Betsie ten Boom

“And I saw it all, still I chose the cross” – Out of Hiding, song by Steffany Gretzinger

Yes, yes, it’s a great song, but I don’t want it stuck in my head at the moment; I just want to read.

I had been reading The Hiding Place by Corrie ten Boom and I couldn't put it down. (If you plan on reading this book there are some spoilers on the way, just a heads up!)

“And I saw it all, still I chose the cross”

There it was again, a line from a song that I listened to the previous night. It kept playing in my head over and over again as I read about Corrie’s life in the concentration camp during World War II. At this point in the book I was in awe of Betsie, Corrie’s sister who went to the camps with her. The way she lived and loved and extended grace was so much like Jesus it floored me. How could someone live that way with such unthinkable hatred and cruelty around her?

Then she died.

No. Betsie couldn’t die. She had to survive! She had to make it out alive! There was so much God was speaking to her. They killed her. They did.

          “And I saw it all, still I chose the cross”

No. Corrie had to just stand watch as her sister, her kind, gentle sister died. She didn't deserve it! They killed Betsie, they left Corrie alone! They did, they did, they…

I died for Hitler.

The still small voice that whispered to Betsie in the concentration camp whispered to me in my living room.

“And I saw it all, still I chose the cross”

That’s when the tears really started rolling. I listen to all these sweet songs about how Jesus loves me and died for me and I decided at some point along the way that Jesus didn't die for the really bad people. (Yeah... It doesn’t make sense, I know.) What Hitler did was evil; he allowed evil to triumph over millions. But Jesus still died for him, he told me so. He loved him and hoped for him and longed for him to come close. Just like he does for you, just like he does for me. Just like he did for Betsie ten Boom.

What used to be lined with barracks for prisons  is now a vacant piece of land of the Ravensbruck concentration camp, the camp that Bestie Ten Boom died at. I had the opportunity to walk the paths of Ravensbruck and go through the memorials; it's a day I'll never forget.

Like the lyrics? Click here to check out Staffany Gretzinger's album, The Undoing.

The Big Picture

When we see the whole story of the cross we can truly be grateful.

When we look at it one sided we miss out. One side is just sin; dark, depressing, filthy sin. Then when you look at the other side all you see is Jesus. Yay Jesus! And he really is great, don’t get me wrong.

But when you pull back to see the whole thing, you see a gruesome picture of your sin and Jesus in an earth shattering collision. You see “Yay Jesus” taking on all of your dark and filthy sins. Then you realize just how dirty your sins show up on white.

When you turn the page you see only darkness. You can’t wrap your mind around it. Your heart starts to drop and you find yourself on your knees. How could this be? I thought he was our hope… but now he’s gone. The realization that your sin has consequences and that someone else had to pay for them just doesn't make sense. It’s a realization that weighs too heavy on your shoulders to stand again.

          But the next page turns itself.

You’re no longer looking at your sin, but Jesus. He’s different. If possible, he’s more pure, even lovelier than before. He's more powerful, majestic and bearing new scars. And while you’re bawling like a big baby he leans down and tips your chin to meet his eyes. He takes your trembling, clean hands into his pierced ones and says,  "My child, it is finished.”

Hallelujah, what a Savior!  

A Journal Entry.

Why do you love me, Molly?

          Why do I love you Lord?

Because you saved me.

You remade me, rescued me all the while delighting in me. 

Because you defy the odds of society. 

I love you because you don't force me.
          You're gentle and humble and whisper and tickle.
You give my life warmth and something to hold onto when I'm freezing cold.
You love me and hold me and call me your own. 

                       Why do I love you?

                   Because you first loved me.

Because you died for me, cried for me and continue to provide for me.
You comfort me and let me weep,  you let me mourn and sing,  let me dance and swing.
           You send me on adventures I could never have planned.
            You give me gifts and never expect anything back.

              You say promise after promise that never ever lack.
I love you because you created life.

Life in abundance, you breathe art and hope and stars. 

I love you because You Are.

                                       I love you because you first loved me

It's Where I've Felt at Home

Home. I have felt it in many places.

I have felt it sitting on the porch swing at my parents’ house in Ohio, as I look out into the woods and pastures I have known my whole life.

I have called different camps home, as I walk through the dining hall or sit on the dock.

I now call my house I live at in Louisville home. I feel it when I grab my coffee and a chair and sit in front of the sliding glass door and look at the backyard.

I thought maybe home was places you are familiar with.  Then I thought about how I have said, “It just feels like home” when I have only been there for a few days. Why is that?

I have felt at home walking on the sand in the Outer Banks on vacation.

I have felt at home sitting on a roof in India, riding a bike though a town in Germany, reading a book in Nicaragua, and dancing with gypsies in Turkey.

So, the feeling of home can come in a place I have only just stepped foot in.

 I have felt at home in places I didn't blend in or didn't speak the language. I think that home is where you have a sense of belonging, even though I didn't look like I belonged while walking down the road in India. And I didn't sound like I belonged when I opened my mouth to talk in Germany.

Maybe it’s not that I have to look the part or sound the part, it’s simply the fact that my heart yells “I belong here!” But how can I belong to so many houses, to so many bunk beds, to so many nations? I don’t. But I belong to a God that walks and runs with me. He has made his home in my heart and my heart travels with me wherever I go.

But where is my home? If God has made a home in my heart, where is my home?

It’s not here, not yet. My home is in heaven and heaven has yet to come to earth, but we’re bringing it here, one day at a time.

