like this?"  And  "When does a person start to become either bitter or better from it."  And "How does one actually choose the "better" path over the "bitter" path." I even wondered if it is possible to not heal completely?" 

At that time, the potential to never heal completely became a real possibility in my mind.  I can remember standing on the edge of the "reality cliff" and looking into the "ravine of insanity" and thinking, "I could actually go there."  I realized then that nothing will cure self-righteous judgment like picturing yourself walking in someone else's shoes.  Or in this case falling off the cliff in their shoes.

Then in December of 2007, I received a phone call from a dear friend telling me that she had just suffered the miscarriage of her baby.  Towards the end of that phone conversation, I can remember saying someting to the effect of "Even though you can not imagine it now, if you seek the Lord, you will eventually heal.  There will always be a scar, but the wounds do heal."  As I hung up the phone, I realized for the first time that I had indeed been healed from my own miscarriage.  The scar was still there on my heart, but the bleeding wound had been sealed over.  And it was my looking upon this scar and the very real and painful memories which it invoked that gave me the empathy and sincere tears now flowing for my suffering friend.  There was no longer a bleeding cut; and I was not even looking at a scabbed over wound.  Rather, the scar which now remained, was a reminder not only of past pain but also the work of the Great Healer.  At that, I stopped and praised the Lord. He really had healed my broken heart.

But it was only two weeks later, in January 2008, that I gave birth to my daughter, Isabella Grace, stillborn.  This time a branch which was even larger and closer to the foundation of the tree that is me had been completely severed.  I imagined that this cut could also be a mortal wound to parts of my soul.  This time as I looked into that ravine of insanity, I no longer wondered if I could go there, but in a way, I actually desired it.  It was as if going there might be my only option for salvaging any of the tree that is me.  The Lord quickly reminded me that there are others attached to this same tree that I saw as only being made up of me.  There were other branches to my tree..other parts which would be harmed if I chose a wrong way:  my parents, siblings, children... and a husband. 

I can vividly remember, while laboring to deliver Isabella, the very same words I had spoken two weeks earlier to my suffering friend.  It was as if God, Himself, was reminding me of what He had just showed me of His character and the path I must again now choose to believe in faith...  "Even though you can not imagine it now, if you seek the Lord, you will eventually heal.  There will always be a scar, but the wounds do heal."   

In the weeks which followed, I was contacted by a number of people who had suffered in similar ways to Scott and me.  And it was curious to me to find how very differently each of these Christian people had faired.  Some had become quite whole and healed; while others were still terribly broken, even years after their losses. And there were still others whose lives were admittedly even more broken now than they were just after the tragedy's occurance.

So, what was the secret to healing, I wondered.  Did it have to do with the length of the mourning process or the way a person went through it? Is it something God alone decides or do we play a significant roll in it?  I even remember searching the scriptures to see if God had given the Israelites some designated amount of time that it is healthy to grieve over the death of a child.  I did not find a specific answer that seemed satisfactory.  So, I simply asked God to guide me and show me His specific process and timing which would be healthy for me and for my family. 

One day, my husband said that we must keep in mind how when a bone is broken it immediately begins to heal.  I thought that was very interesting because even though it might be true according to the natural laws of the human body, it was clearly not so automatic when it came to the human soul and its emotions.  I could see the proof of this by talking with and observing the lives of these other people who I knew had suffered.  But I did understand from Scott's words about the broken bone, that God had given us such laws in nature to serve as examples of how He intends the process of healing to be for our hearts as well.

Less than two months after Isabella went to be with Jesus, Scott and I attended a funeral for Scott's college golf coach, Doug Shepperd.  During the funeral, we sang the song, "In the Garden", which has that familiar chorus, "And He walks with me and He talks with me and He tells me I am His own.  And when I read the first verse, which begins, "I went to the garden alone," I realized that even if other people were suffering with me, I alone must choose to go and commune with Jesus who was bidding me to come to Him. 

But then what struck me even more profoundly was the words of the third verse, which read, "I'd stay in the garden with Him'Tho the night around me be falling, But He bids me go; through the voice of woe,His voice to me is calling." 

As I was singing the words, "But He bids me go," I realized that they were now God's words directly to my heart. I also understood that I could choose to stay in this same place.  But I knew my staying would be a refusal of His leading, of His presence, and of His continued healing balm being applied to my heart. Some might say that making such a choice is really a denial of the mourning process.  But I believe that the mourning process is God's process.  He tells us in His Word that, "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted."  Mourning does truly come in waves..very intensely at first and then less and less as time goes on.  But what I began to find is that a new path was being revealed - the path of self-pity rather than true mourning, the path of human control rather than God control.  A path of fear rather than faith.  The choice to stay would not have been a choice to continue to mourn in a godly way, but rather a choice to refuse God's leading and sit there TRULY alone in self-pity, control, and fear.  It would have been the beginning of choosing bitterness over betterment. 

There is great grace and comfort in godly mourning.  But there is only loneliness and more pain in willful disobedience. All this is not to say that I have not continued to mourn at times.  I have.  The waves of pain have washed over me many, many times since and God's grace and comfort were always there!  But what I am saying is that God chose to gently guide me back out of the "garden" where I communed alone so that I could see that I am not meant to always be so alone.   He revealed to me that a part of my healing is understanding that so many others around me are also suffering, and some suffer even far worse. He wanted me to look at my wounds in the light of Him and see that healing had in fact begun and woud continue if I chose to follow His path.  He had already ministered to me that my daughters are not in the grave and that I must fight to keep my mind on things of the living - those who are here to love now and that which is in heaven.

