Psalm 69:19–21

I came across this verse yesterday, and when I read it, the words swelled up in me. I’ve been processing through some childhood trauma, and I felt like the silenced voice of the little girl in me cried out to God with the psalmist.

“YOU know my reproach,” that little girl cried,
    “and my shame and my dishonor;
    my foes are all known to You.
Reproaches have broken my heart,
    so that I am in despair.”

Memories flowed through my mind as a sob welled up in my words...

“I looked for pity, but there was none,
    and for comforters, but I found none.”

I choked upon my sadness...

“They gave me poison for food...”
        and suddenly that little voice turned into that of my Savior
                     “...and for My thirst they gave Me sour wine to drink.”

And I cried. What a beautiful thing for the Lord to give me to rest upon as I heal. To give me a prophetic verse of Christ upon the cross to pair with my pain. In this passage I find two Truths that draw me into the arms of my Beautiful Healer:

First, the Lord was present with me in my suffering. He KNOWS it because He is acquainted with it.
And second, the cross is sufficient to cover the offenses done against me. He is enough.

trustworthy

simple trust
©10-31-18 hannah mclean

in spite of the complexity of my thoughts
of the specificity of my words
of the odd angles of my view
i am simple

i trust the LORD

wholly

if He tells me something
i believe Him

if His Word says something it true
i believe it

when i encounter hard things
i expect Him to be who He says He is
i expect Him to do what He says He will do

whether i understand fully now
or remain confused for the moment
i trust Him to reveal in His time
or conceal is His wisdom

i trust the Lord

wholly

and sometimes i wonder why
why do i do that?
why does it seem to come easy when others struggle?
where did that trust come from?
how come i can wholeheartedly lean on the Lord with such simplicity?

and in this season of healing old wounds
i see one reason

for many years
the LORD is the ONLY ONE i trusted 
every other person failed
even my own hands came up empty

but there was the LORD

and He was trustworthy
and i was overwhelmed with fear
and the sight was such a comfort
that i cast myself upon Him
i lay myself before Him
i wound myself around Him
i placed myself within His mighty arms

and in that place of trust
i found peace

and in that place of trust
i still find peace

and in that place of trust
i will always find peace

because simply put
the LORD is trustworthy
and in that sweet simplicity
i can wholly rest

-----

Isaiah 26:3–4 “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in You. Trust in the LORD forever, for the LORD God is an everlasting rock.”

old wounds

To heal the wounds, we must be willing to look at them...and some of mine are straight up ugly.
---
my femininity and my childhood church
©10-29-18 hannah mclean

these big brown eyes
never changed size
whether they rested beneath my mama’s watchful gaze
or peered out from behind my papa’s leg
or wondered at the sights around me as i grew
or studied the floor in awkward discomfort
as i stumbled through ages and stages
or steeled themselves against the bombarding words
that sought control of what lay behind them.

it was these same big brown eyes
in my changing face throughout the years
you had to look into
as you declared to me
again and again and again
who i was
what i was worth
where i belonged
why i existed.

“sinful girl,”
you yelled into my innocent face
“you are the cause of all men’s sin;
and you must accept
these accusations and assaults against you
because to object is to admit your guilty conscience.”

“vile female,”
you slurred at my growing frame
“your place is one of servitude
because that is all you can be trusted with.”

“wayward woman,”
you proclaimed to my developing mind
“your voice, thoughts and feelings
will always be less than any man’s
because even if he is utterly wicked,
he still has more value than you
and the right to rule over you.”

“your
identity
is
sinner.”

“unfortunate one,”
you spoke with authority over me
“you are clothed in disgrace
because that is the only thing fitting
for the likes of your gender
until a man chooses to marry you
and raise your worth through bearing children.”

“fear me”
you said in Jesus’ name
“because whatever judgments men render true of you
based on your attire
or your obedience to them
will determine your eternal resting place.”

and had not the Lord
washed these big brown eyes with grace

i would still believe you

The greater pain.

I spent a couple of hours weeping today...hour drives to and from allow time for that. I’ve been confronted with some deep wounds this season and am reminding myself continually that the Lord’s intention of revealing is always to bring healing. So I brace myself; letting the waves of pain crash over me instead of bolting away in fear.


Throughout my entire childhood, I was hurt by men claiming to bear the name of Jesus but displaying none of His goodness, and I am afraid that I blocked out things then that I don’t want to see today. These men have left marks across the core of my womanhood in such a way that as I stand back to look at them with new eyes, I see that there are parts of me that are truly mangled. I feel raw and vulnerable, and I ache in such a way that sometimes I feel like my shoulders are physically pulled down and inward.