It’s in the places that I have felt at home that I have seen a glimpse of heaven.

It’s been while sitting on the floor, walking down a road and laughing with others that I have known home.

It’s where I have seen his Kingdom come; his will be done, right here on earth just as it is in heaven.

Welcome Home. 

O taste and see

It was afternoon ministry and we had made sandwiches to take to kids that hang out at the local trash dump. Their families live off of the trash. I don’t think they eat what is there, but they use the resources they find while scavenging the mounds of junk. These families use another’s waste to maintain their homes. It was heart wrenching.

Mothers pushed and orchestrated their kids into lines to receive a simple chicken sandwich. I watched and took pictures as they were handed their lunch. I saw no life. Only sadness.I saw them smile but there was no joy. No hope. How do you find hope in a trash heap? You can’t. It’s lifeless.

I passed out bracelets to little girls, took pictures and made small talk with the moms. (And when I say small talk I mean very little talk. I only know a handful of Spanish phrases.) I walked around the enclosed area taking it all in. The dirty hands, the putrid smell, the downturned faces. Everything was so dull for a country that I lived in color! The rest of Nicaragua is vibrant and this place was hues of gray.

Hearing someone yell, I turned to watch a dump truck pull in and drive towards the back of the property. Then I saw the older boys begin to sprint towards it with their younger siblings trailing behind. Once they reached the moving vehicle, they jumped on the back and began to throw bags of “new” trash towards their siblings. Trash was being thrown and dragged towards their mothers and I watched with my mouth hanging open.

I had never seen something so disgusting. As I processed it later I realized I had seen that play out in my own life. I have chased the garbage truck too, hungry for new trash. The world was the truck and its hallow ideas of identity and satisfaction were the waste. You think it’s going to bring you something good, but it’s the same old thing just in a new shiny wrapper. But if you know nothing else, if you have never tasted hope, then why not keep chasing?

These families knew no hope; they had never tasted the riches of a relationship with the King. I have. I have over and over. New mercies are poured out on me every day. Mercies that give me a visual of how ridiculous I look chasing after the world instead of the Lord.

I have tasted hope. And I’m never going back.

A Most Common Question

Why do I do what I do?

I could give you a lot of reasons. I mean first and foremost, I do what I do because God has called me to do it. I mean, sure that’s a great “missionary” answer and what not, but it is actually true. If I didn't feel like God was supporting me and instructing me, I wouldn't be here. Why? Because that would mean he had something better in mind.

Next, is that I do this because I love it. Yep! I love it. Here are the things I love about it:

I love being able to do what I do best; hanging out, making friends, speaking truth. These are legitimate gifts God has given me. I love making friends. And what I love even more is when I have the opportunity to see transformation in the friends I make. 

I love interacting with teenage girls. Yeah, I’m not far from my teenage years in age, but God has taken me far from the mess I was as a teenager in high school. I enjoy being able to share my story and still share a laugh. I love leading them in prayer and then hearing them say, “I feel so much lighter now. Like, I feel like a physical weight has come off of my shoulders.”  Most of all, I love being there when they hear God speaking to them. When they hear God whisper, “I love you.” 

I love that I can have fun. I love having fun, it’s so important to me! I love that I get to lead others into fun and that God is having fun with me. I love that my life is far from boring. 

I mean, who wouldn't want to play with a 6 ft soccer ball?

I love being interwoven into someone else's story, just as they are now a part of mine.

I do what I do because I love doing it and because God loves me doing it. 

Plain and simple.

If you would like to know more about what I do, visit our website at http://www.ywamlouisville.org/. Or click here to go directly to the staff pages to meet my YWAM family.

It never leaves. His love is here.

But the Lords love for us is unchanging.

It reaches high, high into the trees, past the clouds and on into the starlit sky. His love is as vast as our oceans, and stretches even past the arms of our Milky Way galaxy. His love is here.

His love. It never leaves. How could it if it is continuous? How could His love even fathom straying for a second? It doesn’t. It never leaves.

     

      It’s never failing, never ceasing. It never leaves. His love is here.

         

      I can feel His love. It wells up inside of me, bringing warmth into my heart. It makes me bring my hands over my heart and seems to force my eyes close. I can feel it pulsating in my fingertips, and my mouth has to curve into a smile. His love literally lives in my heart. It bustles around and sways to the music. His love is here. It never leaves.

His love has been chasing me. 

And sometimes I run. But other times I allow it to catch up. And when it does, He mulls me in affection. It’s a sweeping hug and it knocks me off of my feet. His love surprises me. It never leaves. His love is here.

 When I take my eyes off of His, a new identity sets in. It tells me I don’t deserve His love. It tells me that I am unworthy, too disgraceful to receive a pure, limitless joy. The world whispers into my ear that I am to go back to the love I once searched for. The love that felt so empty, it could never sustain my constant thirst. That is the love the world offers, it is a love I have drank from and it never satisfied me. Never. It left me alone, feeling hopeless, humiliated. It came with no plans of staying, that love left. And I don’t know where it went.

      But just as the Lord never leaves you, He never leaves me. He held out His hand in hopeful expectation. And when I look up, finding Him there, I reach for his hand. It is then that I notice the scars, wounds deep into His flesh. And I know. I know those are because of me. Because I drank from a shallow well. But Jesus isn’t concerned with that. No, He’s too busy staring into my eyes, holding me close. He wipes away my tears and my shame melts away.

His love, it is here. And it never leaves.