I had been down the path of willfull disobedience before and on such a trail there is far too little grace and far too much anxiety about the future.  I understood that those who travel down this path say things in their hearts like, "No one knows or understands my pain," or "Why trust God now if he wasn't there for me then?" or worse, "Only I can make this better." Taking such a wrong path begins to hurt other people.  They say, "Hurt people hurt other people."  My other children needed their mommy, a whole mommy who was really present.  My husband needed his wife, a loving and patient wife. I have seen those who have been profoundly hurt and have chosen to continue too long down the path of self-pity.  In in these cases many start acting like dogs who have been beaten and become mad and who now attack anyone who comes too close.  Such vicious self-protection, in reality, very often begins with a refusal to trust the Master's leading and a choice to take matters of the future into their own hands.

For me, having already been personally aquainted with traveling such a wrong path, I had already experienced how part of the living tree that is me and my family can begin to wither up and die.  Giving into fear too often after my daughter's death had already begun to manifest itself physically, giving me a heart condition and an anxiety disorder.  It had already begun to change my plans for the future and plans for trusting God with any future children.  I desired to control my own life rather than take the "risk" of continuing to truly trust God in the days to come.

Choosing self-pity, control and fear was refusing the application of the balm of God for the continued healing of my wounds.  It was an active picking the scab on the wounds of my heart...keeping me bleeding and the nutrients of God's grace from reaching all of the tree that is me and my own branches who are those entrusted to me.  For the sake of my heart, my future, and the lives of those whom I love, I realized that I must choose to go wherever God is leading me.  For a time, He ordains that we walk with Him and talk wtih Him in the garden alone, and other times He ordains that we meet Him on the outside and find Him in and through the lives of others.  As we abide in His love for the sake of others who might need the shade of the tree that is us, we shall find that our continue healing is to be found there.  And even when we are not paying any attention to it, it is taking place nevertheless.

I would rather be out of the garden with the Great Gardener, then in the garden, without Him - and left starring at a festering, bleeding wound and without any balm to heal it.  Even among all the hectic things which have taken place outside of the garden, I have been strengthened by His continued presence as He still continues to walk with me and talk with me and tells me I am His own.

After having taken the path of self-pity, control, and fear for a bit of time myself and ended up feeling far too alone, I have realized it is never to late to go to God with my own pitiful condition and ask,"Can this tree that is me be saved?" For in such a humble and needy state we can hear God, who is the Great Physician, say through the prophet Jeremiah these rhetorical words of hope, "Is there no balm in Gilead?  Is there no physician there? Why then is there no healing for the wound of my people?"  God is worthy of our trust, and we should not fear allowing Him to have His way with our lives.  He is willing and able to protect us wherever He leads us.  And if we follow His path, He  will continue to apply heavenly balm from His loving hand which will heal us perfectly in His time.

 

Marriages that Last

The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash."
Matthew 7:25-27

This past week my brothers, Bobby and Tommy, and I, along with our spouses, Jenn and Scott, threw a small extended family surprise party to celebrate my parent’s 40th wedding anniversary.  We were all encouraged to share at the gathering something along the lines of why we thought life is better for Bob (my dad) because of Gerry (my mom) and vice versa.  But, when I sat down to write, trying to think of what it would be like for my dad to be without my mom or my mom to be without my dad, I realized that such a scenario is just far too difficult and sad for me to imagine.  I have only known them together.  And this fact, having only known them as ONE, is the thing for which I am most grateful. 

So, here’s what I came up with:
I find that people are often commenting about how extremely different my parents are from each other, and it seems to me they are really implying some unspoken question like, “How do they possibly stay together or how did they ever make it so long?” 

For me THIS is strange because their marriage has always been my baseline. So, again from my experience, it seems right that God would put
• An introvert together with an extrovert
• A handywoman together with a man who hasn’t used a hammer in 40 years
• It seems reasonable to me to have someone who can quickly recall all the names of people in any gathering linked together with one who struggles to keep her kids and dogs names straight
• It seems convenient to have a professional lawyer linked with a stay at home mom who only takes jobs which don’t pay anything.
• To attach a man-with-a-plan with little Miss Spontaneity
• I think it also convenient for an extreme gift giver to be linked with an experienced shopper
• Or a true green thumb with someone who hires out their grass cutting
• A man who shudders at the thought of being lost with a woman who has a keen sense of direction
• A woman who can rarely find her car with a man who cleans his cars daily and certainly knows exactly where they are at all times.
• Shouldn’t a man who loves, protects and provide be with a woman who desires these things most?
• And what’s wrong with putting a man, who’s a strong leader together with a woman who is willing to follow and trust that same leader?

Perhaps some of these people who are  baffled by their union believe it is easier to stay married to someone who is more like them …Well, perhaps it is easier….but maybe not better, at least in this case it was not God’s design.   

I have seen that the many contrasts between my parents’ ways are what make the wonderful colors of who they are seem brighter and far more special.  It has taught me that there is not one right type of person or personality….and that life and relationships are less about expecting others to be who you want them to be, and more about a sense of expectancy which comes in finding out who God has made them to be …and enjoying the discovery of life through a different set of eyes continually.  And this has been a lesson which has served my siblings and me very well in our relationships since leaving the nest.   Living and loving others with expectancy rather than expectation!   

Have their differences made it difficult for them?  Absolutely!   But it has been the differences that have made them need and seek God to understand one another better.  And I am so grateful they needed God so much, because in their needing God and choosing God, my brothers and I have benefitted beyond what words could ever express.  It has been the differences which have given my mom and dad opportunity to sacrifice for one another…and sacrificial love is the highest form of love.  Greater love has no man than this, than he lay down his life for another.  I have witnessed my mother and father love one another this way – to give when it is not easy…to give up for the other, to say I am sorry, I am wrong, forgive me.  Neither of my parents keeps a record of wrongs and for this example I am also grateful.    

