He Came for Me

I always saw the Parable of the Good Samaritan through the lens of the good Samaritan, the good we should do for others. I never saw it through the eyes of the victim until now:

“A men fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead.” (Luke 10:30)

My counselor earlier this year said to me, “This kind of betrayal is life-altering. Give yourself some time.” Especially for a painstakingly tender heart of mine. So many times I’ve mumbled in exasperation, God, you got the wrong girl. I am so not fit for this. Please, please pick someone stronger. My heart is weak, it’s too soft, it feels everything and feels for everyone. I forgive often because I understand, I feel what they battled with, where they came from, why they made the decisions they’ve made. I am deeply empathetic. Which makes it extremely difficult when I don’t receive the empathy or grace I often give. It makes it extremely difficult when people don’t understand me. I understand them, how can they not put themselves in my shoes and understand me?

And that’s the cry of the victim, too, right? To not just be seen, but understood. Trauma can isolate but the real issue is the validation beneath the surface. Sometimes we just need someone to want to carry the suffering with us. We feel understood, held, validated for our brokenness, and free to not pretend or not feel rushed to fix it. When someone understands and holds that moment with us, ah, it changes everything. Just like the Good Samaritan. The victim was left half-dead, and still the passerby’s “saw” but found reasons to not validate, not to understand, not to empathize, and therefore not to engage. They justified their own actions instead.

“A priest happened to be going down that road, but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. Likewise, a Levite came to the place, and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side.” (vs 31-32)

Some people that I expected to understand, expected to stop at my cries for help, people who perhaps “should” be the ones to stop and help, instead pass me by and pass me off. “Oh, she’ll be fine,” they say. “She’s done it before, she’ll do it again.” “She signed up for this.” 

“It’s not the worst that could happen.” “We all go through it.” “Why is she complaining so much, she’s not dead.” “Well, I’m burned out like her, too.” And off they go.  I am seen but not validated. Acknowledged but not understood. Noticed but not enough to engage.

People who should care, who should know what to do, who should provide and comfort and plan – pass me by on the opposite side, in a hurry to the real mission site, in a hurry to deliver the real provisions they have, to give their support to the real service that is needed. I am just collateral damage, taking care of me will cost far more than their normal acts of service.

And yet, I lay there still, waiting, dying

Flies and gnats buzzing in anticipation of what flesh they can soon feast on

And suddenly, He comes for me

Half-dead (hope, trust, compassion crushed) and half-alive (only faint senses)

And carries me, my broken body, Limbs hanging, 

half-unconscious, bruised and bleeding

My Good Samaritan, God Himself coming to rescue me, to carry me to safety when no one else would

Jesus

He came for me.

 

“But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight.

He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn and cared for him. The next day he took two silver coins and gave them to the inn keeper with the instruction, “Take care of him. If you spend more than what I have given you, I shall repay you on my way back.” “Which of these three, in your opinion, was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?” The man answered Jesus, “The one who treated him with mercy.”  (Luke 10:33-37)

*As always with journals and emotions, especially anger which is often irrational, the feelings aren't necessarily the truth. For example, feeling abandoned doesn't mean I am. Sometimes victim mentality isolates us from the real truth, that there are many Good Samaritans, for example. And yet, emotions have a need to simply express themselves, like the Psalms, like Lamentations. So this series of blogs are insights into my own lamentations, and hopefully it encourages you to create space for yours. And meet Jesus along the way. 

The Problem with the Valley

To survive the valley, 

you have to be real comfortable in your own skin.

You’ll find many companions on the path to the mountaintop,

but very few will journey with you to the valley.

Those who do are unlikely to stay.

The closest companion you’re left with: you.

Your thoughts.

Your physical weakness.

Your limits.

Your sins.

Unmasked.

You become keenly aware of your scars, blemishes, incapabilities,

and if you’re not comfortable coming face to face with yourself,

you may not survive.

 

Self-hatred, self-loathing, self-condemnation

The valley is quiet; your thoughts, loud

The voice of the accuser in your own head, so close you can taste its poison.

 

In the mountaintops, your weaknesses don’t bother you

because you’re overwhelmed by the beauty surrounding you,

    the view from the top – breathtaking

    this moment – significant

    you – small

 

In the cities, your weakness don’t bother you because they are drown out by the noise

Or sometimes even the suffering of others

    Opportunities – everywhere

    This moment – insignificant

    You – the center

 

But in the valley?

Your weaknesses are on full display, weighing you down

Stuck in the marsh by your limits

Lost in the forest – your thoughts – going in circles

No noise, no distraction, no beauty

Just you and your ashes

 

To survive the valley

Is to have the fortitude to love yourself

Exposed, bare, raw, dirty

The Garden of Eden deep in the valley

The place to face your Maker as you are

Without even a fig leaf

To admit you took a bit of the poisoned apple

And to discover that the serpent’s lies

Are more about you

Than they are about Him.