It’s a different pain...a greater pain...than the pain inflicted on me by men outside of the Body of Christ. That pain is far more bearable than this, because this pain is twisted in such a way that the men who wielded their weapons wore masks labeled “God” so as to create confusion about who was causing my pain. And the hammers used to pound me down did not just land upon my body or my soul but also upon my spirit.


In my mind, I look upon a little girl alone in a desert. So small and so confused about her worth, her position and her pain. Silent tears slide down her face, over lips pressed together, no longer willing to cry out. Barren landscapes on every side show there is no escape, no end in sight. She stands still, facing the first colors of a sunrise, daring to hope that light is coming.


And one of the reasons I wept is because of those rays beginning to peek over the horizon. God is so gentle and wonderfully kind; in this season of revealed wounds, He has surrounded me with good, godly men to take part in healing the pieces of me that have been broken by their own. And I am grateful for this, because I have known wholeness to melt away the pain of what has been twisted simply by being present. And sometimes when past pain feels so physical, visible strength and presence make for the best environment to not just heal, but to cause the redeemed heart to flourish.


----


"The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble bind on strength." 1 Samuel 2:4

To lack no good thing

I was talking with an older woman at family camp this past week; I asked her if there was a verse that she was leaning on through her season of suffering (her answer was Psalm 103) and I wanted to share the one that stands out to me lately.

Psalm 34:10 “The young lions suffer want and hunger; but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing.”

To me this profoundly comforting. So many time in my seasons of suffering, loss and affliction, I find myself grieving. I grieve losses of persons, dreams, hopes, comforts, possibilities, dignity, strength, voice, relationship, health...whatever in those moments has been removed from me. And yet, as I stand before the Lord; seeking Him, looking to Him, clinging to Him, weeping to Him...poured out and raw before Him...I am confronted with this lovely truth in Psalm 34:10 and I know: No matter what I have lost in this world, I will leave my posture of prayer lacking “no good thing.”

Young lions are strong, powerful, full of possibility and life. They face their futures on top of the food chain and victories lie before them. Physically speaking, I do not relate. But this verse says, even they fail, even they need, even they will go without.

But I, in all my clumsiness and weakness, certainly qualify for the second half of this verse.

The word “seek” here is translated from the word “Darash,” which means to go to a place, to frequent it, to tread a place with your feet making a path, to go to one in prayer, to implore the aid of, to resort to.

This describes my walk with Jesus through my suffering. I have tread a path to Him in my need; I have crawled that path, run that path, trudged that path, laid upon that path, walked that path. I have frequented it; day after day or moment after moments...whatever is required. I have cast myself upon the Lord in my seeking; acknowledging Him as my Hope and my Help.

And this is why this verse brings me such comfort. Because no matter what my situations, circumstances or sin have robbed me of, they have no power to take from me even ONE good thing. The Lord is mine; all that He has promised me will come to me. And the losses in this life, the suffering, and even the strength of the lion are under His feet.

Questions in Suffering

I was just at a family retreat this past week, and a lot of the teaching was on standing firm through suffering and affliction. It got me thinking about some of the lessons I have learned as I have withstood the storms of life; I woke up each night thinking of the one I’m about to share, I never had a chance to share it while I was there, but I figured I would write it down in case someone needed to hear it.

I think it is a normal thing that in the face of loss, trial or pain we raise our voice and cry out, “Why? Why is this happening?!” Perhaps we search to find comfort in an explanation that will justify what we are enduring...As though, perhaps if we could get on board with the “whys,” we could more easily take on the loss, trial or pain. In the beginning of my adult life, this was the question I sat in.

Then I started to walk with the Lord and I bumped into the Truth that every moment of suffering has purpose (1 Peter 1:6, Lam 3:33, Rom 8:28, etc). That wherever the suffering stems from, God desires to use the painful moments of life to do great work within us. And I stepped past the “Why?” and began to ask, “What? What are You doing?” Perhaps if I could understand what refining work was happening in me, I could find within the explanation the strength to walk through it. So I would walk into my waves with my eyes open for the good work of my good God.

And many years went by. 

The last 3 seasons of suffering for me were excruciating. There were times I could not lift myself off the ground because the weight of it was simply too great. And I found that my question had changed once more as I would hear my voice cry out in raspy weakness, “Who? Who are You?” And the Lord would answer my cry with loving kindness and say to me things like, 
“I AM El Roi; I see you in your suffering." 
"I AM the Prince of Peace; I have peace for you here." 
"I AM Jehovah Rapha; the Lord who heals."
"I AM your Creator; you are not an accident or mistake, you were made with My intention."
"I AM Jehovah-Jireh; all that you need to be sustained through this season is found in Me. 
"I AM the Lord and I am with you.” 
And there we would sit in my ashes together until I could stand.