My father has always supported my mother in the things which have matter most to her, particularly the pursuit of spiritual things.  My mother has always supported my father in his greatest interest, which some would say is Bucknell University sports, but the truth is that he is far more interested when my mom is there by his side. 

I have learned by watching them love one another in their differences, that it is not better to be talkative and outgoing nor better to be reserved and introverted.  I have learned it is sometimes good to be decisive and other times good to be slow to make a decision. I have learned it can be good to be cautious and also good to be fearless.  I have learned it is good to be both educated and intellectual and also to know God’s strength in weakness and when it is difficult to find the right words to express one’s thoughts.  I have learned from their example that it is good to be sure in some things and open in others. 

My parents have needed one another and they both know it.  We all need the gifts and talents that we are lacking not what we already posses, right? 

The Word speaks of the importance of a woman respecting her husband .  Respect is perhaps a man’s greatest desire.  It also says  that a husband should give his wife her greatest heart’s desire too, to be truly loved for who she is.  My mother has shown my father respect continually and my father has loved my mother all these years and never sought to change her.  If I have heard my mom say it once I have heard her say it a thousand times, no matter if they are fighting or if their relationship was sailing smoothly, “Your father has always loved me.” 

They say that the kindest thing a father can do for his children is to love their mother.  My mother and my father have always been confident in one another’s love.  And so have we.  And we are grateful for the blessing and security this knowledge has brought to our lives. 

In some very significant and wonderful ways, mom and dad have changed because of one another. 
Mom’s more confident, and dad’s less fearful and controlling
Now, Mom regularly reads the paper and Dad the Bible.  But for the most part, they are still some version of the same people they have always been.  And they just know one another better than they did at the start.
So what has their 40 years of marriage taught me? That there are no differences too great or trials too difficult that cannot be overcome by committed, godly, sacrificial love.

Happy 40th Mom and Dad!

Scott and I are leaving tomorrow for a two-day get-away to celebrate our 8th wedding anniversary. And in those 8 years I have learned a great deal about love in marriage.   During our courtship and for the first couple years of marriage, I really felt Scott’s emotional love for me, but there came a very specific day when I went from feeling it to being truly confident in his love for me (at a time I wasn’t sure I felt it and when I know I didn’t deserve it). 

I had only recently had my first born son, Cole.  Without getting into scale numbers, let just say I gained a great deal of weight during this pregnancy; and let’s also say that after several months post partum I certainly wasn’t “breaking any records” losing the weight.  The weight was a bit of a stressor but it was nothing compared to the fact that Cole was a very sick and a colicky baby, coupled with to the fact that I was still working full-time and Scott’s company had just gone under.  Pressure was very high in the Hasenbalg household.  But on this one particular day, I was terribly emotional, more emotional than I can ever remember.  And unfortunately,  I chose to take it all out on Scott.  I was not being kind with my words or my attitude at all.  So, if we add my harmful attitude and words to how unattractive physically I am confident I looked, together with a crying baby in the background, then you have one bummed out hubby.

Then,for whatever reason, I turned to my husband and I interrupted my own rantings by abruptly asking emphatically and completely out of the blue, “Scott, DO YOU LOVE ME?”  And He responded without any hesitation or emotion, “Yes, I love you.”    However, I wasn’t satisfied; so I continued with, “But do you feel like you love me or are you choosing to love me?” and He responded with, “DOES IT MATTER?”  And that was the end of the conversation.  His words silenced me.  I didn’t know what to say, let alone what to think.

We returned home and all that I could do was think about his words over and over again.  As a result of that conversation, beginning with that very day, I realized that Scott really loved me with the kind of love which would last.  He loved me with a sacrificial, unconditional love which comes by choosing love even when it’s difficult.  Those words, “Yes, I love you,” together with “Does it matter [if I feel it or am choosing it]?”  Have compelled me more to want to be lovable than any other words he’s ever spoken.  I desire to be kind and pleasing to a man who loves me just because it is right to do.  He is not asking me to do something to earn his love.  His love just is.  But I realized on that day that I also want such a man to enjoy me and like being in relationship with me.   And somehow those words made me, to a large extent, no longer feel some need to test his love.  His love is not based on me and my actions or looks or sin or goodness.  It is based on His walk with Jesus.  Because this is how Jesus loves all of His children.  This is not human love I am talking about.  It is love which can only come by relying on God’s Spirit. 

I am very grateful for how he so often “feels” like he loves me and shows me tender affection.  But I am perhaps even more grateful that he chooses to love me, by the power of God's Spirit, even when it’s more difficult to love.

I have heard it said that in marriage we sin against one another an infinite amount of times.  So, doesn't it stand to reason that we must call upon an infinite God to empower us to forgive, to love, and to continue on together in marriage. 

I remember looking across the table at Scott, when we were just dating, and thinking, “Should I marry this guy if he asks me?  He seems like the kind of guy who would still stand and still stay even if the tribulation period came in my lifetime and if we as believers were here for some of it.”  Little did I know, at that time, that a personal tribulation period would come for us.  And I can honestly say, "yes he is that kind of guy." Scott is still standing strong and standing with me. 

I recently heard from a trauma nurse that 80% of married couples that suffer through a pediatric death, end up divorced. So, why are we not only standing but standing stronger than before? Because we we standing on the foundation of Jesus  – The Rock! Because our love is not based on feelings, which shift like sand, and even washing away when the hard rains come.  I am grateful that our love is based on the same things I see as the basis of my parent’s 40 year of marriage, committed, godly, sacrificial love. And Lord willing, I look forward to growing old with you Scottie.  Thanks for loving me well! 