Where Does It Hurt?

I met a woman today with heartbreak blue eyes

She captivated me despite the sadness I felt in her presence

 

I stared, holding her eyes, holding her pain

As if she knew I felt her sadness too and wanted to explain why,

she asked me, “If you had a daughter and she ran away on your birthday,

where would it hurt?”

I touched my heart.

 

“If your own daughter turned on you, deceived into believing she had to earn satan’s favor by cursing you and planning harm for you, where would it hurt?”

I arched my back, as if feeling the arrow between the shoulder blades.

 

“If your daughter was raped and you were called to the crime scene,

And you held a body that was alive but dead inside, eyes of a robot, a heart you love, murdered

And you, holding her – skin hot to the touch but heart cold as ice – helpless,

Where would it hurt?”

I touched my stomach as if I might vomit.

 

“If you had a daughter who believed the lies spoken about you by the betrayal of a friend, and she betrayed you, too, where would it hurt in your body?”

I felt my forehead, skin getting hot like a fever.

 

“If you had another daughter who ran away in the dark cover of night, and you waited for her, but she did not return, where would it hurt in your body?”

My lungs constricted and my shoulders drooped with invisible weight.

 

“If some of your children were out on the street, even by their own choices of running away and refusing to come home, would you be able to eat without thinking of them?

Sleep without wondering if they are safe?

Look at family photos and not feel your stomach sink?

Ask God why over and over again?

If your own children rejected you like this, where would it hurt in your body?”

Everywhere. I ached everywhere.

 

And suddenly, I understood her pain, fully, wholly, and I ached for the woman I saw behind the heartbreak eyes, a light that seemed smothered, tattered, losing hope

I reached to touch her

But my fingers touched glass

and I wept for her

The woman in the mirror

It’s Time to Talk about the Valleys

“You led me to the mountain top just to watch me get knocked off – bumps and bruises, paralyzing, numbing.

I hit rock bottom. No transition. No journey down from the valley. Why am I here in this pit? Hurting, numb, in a haze? I know You’ll come for me. But why. Why am I here? Why the drastic drop from consolation to desolation?

 Anger rising, darkness pressing…” (6-15-25)

Our spiritual journeys are a combination of seasons, of ups and downs, periods of consolation and desolation, the mountains and the valleys. Usually, my seasons can be marked by external events that launch me into joyous peaks or depleting troughs. This trough has been the hardest one yet. Mostly because the external events have passed, but my interior life is still shaken. I’ve been rereading my journal entries for this year and wow…yikes…hallelujah…and ouch. So many cool pieces of writing that have come out of my valleys and so much wisdom God has shared in sealing me in His hope. (I’ll be sharing these for my next written series about God in the valleys.) Sometimes, because I “know” all the right answers when it comes to our spiritual life, like, I know I am never alone, I know He will come for me, I know without a shadow of a doubt that He is a Good, Good Father. I know Love wins. But I also feel. I feel deeply, and because I feel deeply, I’ve been learning to allow my feelings to speak, too, because only then can Truth truly cover it.

 So, it’s time. It’s time to talk about the valleys. That it’s okay to trust God but also feel abandonment. It’s okay to love Him and also be angry at Him. It’s okay to break, to fail, and to need a Savior. If my valleys had a voice, this is what they’d say…

 “Good morning, Jesus, my heart is really hurting. I’m constantly put in this position of questioning the intentions of those closest to me or those surrounding me. Lord, please expose my enemies. My chest hurts. All the love and hope and trust I’ve poured into the staff and girls. Last year it was betrayals from the girls, this year it’s the staff. The fear of allowing others to get too close to me is resurfacing. I want to crawl back into my wall. I want to push them away. “I can do it myself, then. I’ll just do it myself.” Comes flooding in.” -3-18-25

 “O rock of Ages, I need you. I feel so defeated and overwhelmed by his nastiness and lies, even to the police officer about me and the police seemed to believe him! Lord, speak! Pierce through the dark. I am hurt and sad at his relentless bullying.” -3-20-25

 “Wow, God, fasting has transformed me into your vessel, allowing Heaven to use me and not the other way around. Today was hard but beautiful. My body was physically battling, shaking with anger and hurt, feelings of disappointment and confusion, yet knowing with a deep clarity what I had to do – Trust you.” -3-19-25

 “Another one left. The girls are surprised at how calm I’ve been through this. That’s all You, not me. I feel a bit lost, though. Like I’m floating, not grounded. Please anchor me, and help me sleep in Jesus’ Name.” -5-30-25

 “It’s been over a week after she ran away, my body yet to shed a tear. The color of this moment – ocean-floor blue – dark and dangerous.”  -6-1-25

 “I don’t know what you expect me to do? How can I keep showing up in a place where it feels like people don’t show up for me? You expect me to come with a smile, to show up even when I’m crushed because that’s what I do – I show up even when it’s hard. The moment I fail, the moment I show weakness, the moment I make a mistake, I’m written off… Am I expected to be perfect? To not flinch? To not break?