Because over time and rocky valleys, I have learned that knowing the whys and the whats will not sustain me. It is only in knowing the One who is with me in my suffering that will keep me to the end.

It is Miscarriage and Infant Loss Awareness Month

My Mother Love
©10-5-18 Hannah McLean

it’s a lonely grief
to lose a child 

who has never breathed the air

around me

who has never occupied the space 

outside me

who has never entered into any heart

besides my own

because my Mother Love

is different than another love

it begins the moment

that I know my child exists

as though the heart had already

prepared a place

for them to occupy

one that will now remain 
unfilled

because that space is meant

to contain a lifetime

of moments shared

but will forever echo

with the emptiness 
of what never was

the first miscarriage
was accompanied by eager expectation
anticipated fulfillment of prayer and promise
6 days of knowing, praising, delighting
but all he had was 6 weeks inside me
before I felt the pain of my womb as it snuffed out his tiny life
and of my empty arms

the second miscarriage
was far more recent and far more messy
at 12 weeks they looked inside
my growing center
and found that the heart was no longer beating
for nearly 2 weeks I walked around
a fragile tomb
waiting for my baby to emerge
an excruciating wait
ending in a pool of blood
that nearly drained me of my own life
I gently washed that tiny child
and buried him under
my freshly planted linden tree
and looked down once more into my empty arms

it's a lonely grief
because no one got to love
those babies
like I did
and the expectation is
that the grief be as small
as the life that was lost
but that is not
the measure of my Mother Love

Living in the Light

I have been thinking lately about how I often write about the church I was raised in on this blog; I do not use glowing terms when I reference it. The things I write about on here are mostly about spiritual things and the journey I’m walking with the Lord, and much of the refining work God has to do in me requires me to examine the messiness and uproot the deep lies or untwist the messages I retained about who He is and who I am. I share them because I’m unwilling to hide when freedom is found in the light. I also share them because many of my extended family are still in the cult that the church of my youth broke off of or have left and are carry wounds because of all the broken things they’ve gone through and I want them to know who God really is. And I share them because maybe...maybe someone will read what I write and they will believe the hope and healing and affection of God for them.

But sometimes I wonder if my words hurt the hearts of the people who taught me there or brought me there. And that makes me sad because when I think of them...ALL of them...I feel no resentment or anger or fear or ill-will. I choose to believe that they did the best they could with what they had, and as strange as that may appear to you reading this, that was enough to soften my heart many years ago. Also, if you’re reading this and you ARE still angry, resentful, hurt, fearful or any other painful emotion not listed here...I don’t blame you. Those are absolutely justifiable, understandable feelings to have--you were harmed and that has never been acceptable. The people who harmed you are accountable to God for what they have done, whether you forgive them or not. Also, I am so sorry for your wounds (I seriously have tears running down my face as I just wrote that because I've seen some of them).

I had a good childhood, I really did. I grew up on a farm and played outside for hours with my brothers. Yes, we had a lot of rules and things weren’t always glorious, but I had a family who loved me, parents who encouraged me, a mom who listened to me, and a dad who taught me how to do things like fix my car. I had every physical need provided for, built sweet relationships with my siblings, and I even had some opportunities to do things I enjoyed (like sing in the choir and public speaking). Some nuggets I still carry with me: “Embrace your weirdness” (i.e. You don’t have to follow the crowd). “Know what you believe and why you believe it” (i.e. Think for yourself). “You are capable. Anything my boys can do, my girls can do” (i.e. Here’s a power tool, enjoy).

And there is one vivid thing that I took with me from the church I was raise in that I am very grateful for and I want to share it with you. I was taught to revere God. God was presented to me as a holy, majestic, perfect, mighty Being who was SO far above me that I couldn’t even grasp the wonder of who He was because the plane that He resided upon was far too great to bear the likes of a sinner like me, that this God was just in His wrath toward me and I should do nothing but tremble before Him.

That’s what I remember being told about God (in harsher terms, and for the record, that is a VERY lopsided view of God). But honestly, that was a great gift. 