Happy Anniversary!  I love you in every way! 

Smiling at His children

But when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child; I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. ICorinthians 13:10-13

Our trip to China with the Chapmans seems like a lifetime ago.  And yet only 8 weeks ago we were in Shanghai finishing up our two week trip with Steven performing at his fourth and final concert of the trip.  We were actually in the Shanghai airport waiting to board our plane for the States when we heard about the earthquake.  And then only about one week later precious Maria Sue Chapman went to be with Jesus.  How life can change so drastically and so quickly! 

In recent days, however, I have found myself beginning to think about the “good” that has taking place among all the “bad.”  I have even at times found myself laughing despite all that has happened in 2008 in our lives and the lives of those whom we love.  I remember reading that God would turn our mourning into dancing. But, at that time, I could not imagine ever dancing again.  Nevertheless, two weeks later I was again reminded of that verse when Scott and I and our two kids had declared an impromptu family dance party in our living room.  God did it again. 

Lately, I have returned in my mind to our time in China and have been remembering the miracles that God performed there in our midst.  I recalled seeing so many Chinese faces light up as they heard Steven’s music and read the lyrics of his songs.  And how they longed to receive whatever we had to give them.  I had not seen this kind of hunger since being a missionary in Russian in the early 1990s. 

I also thought about the many very early mornings when my son, Cole, would wake up and say, “I think the kids downstairs are asking for me mom – I can hear them.”  Cole would go straight away downstairs and begin his day by playing with the many orphans being cared for at Hope Foster Home.  I remember him saying, “The two kids with the cuts on their faces really like me mom – I make them laugh.”  And all day long he would play with them – speaking effortlessly through the language of play.   

And then I found myself laughing about how Cole would chat with Steven on the bus.  Cole would always begin with, “Hey, Kevis…” or “Excuse me Ketis….”  To which Steven would always kindly answer something like, “Yes, Cole…” or “What’s up, Cole Huggy Bug….” And that is how their conversations would begin.

As I was recalling all these things  -  the miracles, the laughter, the dancing and the playing all mixed together with the tragedies, the mourning, the sorrow and the pain - I began to realize that my understanding is not so unlike Cole’s.  I hear and understand the many things going on around me much like that of a child.  Cole has heard Steven’s name almost daily since he was in utero, and yet instead of hearing and comprehending properly the name “Steven Curtis Chapman,” he was hearing something like, “Ketis or Kevis Curtain Chapman.” 

And when he first told Steven his own “long” name, which is “Nicholas Robert Hasenbalg, he said, “My long name is Necklace Rubber Huggy Bug, Cole for short.”  Steve has actually called us the Huggy Bug Family ever since.

A few months ago, Scott and Cole were driving back from Cole’s basketball practice and Cole told his daddy that he probably didn’t want to be a basketball player when he grew up.  Scott told him that was perfectly fine and then proceeded to ask Cole what other things he was interested in.  He replied that maybe he wanted to be a musical artist like “Kevis Curtain.” And then he followed that up with this question, “Daddy, if I do become an artist like Kevis, does that mean I get to be your boss?”  “Son, that’s not exactly how it works,” his daddy answered.   

So, in all of our trying to make some sense of these crazy happenings in our lives and to understand the messages the Father is saying to our hearts, I find myself grateful for the living examples of Steven and Scott.  Their responses to Cole reminded me that God is like a good friend and a loving Father who is not angry when we make these kinds of mistakes and misinterpret or misunderstand what He is trying to say.  Rather, I believe that God is probably smiling at us, His beloved children, for our genuine effort to understand and to repeat the things He is trying to teach us.  And while He is guiding us along the way, perhaps he is replying to our questions and suppositions in a similar way:  “My child, that’s not exactly how it works…But, yes, I hear you and I am here willing to chat with you while we take this ride in a foreign land together.”

So, to end this blog, it only seems appropriate to share the words of my 21-months-old daughter, Maya, as she sang herself to sleep last night, “Jesus loves me, E.I.E.I.O, like a dino in the sky, tinkle tinkle little tar, how I wonder what you are.”

The Tears of God

Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective. Elijah was a man just like us. He prayed earnestly that it would not rain, and it did not rain on the land for three and a half years. James 5:16-17

Even though only a couple months had passed since losing Isabella, it felt like years of pain had surfaced.  So many tears, hours of silence, times of prayer, and a great deal of thinking about the unknown future as well as the pains of my past. How can I move from this place if I am now thrown back into the pains and sins of years gone by?

I knew that I had been completely forgiven for every thing I had ever confessed in the past, but I had a new sense of wanting to be fully healed Several times in just one week, I had run across the scripture in James 5 which speaks about confessing your sins one to another so that you many be healed. Also, when I attended my brother’s church for his son’s baptism around that same time, the preacher actually taught on that very verse. So, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God was speaking this to me.

I chose not to delay any longer. I had developed a physical heart condition since losing Isabella and I truly desired to be both emotionally and physically healed for the sake of my family. So, I went to Scott that very day and I opened up in a way I thought I never could. I had always been so thankful that anything I had confessed and repented of before God through the power of Jesus, would never have to be mentioned again. I was always very grateful that God promises to remove our transgressions as far as the east is from the west and remember them no more.  But now there was this sense of a deeper healing that I desired and that God desired for me; and the notion that opening up to Scott was something I ought to do. 

As a result, I chose to add to all the pain and all the tears of that time an even greater vulnerability which came through the confession of deep and even hidden things. But my other half, my precious loving Scott, proved to be just as I had thought and hoped he would be – gracious, forgiving, and loving. God has given me a wonderful husband who is quick to see himself as no better or no worse than me, but simply as a fellow sinner in need of God’s grace on this painful journey called life. 

