Anchor of my Soul

Yesterday I woke up so sad.

We've been reading a lot in preparation for the major life change ahead, trying to educate ourselves and prepare ourselves for a world that has been foreign to us.  Up to this point we have lived in middle class America, a typical family with typical kids and a typical house who go to typical schools and have typical friends.  We are a type.  We are a middle class white family.

Soon we will be a middle class multi-racial family.  We will not be typical.  When our family walks into a room, we will not blend in. People are going to try to figure us out, and they will probably make assumptions.  They might stare.  Some might even ask questions.  We had to take a whole class about this -- what to say when people ask you questions.  It was funny, sad, enlightening, and maddening.  Because some people will ask out of curiosity and a desire to connect and learn.  And some will ask out of their own criticisms, prejudices, and fears.

I read a fascinating and scary blog post the other day.  I think it was the catalyst for my sadness.  The title is "Cute Little Black Boys Do Grow Up to be Black Men, Part II - And Now They are Ten" - you can read it here.  I feel like I am standing on the tip of the iceberg right now -- about to fall into the deep and scary and unknown waters of racial division in our country.  And stories like the one above reveal how little I know and how little I understand. 

I've read a lot of articles about Ferguson, from all sides and angles.  I wasn't there so I have no right to make a conclusion. What I did conclude is that there is still a very strong racial divide in our country.  One that I will never understand because I have grown up in middle class white America.  And it makes me mad and sad.

When we adopt these two children in a few months, we will stand before a judge and promise to be their parents until death do us part.  It's a covenant, a promise -- much like a marriage vow.  I promise to love them exactly the same as the other three children in my family.  I promise to give them the same opportunities, the same experiences, the same privileges, the same grace, the same love.

But I cannot promise that the world will offer the same opportunities, the same experiences, the same privileges, the same grace, and the same love.  I cannot promise that they will not be judged unfairly.  I cannot promise that they will not experience prejudice.  I cannot always protect them from stares and questions and ignorant comments.  And it makes me mad and sad that I have to bring these two precious children into a country where their skin color could set them back and make them feel less than.  And although I will promise to love and accept them unconditionally, I cannot promise that others will.

I am grieving for our country and for our people.  Every night Jonas asks me to sing him a song before bed. His request last night was "Jesus loves the Little Children."  Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight...  And as much as I am sad, I thought about God who must look at His children and grieve.

Yesterday I read a story in Genesis that was terrible, so terrible I put my Bible down and couldn't keep reading.  It was the story of Dinah, who was raped by an arrogant prince.  Her brothers decided it was their job to get revenge and they killed all of the men in the town.  Every daddy, every brother, and every son.  An innocent woman was violated and innocent blood was shed.  And it made me mad and sad.  Because it reminded me so much of our world. 

Sex trafficking.  Child abuse.  Orphans.  Homelessness.  Poverty.  Disease. Drug Addiction.  Murder.  Rape.  So much senseless brutality.  So much darkness.  So much sin.

I was overwhelmed by the weight of it all.  Overwhelmed with a desire to protect my five children from it all.  Overwhelmed with the knowledge that I cannot.

Later in the story, Dinah's father Jacob moves his entire family to a new place.  They bury their idols in the old place and he builds an altar in the new place.  It's a new beginning, a fresh start.  I can only imagine this grieving father is ready for change after all of the tragedy of the past.

God comes to him and talks to him.  God tells Him who He is, and He tells Jacob who he is.

"I am El-Shaddai. God Almighty." (Genesis 35:11)

I researched this Hebrew name a little bit (read: Googled it).  El means "God."  Shaddai comes from the Hebrew word "shad" which means breast.  Before it gets too weird, think nourishment, sustaining, life-giving.  God was telling Jacob -- I am going to give you new life.  Like a mother cares for her newborn baby, I will care for you.  I recognize your neediness and your helplessness, and I am here to take care of you.

And God tells Jacob who he is.  He is Jacob, a man full of mistakes.  A man who has made horrible decisions, has lied,  cheated, and stolen.  A father who grieves over his children's horrible decisions. 

And then God says, "Your name is Jacob, but you will not be called Jacob any longer.  From now on your name will be Israel." So God renamed him. (Genesis 35:10)

The name Jacob means: heel grabber
The name Israel means: May God prevail

As I was reading, I took comfort in the knowledge that as sad as I am, God is more sad.  I have 5 children to worry about.  God has a whole world.  I see a little bit; He sees it all.  He cares for this world as a mother cares for her innocent newborn.  He sees the promise of what could be in the eyes of every one of His precious children.  He grieves over the innocence lost and the promises broken. 

There is one promise that cannot be broken and will stand: May God prevail.  I don't know exactly how.  I don't know exactly when.  But GOD WILL PREVAIL.

When God stood with Jacob that day thousands of years ago, He promised to be El Shaddai.  He promised to take care of him.  And He knew how He would do it.  He would do it many years later with an innocent, newborn baby.  Baby Jesus.

A baby would pierce the darkness of sin and bring new life and hope.  It's backwards and upside down.  It's tragic and it's beautiful.  It's grace.  It's love.  It's HOPE.

And so that is what I hold onto in this season of sadness - HOPE.  And hope will be the anchor of my soul as I step into the dark waters of this unknown.

We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. Hebrews 6:19