love moved first

I know my redeemer lives.

I was lost, and now I’m found. I was betrayed and broken, but now I am healed. I was in bondage, but now I am free. I was weak, but now I am strong.

Holy Week has never been the same for me since Holy Week of April 2006. That is a year I will never forget because it was the first Holy Week in my life where I can honestly say my heart physically ached and was shattered. The depth of the wounds and the fears I had were beyond anything I thought I could bear. I am sure some of my closest friends and family might remember that dark week when I thought I was going to lose all three of my sons forever.

I know this sounds incredibly dramatic when it is put into the perspective of where we are today in our relationship, well, at least where I am with two of my sons. In hindsight, perhaps God was using that time to prepare my heart for the separation I now have with my middle son?

Jesus said in Matthew 10:34-36. "Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother-in-law. And a man's foes shall be they of his own household."
The last part of this verse is a quotation from Old Testament Micah 7:6 which says, "For the son dishonored the father, the daughter rises up against her mother, the daughter in law against her mother-in-law; a man's enemies are the men of his own house."

While this scripture was spoken to the disciples as to what they were to expect as they went out into a world of believers and unbelievers, it serves as a warning to us today as well, regarding what kind of attitudes we can expect when speaking of our faith and of God’s truth in today’s world. Some will respond in a positive manner, but some, even members of our own households will turn against us.

This is what I experienced, Holy Week 2006.

I share this story, not for pity, and most definitely not to shame my sons, or create this image that they were horrible young men. After all, they were simply young, angry, wounded, and rebellious pre-teens, and teens. I share it because it was another time in my life where being brought to my knees in brokenness and complete surrender connected me to God in a way I might never have experienced, and it changed me and how I experience Easter since that week in 2006.

Without going into all the ugly, unnecessary details, suffice it to say, the enemy was working double time in our home that year, and in particular, those weeks approaching Easter. I had had a confrontation with one of my oldest sons prior to Holy Week, which led to him moving out and in with his dad, which absolutely broke my heart. Then, on the heels of that, there was a HUGE confrontation and fight with one of the boys the morning of Palm Sunday.

The confrontation, which led to a fight, and eventually led to another son being moved to his dad’s due to his disrespect, anger, and rage, believe it or not, was over my faith, and needless to say, in that moment, I was NOT displaying the heart of Jesus.

This is exactly how Satan works folks.

You see, the boys were with their dad that year, the weekend of Palm Sunday. It was “his weekend,” but one of the boys was dropped off unexpectedly at my house, again, on another Sunday, right at the time I needed to leave for church, and he needed to be driven to another church service in a different direction than where I needed to go.

This seems petty now I know, but I had missed my church service repeatedly due this repetitive scenario on the weekends when they were with their dad, and as you can imagine, I had had enough of it and felt taken advantage of and disrespected, and in no uncertain terms I made it known to my son, and the fight ensued.

Long, ugly, shameful story short, clearly I was not displaying Jesus’ love, and neither was this son who was headed to participate in Palm Sunday services at another church, but, let’s face it, who was the adult here? Who should have had the heart and maturity to see beyond the moment, on Palm Sunday nonetheless, and who should have been mature enough in their faith to rise above?

Instead, there I was, angry at my young son, proclaiming that my faith was so important to me, and that God came first in my life over everything, complaining about having to be late to my church because I had to take him to another church so he could participate in that service. Wow!

Just like that, Satan had taken what could have been, should have been a sweet moment in time between the two of us, (after all, at this point, this was my only son still going to church at all), and he twisted my pride and my ego, and it all became about me and my inconvenience.

Needless to say, it ended in a gut wrenching, ugly place with my son leaving me and my house that Sunday, crying, angry, and demanding that if I ever wanted to see him or speak to him again, I had to deny that God was first in my life.

To them, that anyone who could worship a God who demanded He be first over their own children was not a good god and any parent who would choose that god over their own children was crazy.

I realize, to most of you reading this, the seriousness of this situation seems petty, and similar to things all parents of teens and preteens might experience at some point. An empty threat from a knucklehead kid. So what right?

But it was a very big deal given all that was going on in our lives at that point in time, and the way things were with my sons at that time. It was not a threat to be taken lightly, and I didn’t. So, there I was, all three sons, now living with their dad, threatening to sever their relationship with me over my faith, and my heart was breaking.

photo by Kristina Tripkovic @tinamosquito

That week was one of the longest, most lonely, and incredibly painful weeks, where I spent so much time on my knees in prayer, begging God to change their hearts towards me, but as the week went on things only seemed to get worse each day.

I called on my prayer warriors when I felt I couldn’t pray anymore. We prayed and some fasted. I fasted. I remember feeling so broken. I truly thought I was going to lose my sons over my love for Jesus because I would never deny that He is first in my life, even if it would mean losing them.

I couldn’t believe God was allowing this to happen. I raised those boys in church. I was doing the best I could as a single mom to raise them right, and this is how it’s going to go? Why?

But God, heard our prayers, and on Maundy Thursday one of my sons called and said he had talked to the one who I had the initial fight with, and he felt that he might have had a change of heart, and suffice it to say, by Good Friday, all three were coming back home to live with me.

I saw God move in all our lives that week.

He didn’t move in the ways I expected Him to or wanted Him to, but He met each of us exactly where we needed to be reached at that time, and through our conversations that Easter weekend, I could hear how He had spoken to the wounded and hardening hearts of each of us.

Holy week will never be the same for me again after that week in 2006. It is a much more emotional experience for me because I will never forget the gut-wrenching fear and pain I felt that week. It opened my eyes and my heart and caused me to relate on an even more personal level than my husband’s betrayal, to what it feels like to be betrayed by someone you would die for. Most importantly, I learned the feeling and meaning of total surrender to God’s will in praying not my will, but thine.

I had no choice.

Everything I had taught my sons and told them I believed, hinged on this moment.

Would I cave to their childish demands in this moment, or would I stand for the truth in what I professed to believe and risk losing them forever or until they were mature enough to realize their decision and the ultimatum they gave me?

Let me say, I would NEVER compare my small situation to anything close to what Jesus experienced, but what I know is that we worship a Savior who knows betrayal, who knows isolation, and loneliness, and He is in the trenches with us in moments like what I went through.

Holy Week, Easter, and everything that occurred in that time frame was God and His love for us reaching down to us.

He didn’t wait for us to seek Him first.

In His love for us, He moved first. Jesus had to come to earth in human form to experience all we experience so we could trust that we have a Savior who experienced absolutely everything we will ever experience in this life.

While I would never be so prideful as to say that during Holy Week in 2006 I experienced what Jesus experienced, I can testify to the fact that I was broken, and that brokenness, at that time, was beyond anything I have ever known.

But then came Sunday morning!

Just like Jesus…He met me where I needed Him to meet me, and in that place of complete surrender, I felt a sense of pain and my responsibility for Jesus’ death like I never have before.

Sitting through Good Friday service each year since 2006 has been more emotional for me than any other time I can remember in my life, because while it was NOTHING compared to what Jesus went through, I got a taste of a betrayal that goes deeper than anything I have ever known, and an appreciation more so than ever of my connection to Christ.

When I was at my lowest, Love moved first. He lifted my head and assured me that nothing I was enduring would be wasted, and that nothing I was feeling was unknown to Jesus. You see, Jesus didn’t wait for us. He bridged the distance that we cannot possibly bridge, the distance between our unworthiness and God. He came running after us.

In His relentless grace He chased all of us down and didn’t wait for us to come running after Him.

Jesus, aka Love, moved first.

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:8)