But as night fell, I found myself feeling terribly vulnerable…I wanted to hide…to run…I felt completely alone and surrounded all at the same time. I waited until everyone was asleep and then I went downstairs, took the car keys and began to drive. I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t even know what I wanted. It was pouring rain outside but I didn’t care. And as usual I left without a wallet. I just wanted all the pain to stop. I think I was really trying to get away from me and my own situation. I went a couple miles and pulled into an empty soccer field. I turned off the car and sat there crying for a long time. 

I finally cried out to God and asked, “Where are you Lord? I am hurting so badly. I lost my daughter. Now, I’ve laid my soul bare and I feel like I just want to die. What do you have to say to me?” Nothing came to my heart except the sight of the rain falling heavily upon my windshield. And then this one thought, which I believe came from God’s Spirit within me: That these rain drops I see are the tears of God which He cries for His people. I wasn’t even sure if it fits with my theology and I am not sure it fits now. But somehow it comforted me greatly. I remembered how in Genesis it says that at first the water flowed out from the inside of the earth. But that sometime after the fall of man the rain fell from the sky. Perhaps the rain is His tears; and perhaps it is not. But it also says that Jesus, who is fully God, wept when his friend died. And doesn’t the Word say that God takes pity on His children. At any rate, I accepted this notion as a comfort and I began to stare at the raindrops and my heart finally began to quiet a bit. I knew that I was not completely alone in my pain because whether the raindrops are His tears or not, the rain is His nevertheless and it was falling upon me. 

But even in this small comfort, I still I felt bare and greatly desired to be physically comforted and covered. Again, I called aloud to Him “Lord, where are you? I need you and I can not sense your presence, only your tears. You seem so far away.” And then, in my Spirit, I had such a strong sense that the Lord wanted me to return home and that He desired to comfort me and show up for me through my husband. I knew that if I stayed there any longer I would continue to be lonely, hurting, vulnerable, and in disobedience. So, I went straight home. 

When I opened my kitchen door there was Scott waiting up for me, worried about me. He didn’t scold me; he just took me in his arms and held me. And then he prayed for me. At that moment I finally realized the meaning of what the Lord had tried to show me a few years earlier. Which is: If I desire my husband to be my covering, I need to be willing to pull up those covers that lie waiting for my acceptance at the foot of my bed. I have left the covering of my husband lying there far too often, and his warmth and comfort were being wasted far too long. There have even been times that I have done something even worse than refusing to accept his comfort and covering: in my self-pity and pride, figuratively speaking, I have even kicked this covering to the floor of my life and then wondered why I feel so alone.

God has given me a man who is loving and righteous in Jesus Christ. I need his comfort and His prayers for they are affective and powerful. And I am thankful that God has chosen to show up for me through him. 

Since that time, I have felt greater freedom and more healed both emtionally and phsyically in so many ways. And whenever it rains, I now always try to stop and pray for those who are hurting and in need of the comfort of God’s tears and the loving covering of the brethren. 

Meanwhile back at the ranch....

We also rejoice in our trials, because we know that trials produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. Romans 5:3-4

This blog is my six-year-old son, Cole's, version of last evening’s happenings at the Hasenbalg household.   

“Daddy was away in Nashville to work with Ketis Curtis Chapman, but you can just call him Ketis Mommy ‘cause it’s shorter.” (More on Cole’s name for Steven (a.k.a. Ketis) in a later blog)

“Maya got her foot stuck between the crib bars and she started crying and then screaming. Then Mommy got Maya’s foot out. I was in Mommy’s room when this happened. But when she pulled Maya’s foot out it hurt so much that she started screaming and she cried so much she started throwing up all over. Then mommy used so much toilet paper to clean up Maya’s throw up that the toilet got clogged. Mom said she couldn’t deal with it now and wanted to get Maya to sleep. So, she put Maya in the other crib and asked me to lay in the bed while she read books to me. But, then we heard a sound like a waterfall in the other room. Mom went and looked, and the toilet had kept running and flooded the whole bathroom and Maya’s room. Mom said she had to clean up the big mess. So, she ran to get lots of towels.  I helped mommy by taking care of Maya while she was downstairs getting even more towels.

A digression from the actual story into Cole’s thought life during the ordeal: “Mommy took so much time that I was so scared because I thought the toilet was going to flood the whole house. I thought maybe I should get Maya out of her crib and then run downstairs and run out of the house and then go to the neighbor’s where I could be safe. And if that happened I would come back for you, mom, and swim through the house to save you and I would call 911 – right mom? 911 – Isn’t that the fire department or the electricity saver or something?”

Anyhow back to the rest of the real story….

“Then Mommy came back and got in bed with me and read me a story and finally Maya and I fell asleep.”

The moral to the story from Kerry (a.k.a. Mommy):  And so, I choose to praise Him for the little crosses that test our patience, show us our need of Jesus, and if embraced develop character in us. Through this I am reminded to pray for single moms who on a regular basis have no one else to help them when “real life happens.” Finally, I am also super glad Cole knows the number to the electricity saver in case of an emergency.

Falling through our Fingers

"True and undefiled religion in the sight of God, the Father, is this:  to care for orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself unspotted by the world."  James 1:27

The following is a story that I shared for the first time at Focus on the Family just about one year ago.   I am posting this as a blog because of how Theresie's terrible illness, which I spoke about a couple blogs ago, is now serving as a strong reminder in my own walk to pour out, even when it is difficult, for the ones whom I rarely see.

