I have struggled for a year with how to tell parts of my story without doing anything that would be displeasing to Christ or cause anyone to stumble.  Increasingly, I have felt that satan would love to keep me paralyzed in that place of fear for, if I stay fearful, I will never share how Jesus can heal even those wounds caused by other Christians.

Christians.  Those claiming Christ.  Church people.  What the world likes to call “hypocrites” but who, at their core, are simply humans who often act…well…like humans.  And in the church we too often ignore it all thinking that the world does not see right through us.

But they do which makes their criticisms of us often justifiable.

My husband was sitting in his church office one day when a father came to see him.  (Not a priestly father; an earthly father.)  What he said that day has haunted me often.  “Whatever you do, don’t trust my children.  They are actively seeking to destroy you.  And if you repeat this, I will deny I ever said it.”

The statement itself doesn’t really haunt me because it was not a news flash.  We were already very keenly aware of what was taking place.  What does haunt me is that a dad felt strongly enough about what was happening that he needed to give warning.  A dad who had to warn about his own offspring.  Heartache.  I have prayed so often that I will never have to be that parent in my own child’s life.  I also pray that I will be brave enough to be exactly that parent if the need ever arises.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.”  I have chanted that little phrase on the playground myself and, as I think back, the chant came only when someone’s words had nearly killed me.  It’s really one of the biggest lies we tell ourselves and our children.  We teach it with the best of intentions.  I taught it to my daughter hoping it would help take the sting out of ugly words directed her way.  The chant I really should have taught is “The words of the wicked kill; the speech of the upright saves.” (Proverbs 12:6)  Or “Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.”  (Proverbs 12:18)  I should have been saying, “Abi, be salvation and healing.  Your words are that powerful.”

“Actively seeking to destroy you.”  Five of the most hurtful words I have ever digested.  Those words of warning coming to us from a father about his adult child convey that what was taking place was way beyond simple gossip.  It was intentional.  It was evil.  There was a plan.  We deserved warning.

In their world, the plan succeeded.  And after the successful plan we were even offered shelter in their home; much like the kiss of Judas following his betrayal.  For, you see, humanity is humanity all down through history.  When sticks and stones haven’t been able to get the job done, there have always been tongues and words and betrayals followed by attempts to cover up the sin.

And this is where I have struggled with the sharing of my story.   The fear of being labeled as bitter has kept me from sharing a lot of what I have learned.  For me, the fight against bitterness has been very intentional and the road to forgiveness has often felt like two steps forward, one step back.

Today I have a peace about sharing this part of my story because while the plan succeeded in the eyes of some; for me, it was a miserable failure.  I am increasingly coming to the place where the pain has been worth the lessons learned.  Most of the lessons in this chapter of my story have been about my words and how I choose to use them.

I can bless or I can curse.  I can encourage or I can discourage.  I can build up or I can tear down.  I can choose to say “I’m sorry, I was wrong” or go on pretending I was justified in using damaging words.  I can be a hurt person who hurts people or I can be a hurt person who helps people.  The choice is mine.

I lost my dad to Alzheimers many years ago and then lost him again to death nearly two years ago.  I never have to worry that he will go tell my pastor that I’m actively seeking to destroy him.  But that fact doesn’t get me off the hook, for I have a heavenly Father who faithfully convicts me and reminds me that while sticks and stones can break bones, words also do heavy damage.  He requires better of me and I want to do what He requires.

My story will continue to unfold as God gives me permission.  In the meantime, how are you doing with your words today?  We were created to be salt.  Be salvation and healing.  Our words really are that powerful.

(If you have been my social media friend, you have seen this story.  So bear with me; I just have to make it a part of my blog site too.  Next weekend I will attend Steve’s retirement.  I know he will be honored well and I am grateful.)

This is my brother Steve. He was born in Bethlehem and raised in Nazareth. Yes, really. Okay, so it was Bethlehem and Nazareth PA but, this morning as I read Luke 2, I was reminded of the fun we had with this bit of trivia while growing up. Add to the trivia that Steve was saved before he attended his first day of kindergarten and called to preach before he even knew what a Windsor knot was and you realize that I really did have a brother who seemed to always be “about his Father’s business.”

Steve has been on my mind all day. So often we elevate the testimonies of those who have made a real mess of their lives. That is not Steve’s story. Don’t get me wrong. I’m thankful for a God who redeems no matter where we have been. But, sometimes, I think we need to trumpet the fact that God can keep us from the mess in the first place. I know it’s possible because I grew up watching him.

Four years ago as Steve and I accompanied our girls on their annual post-Christmas shopping trip, he shared with me that he was having some physical issues. Over the course of two years a couple of different diagnoses were made with the final outcome being ALS. There are times when it would be preferable if life came with a big, fat eraser. Even if there had to be rules about when you could use it, I’m sure this situation would have met the requirements. If there is an eraser, I’ve never found it.

Instead, I’ve watched Steve continue to write the story of his life. What has it looked like? Being about his Father’s business. That’s all. And that’s enough.

I have a clearer picture of grace because of Steve. I’ve learned about unconditional love from Steve. I’ve seen Jesus in skin because of Steve. A couple of times Steve has been my pastor as well as my brother – when he preached dad’s funeral and directed the Merki clan through those days of loss and celebration and this past year as he prayed for and with us for God’s direction in our lives. Where could I put that on the grateful scale? On Sunday, he will stand in front of his congregation and preach God’s truth from a heart of love; a task that is becoming increasingly difficult. He will do it anyway.

In the life of Steve Merki, there is God, Diane and four really outstanding A’s as we affectionately call them, the mom he calls every Saturday and the congregation he pastors. Somewhere after all of that is a sister named JoAnne who is incredibly blessed to call him “brother.” That “blessed to call him brother” part is not mentioned in Luke 2. For that you will have to read James.