-6-8-15   To be fake?

“I am a porcelain doll

Chosen for hope of perfection

But at first sign of blemish

...rejection

...they tire of me

...Still, I bleed”

 

“What is this madness, this storm, this chaos, this Judas?” -6-15-25

 

“Jesus, come and get me. The darkness is closing in. Mocking, beckoning, sardonic. Hitting the mark.”

Sometimes I wish my internal season of temporary darkness was external. Because I feel like those are more easily solved. Like, if I were on crutches and had to see a physical therapist to recover, I wouldn’t have to explain why I can’t walk – people would just see the cast and the crutches and know. Maybe they would see and help. Maybe they’d send Get Well Soon cards and recovery gestures. Not that anyone wants sympathy in a season of valley, but at least when it’s physical, there are measured goals of growth and recovery. There is somewhat of a timeline and a context. Not so with the interior life. How do you explain to someone two months later, you’re still not okay? How do you explain it to yourself? How do you measure growth in the valleys? The ebbs and flows are so inconsistent in these places and often times it is dark and lonely even though you’re not alone. What God has been showing me in this season is to stop trying to manipulate my external circumstances, aka my healing, and just allow Him to work even in the haze. After all, my Best Friend glows in the dark. Darkness is not dark to Him. And that’s what I cling to in the valleys. And I hope this encourages you if you’re in a season of valleys, too.

 What better companion to have in the valley than the One who can see through it all. He may not tell you everything, but He sees, He knows the way out, so just keep holding His hand.  

Even When

I love you, not only because You're Good

I love You when you're distant

and when it feels like You've abandoned me.

I love You when you're silent

and when you're hard to understand.

I love You when dreams break 

and healing seems hard to reach.

I love You when I'm angry and empty

and darkness settles in, and I'm still alone.

I love You when You bless those arounds me

even if I am without.

I love You when I see miracles performed for others

even if my prayers are left unanswered. 

I will love You anyway.

You see, I love You not for what you do,

but for Who You Are.

I love You because you are my Savior, 

You left the 99 for me.

I love You because you are my Good, Good Father,

and You have set me free. 

I love You because You are my Best Friend

and You have never forsaken me. 

---------------------------------------------------------------

I love you, child, not only because you're good

I love you when you're distant

and when it feels like you don't want Me.

I love You when you're silent

or when you demand "to know" instead of understand.

I love You when My Heart breaks 

because you become hard to reach.

I love You when you're angry and dark

and you forget I am your Light.

I love You when you praise others around you

even if you've forgotten to thank Me.

I love You when you are loyal and faithful to others

even if my calls to you are unanswered. 

I will love you anyway.

You see, I love you not for what you do,

but for Who You Are.

You are my beloved, 

I will leave the 99 for you.

You are my child,

and I delight in you. 

You are my Trusted Friend

and I will never leave you.

-Love, Papa

A couple months ago, a reading from the "Imitation of Christ" really pierced me, especially in this season of particular internal valleys. "Jesus has many loves of His heavenly kingdom, but few cross-bearers. Many desire consolation, but few tribulation. Many will sit down with Him at table, but few will suffer for Him."

"Many will follow Him to the breaking of the bread, but few will drink the bitter cup of His Passion. Many revere His miracles, but few follow the shame of His cross. Many love Jesus when all goes well with them, and praise him when he does them a favor; but if Jesus conceals Himself and leaves them for a little while, they fall to complaining and become depressed."

Ugh. Right to the heart on that one. I've been complaining and depressed. Wanting Him to take me out of this inner turmoil and into a different season. A better season. Consolation, comfort. I say I love Him, but I didn't want the cross. I've been going to an adoration chapel almost every morning, trying to shake myself from this darker place I'm not used to. And it has been SO healing. There is no match for joy than the actual presence of Jesus Himself. And finally, my complaining has turned to whispers of adoration and praise and promises. This very morning, poetry started coming back again. I grabbed the small devotion book, the only paper I had handy, and the bright orange pen in my pocket, and scribbled my promises onto this book. (The picture above) Then I started writing a reply from the Savior. Oh how powerful is His love for me and us! And I revisited this passage from the book I couldn't keep reading a couple months ago. I opened to the very page I left, because two months ago, I didn't want the sufferings or the cross. I wanted His banquet not his poverty. I wanted a return for my labor and a return for my love. Oh how I found myself a lover of majesty and despiser of the manager. Lord, forgive me.