The date was April 18th, 1993, and the place - Taroko Gorge, Taiwan. 

Taroko Gorge is a gaping rift in the eastern mountains, with shear marble cliffs and deep gorges rising up from the riverbed below.  It is made up of winding tunnels, raging rapids and waterfalls, jagged rock and deep tropical shallows.

A group of college students spent the day hiking these breathtaking gorges and riding mopeds along the road up its winding cliffs.  As one of the students in that group, I can vividly remember feeling overwhelmed by the gorge’s beauty and utterly amazed as I viewed God’s creative landscape.

My time of gazing and wonderment was quenched abruptly when some representatives from our study-abroad program met us along the road and gave us the news that all students were to return to the ship immediately.  We were told that two of our classmates, who also had gone off together to hike and climb, had fallen into the Gorge.  One of the boys we heard had already been found and rescued; but the other boy was still missing.

We were stunned!  How could this have happened to someone in our own group?  He is just a student, far away from home, away from his family.

Our university ship eventually left port without this young man, and we continued to receive word that he still had not been found.  We heard about all the many resources that had come together to search for him.  We heard that Brett was apparently the son of someone very important.  We heard about his family’s great wealth.  The financial numbers quoted, although incomprehensible to most of us, brought great comfort to us knowing that his parents were sparing nothing– not one dime – for a search and hopefully a rescue of their son.  Helicopters and round the clock search parties, you name it. It was all called upon.  It was sent.  It arrived, and the search continued for a very, very long time.

Back on the ship, in the coming days, conversations were consumed entirely by this one who was lost.  Many tears of mourning the potential loss had already been shed.  Life seemed to stop on ship as we just waited for news.  We all wanted to do something because he’s one of us.  It could have been any one of us.

We were keenly aware that this lost boy was somebody’s son!  His name - Brett Russell Crawford.  And he was somebody’s son, alright - the son of Gordon Crawford.  According to The La Weekly, and I quote:

“Gordon Crawford is the guy who, once upon a time, placed a big bet on what were then blue-chip entertainment stocks and made gazillions for a lot of people, including himself.  As those show-biz firms morphed into Big Media, Crawford assumed even more power when his investment positions became huger by default. None of this is to say that Gordy isn't a great guy. People love him. Besides, it's hard to say a harsh word about someone who in 1993 suffered such a profound personal tragedy: the death of his 21-year-old son Brett during a hiking accident in Taiwan while enrolled in a semester-at-sea program. Crawford has told friends:  ‘I’d give up all the money I ever made for one hour with him’.”

Brett’s face, his name, his story will be remember by all who traveled on that ship.  WHY? We saw him as one of us, and because he was the son of an important man.

And yet for so many sons and daughters, who have fallen through the cracks – LOST, in great distress, many barely hanging on and in desperate need of rescue, no one searches, no one comes, no money is sent.  No one prays, no one mourns, and no one remembers them!  Even though we may have seen them, their pained faces, their hurting bodies, heard about the scars to their fragile souls, whether we passed them on the streets, saw them on TV or witnessed their lives as we walked their neighborhoods, or even if we spent time in their homes, still we forget them.  Yet all are members of the ship of suffering, part of the program of life.  Perhaps we considered their plight briefly, but now we cannot even picture their faces.  Why? I suppose it would be different if they were our own children or our friends’ children or for that matter the children of important, wealthy men.  But instead, these sons and daughters are not the children of important men, they are nobody’s children really, they are the fatherless – these children are just orphans.

Spend some time talking to child welfare professionals or government representatives about children who are repeatedly abused and neglected in state run systems.  Inquire about those who have been lost or even killed in government funded foster care or group homes, or learn more about the ones who died while still on the streets, and you will most assuredly hear the them saying, “These are the ones who fell through the cracks.” 

A very wise woman I used to work for on Capitol Hill once said when addressing some of these professionals, “These children do not fall through CRACKS, they fall through FINGERS!”

Perhaps in the context that this Senator was speaking ,she was referring to fingers of government workers; however, God never entrusted the fatherless to government systems.  He, Almighty God that is, the One who calls Himself the Father of the Fatherless, entrusted them to His bride, those who make up His church (big C church).  And He asked us to hold on to them for Him as His Ambassadors; as His loving Hands extended.

You see – we must understand clearly that from God’s perspective the fingers through which these children are falling ARE OURS!

Why do we not understand what God has asked of us? Why do we do not see that these are God’s children? Talk about a powerful, wealthy, and wise father.  The father of the orphans is the King of Kings.  The One who says He owns all the gold and all the silver; the One who is wisdom Himself; the One we claim to love with all our hearts and all our souls and all our minds, He is their father!  They are His Children!  The King of Kings calls Himself the Father of the Fatherless!      

What are we willing to sacrifice to spend time with the fatherless, getting to know them, loving them, or helping them in their distress?  Could we ever say as Gordon Crawford said: “I’d give up all the money I ever made for one hour with him”?

Prayer update:  Thank you for your prayers for Theresie in her illness, for my neighbor Bill in his sudden inability to walk, the Raineys and Mutz in the loss of baby Molly,  the Chapman family in the loss of Maria, and for all those who have commented about their own great losses. 

Several people have stepped up to try and get Theresie proper care in Africa.  Bill is home and has feeling in his legs and been given a prognosis of good chance to walk again.  As for the Chapmans and their continued grief:  each time I interact with Mary Beth she says, "Please encourage people to continue to pray for us."  I know the Chapmans are doing there very best to cling to Jesus and love one another in this painful time.  So, please continue to pray for them and for the others who have recently lost loved ones. 

And for those of you who have shared about your own struggles, whether it be the loss of a child, a parents, infertility struggles, or hurts inflicted by the brethren, please know that I have prayed for each of you who have commented.  I do not take your prayer requests lightly.  God honors your heart in seeking aid in prayer.  And I believe the best way we can keep our loved ones and the little ones who are in trouble from falling through our fingers is to clasp our hands together in prayer and implore the father on their behalf!   

Free to Praise

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." Matthew 11:29-30

From the very start of worship this morning while attending our neighbor’s home-church service, I was having a very difficult time. Something was blocking my heart’s ability to praise. What had gotten in the way, I wondered. I tried to shrug off the strange feeling and choose to praise, but my heart just got heavier and I truly didn’t know why.

I finally mustard up enough concern about my state that I asked the Lord to search my heart and reveal what was getting in my way of praise. He took my mind immediately to a conversation I had the day before. It certainly wasn’t a significant conversation but a name of someone who had hurt me in the past was mentioned. So, there it was, a weed seed had fallen on the soil of my heart and I took it right in, allowing all the old emotions to return, followed up by a foolish refusal to take them to Jesus.  I thought I had forgiven, I thought the memories had faded, but apparently something in me was still lingering. I was still holding on to something harmful to my heart.

I was now sitting in worship, surrounded by others who were honestly and intently praising and this irritation, this past pain which had now surfaced, was keeping my heart far from the Father’s and far from peace. I prayed throughout worship –literally through all 8 songs. “Lord help me to forgive, help me to love, help me to forget the pain” It was so long ago and the circumstances seemed so irrelevant now. “So, why now Lord? Why now?” And what must I do to fix this situation and to fix my aching heart. I had sought reconciliation in the past, but still the relationship wasn’t fully restored…or at least I had not been fully restored. Must I wait for my Christian sister to apologize for the wrongs she had done before I could be fully healed, I wondered. “What would you have me do now Lord? I don’t want to carry this burden of hurt any longer.”

We had all been encouraged to bring something to share today with the group. And so our time of sharing began and my answer literally came with my neighbor’s very first words. She pulled out the Litany of Humility by - Rafael Cardinal Merry del Val and began to read:

O Jesus, meek and humble of heart, hear me.

From the desire of being esteemed, 
deliver me, Jesus. 

From the desire of being loved, 
From the desire of being extolled, 
From the desire of being honored, 
From the desire of being praised, 
From the desire of being preferred to others, 
From the desire of being consulted, 
From the desire of being approved,

From the fear of being humiliated, 
deliver me, Jesus.  
From the fear of being despised, 
From the fear of suffering rebukes, 
From the fear of being calumniated (slandered or gossiped about), 
From the fear of being forgotten, 
From the fear of being ridiculed, 
From the fear of being wronged, 
From the fear of being suspected,

That others may be loved more than I, 
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.  
That others may be esteemed more than I, 
That in the opinion of the world, 
others may increase, and I may decrease, 
That others may be chosen and I set aside, 
That others may be praised and I unnoticed, 
That others may be preferred to me in everything, 
That others may become holier than I, 
provided that I may become as holy as I should. 

So, there it was - my answer - Humility.

My mother used to say while I was growing up, “Whenever you find yourself thinking of or speaking of your hurt, remember that most often the part of you which has been hurt is your PRIDE!”

Just before I had left my house to head to the fellowship that morning, I had picked up a book and read a short devotional, which at the time seemed unrelated to my life; but I now realized God’s timing could not have been more perfect. For the words read, “When someone asked [the man] to define humility, he answered, “Humility is when you forgive someone who has wronged you before he expresses regret.”

Before the service was over, I was thanking God in prayer for sending these trials into my life. They were necessary to reveal that which was still alive in me and was keeping me from His greater peace. The offenses which come against us do not cause us to sin, they simply reveal what sin is already there and needs to be addressed. And so, may we praise the Lord for the little crosses in our lives which if handled by the Spirit can bring greater peace and deeper wisdom to us.

After service today I felt as if a Mac truck had run over me….flattened perhaps…but free indeed! True humility does not come easy, (reread the litany - its requirements are not easy to meet) but if entered into by the power of the Spirit of God, true humility does bring freedom – no longer burden by the yoke of unforgiveness but freed by Jesus to worship in Spirit and in Truth.

Dad's kids

“I rescued the poor who cried for help, and the fatherless who had none to assist him.”  Job 29:12

Until I “heard” the deafening silence which followed my daughter’s entrance into this world, I had never known such profound pain and grief. When she died, part of me died.  She was flesh of my flesh.  My own blood had flowed through her veins!  I had held her in my own womb for 8 and ½ months. I was her mother and Scott her father! 

After her death, we received an incredible outpouring of sympathy from many people.  Many who never saw her face grieved over her death because of their love for us.  There were many people who knew of us only by reputation but who reached out to us in kindness nevertheless. And then there were those who knew us so intimately and loved us so completely that they mourned with us as if they had lost one of their own children. 

Actually my dearest friend has lost many children! Some before we knew one another and some since getting acquainted. And yet until I lost one of my own, I did not grieve over the deaths of His children properly.  I realize now that I should have cared more and given more to help when they were in need.  I was living very close by during some of their times of trouble and yet I did very little.

Despite my great failings, He was the one who was constantly by our side.  Both his words and his silent presence were the source of our greatest comfort.

My friend whose children I had failed so greatly but who loved me completely nevertheless, is also my father - My heavenly Father. 

The Word says that God is the Father of the fatherless.  And He has lost so very many children. His children, the orphans, are the ones for whom the Father too often weeps alone.

Just as I knew Isabella in my womb, He knows each and every one of these children in their mothers’ womb.  There is something special about God’s relationship to the orphan - something that is different than His relationship to those who of us who have been raised under the covering of living, loving parents.  I do not claim to understand this heavenly mystery, but I am more aware than ever that He is very serious about being their Father and He expects us to treat them as such!

        Just as those of us who are parents feel the pains and offenses which come against our children as if we ourselves are being attacked; so, too, does God take personally what we do or do not do to His children.  If He is both the Father to the Fatherless and the Father of all those who believe, then these children are a part of us, part of our very families, whether we choose to see it that way or not.

Before the age of telecommunication, in villages around the world, whenever someone would die, a bell would be rung to alert those in the area about the death of one of their community members.  Each family or group of villagers would then send someone to go and find out who had died –to know for whom the death bell had been rung.

A preacher named Revered John Donne, in a now-famous church sermon, exhorted his congregation to see our relationships to others more clearly when he said, “Send not for whom the Bell Tolls, it tolls for thee!  No man is an island entire of itself, every man is part of the main.  The death of another man diminishes me.

We do not see properly how the circumstances of these children, their lives, their plight, their pains, their dreams, their successes, and their purposes, have a direct affect on us.  I believe the reason for this is that we have not heard what God has been saying about them all along! Many of us are spiritually hard of hearing.  God’s been talking through His Word, but many of us in His church have not been listening. “He who has ears, let Him Hear what the Spirit is saying to the church.” 

If you are part of the heavenly bride of Christ, then they are your children too.  Our husband redeemer, Jesus Christ, has gone off to prepare a place for us, and in the meantime has entrusted His kids into our care.  Will Jesus be pleased with how we have cared for His own upon His return? 

I am asking anyone reading this blog to please pray for one of God’s special kids, a young orphan girl, named Theresie.  She lost her parents when she was only 3 years old in the Rwandan genocide and has been raised by her older siblings.  She is extremely sick right now and in tremendous need of healing!    

The Challenge to Forgive

Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.  -Colosians 3:13

A few days ago, I wrote about how I witnessed the reunion of a Rwandese orphan and her biological parents who had been separated for more than ten years.  In that writing, I told the details of her reunion with her mother; but in this one, I would like to tell about her reunion with her father. For those who have not read that blog, I will briefly recap for the sake of context.

From the time Nyanja was 8 years old she had been told that her parents and her siblings had died in the Rwandan genocide.  All these years her parents were convinced that she too was dead. Through a series of miracles, God led this young girl and me to come from the United States, where she had lived as a refugee for more than ten years, and travel to Rwanda and ultimately find her parents in a Rwandese prison.

As you can imagine, the reunion was extremely emotional.  They were all in total shock to see each other alive.  They embraced briefly in front of the prison warden.  The father then gently led his child to sit down straight across from him so that they could see one another face to face. Then he spoke to her, “Child, I am so grateful you are alive! How did you get here?  How did you find me?” 

She began crying and talking very quickly, “Father, You would never believe all that I had to go thru to get to you…During the genocide I was rescued by a UN worker and I ended up in a refugee camp in Kenya with mom’s brother and grandmother.”  She said how her one comfort, her Grandmother, had died in the camp, and how she wished that she too had died there.  She then began delineating the many pains she faced living as a child refugee in the United States. But when she started to tell of specific people who had hurt and abused her along the way, her father stopped her from speaking and said, “My child you are alive! I, too, am alive!  We are here together.  All that is necessary now is forgiveness.  Forgive and let go of all those things which happened to you in the past and keep living!”

The meeting was cut short by the warden and they were forced to part having no idea if they would ever see one another again. She returned to America and they remained in prison. Last December, which is four years after this reunion took place, her parents were finally released from the Rwandan prison which had held them for the last 14 years. When the father and his wife were finally given their day in court, they were both found completely NOT GUILTY of all charges!  So, the 14 years they had served in that prison separated from their children and being held as innocent men was a complete injustice. 

It took me quite some time to understand why her father would say what he did and not have more pity on his daughter. But what I have since come to see is that what this father was sharing with his precious daughter was the greatest secret of all!  Her father not only wanted his daughter to survive but to heal from her journey having had to climb these treacherous mountains of pain for so many years.  Forgiveness brings healing; bitterness and hate bring more pain to the ravaged soul.

I believe that like this man, God will say similar things to us on that day when we finally are reunited with Him, our Heavenly Father, and when we, too, can look at him face to face, “My child, you are alive! I, too, am alive! We are together. Now, all that is necessary is forgiveness.  Forgive and let go of all those things which happened in the past and let us keep living!”

This father shared with his child the greatest wisdom he knew to be true. It was the very thing which had kept him all these years – the necessity to forgive…to forgive those who had stolen His land, to forgive those who had him and his wife imprisoned without cause, to forgive those who held them without a trial for 14 years separate from their children, and even to forgive those who killed his first born son.

Those who have forgiven are those who are able to teach forgiveness. How can we teach forgiveness, if we haven’t practiced it?  Forgiveness is the main key which unlocks the door of healing for so many of us.  And it is also the key which unlocks the door of healing for the orphan.  Far too many of them have been hurt, abused, abandoned, neglected, and broken not only by those who have oppressed and terrified them, but by us who have neglected to properly care for them.   The goal isn’t just to take them in, but to help them heal so that they too can become functioning members of their communities and ultimately pillars in the temple of God as well!

Forgiveness has not come easy in Nyanja’s case because the wounds inflicted were very deep, but I have witnessed this special young lady choose to go to Jesus with her hurts over and over again.  And as a result I have also seen the Lord bless her, lift her up and give her great peace and joy since that time.  Just this month, she has returned to Rwanda to work with orphans and to live with her parents at last.