Because it is true that God is holy, majestic, perfect, mighty, just and angry at sin...

and when THAT God bends down and whispers His affection to you in the darkest pit of your life....when THAT God cups your face in His hands and lifts your head and pulls you close...when THAT God sits beside you while you sort through the harm you’ve done to others and the harm you’ve done to yourself and the harm done to you without even once cringing at your ugliness...when THAT God pours out Himself to heal your wounds and bring beauty from your ashes...when THAT God says to you, “You are Mine and I am yours”...

then you will never be the same.

"Death and life are in the power of the tongue..."

I’ve been processing through my insecurity with the Lord; it’s been a somewhat ugly journey so far...but sanctifying as I am intentionally leaving no stone I come upon unturned.

I came to the realization yesterday that I find myself facing a deep juxtaposition in regards to my voice. In one hand I see the opportunity to bring life and in the other, the fear of bringing death. When I hold these together, I become painfully paralyzed.

If you know me well or have heard my story, you’ve possibly heard testimony of my physical voice’s disappearance and return and what God did in the space between. I am very much indebted to the Lord to even have the ability TO speak. Since that point in my life, I have often held up my voice in wonder to the Lord asking, “You gave it back to me, how do You wish to use it?”

In one hand I hold a deep desire to be heard: I long for opportunities to testify and to teach; to encourage and to exhort; to bless and to prophecy; to proclaim Truth and freedom; and to impact the world for the glory of the Lord and for His kingdom.

And in the other, I hold a great fear of my voice: I am terrified that I will unintentionally deceive someone or discourage a fainting soul; I am petrified of misrepresenting and dishonoring the name of Jesus; I am afraid that I will say something that leads someone astray or that my opinions would speak louder than the Truth; I find the idea of my voice adding to the destruction of another’s soul utterly unbearable.

Because “death and life are in the power of the tongue,” (Proverbs 18:21a) and I know what death from the tongue feels like--both to receive and to give. As I look over my past, both the desire and the fear are no surprise.

I didn’t really get a voice growing up; I’m female, in the context of the church I was raised in, that meant I was born into a position of silence. I also was a pretty strong people-pleaser, so I mostly quietly stayed within the bounds I was given. I was told what to think, what to wear, what to do and what not to do. My voice was usually downed out or cut off.

And I was told a lot of things in the name of Jesus: I was fed twisted theology under the guise of truth and beat into compliance to the rules of men with pieces of God’s word. I was manipulated with fear, and presented an image of the Lord that was so lopsided it is a wonder I ever learned to trust Him. My honest questions were met with condemnation and I was deceived by the ones who claimed all others would deceive me. And until I became a believer in Jesus, I used my tongue in the ways I had learned; controlling my environment and the people around me with my words and manipulative tactics (in case you were wondering, yes, my first journey of repentance when I became a believer was a long and painful one).

But I am not who I was, I am redeemed by the pure blood of Jesus and there are 14 years of sanctification and learning behind me. I am sitting now praying that the Lord would help me discern between healthy fear and unhealthy fear. Because the former will secure me humbly at the feet of the Lord, intentionally submitting all I say to Him, while the latter will paralyze and silence me, rendering me ineffective for the Kingdom. I must learn to speak in my new life with confidence, secure in the Lord’s hands. I must not doubt that the One who calls me to stand and speak will protect my voice and respond to the deep desire of my heart to honor Him and not myself. Because He’s a good Father and He does not send us out to succeed or fail on our own; He empowers, equips and upholds us in the work He has for us to do.

I need to trust Him, friends. I need to wrap myself in the security of my identity in Him and not waver. And sometimes that's a hard thing to do because I must look my fear directly in the eye and remain there until it flees amid the assurance and presence of His unfailing love for me. 

So that is where I find myself in this journey; bowed down at the Mercy Seat with my fear laid out before me.

the sorrow of a tired woman

unchanging tomorrows
©3-21-18 hannah mclean

my fight is over
drained of perseverance
i gave my all
and came up empty
every last hope laid out
and i have gathered in
only empty sheaves

my head hangs
my feet drag
my knees bloodied
from feeble, staggered steps

there is nowhere to sit
no comfort on which to lay my head
and so i limp slowly on
in the sloughs of my discontent

how do i stand
without hope for my present pains?
on what can i lean?
where can i rest
to regain strength to face my
unchanging tomorrows?

i am too tired
to look upon this journey
another day

You call out
“shamar”
to preserve
to keep
to guard

psalm 145:20
“the Lord [shamar]s all who love Him”

in this promise
i close my eyes

Insecurity and Impending Freedom

I’ve been feeling really insecure lately. This is unusual for me; I have found that if I know where and how I stand before the Lord, the things around me that could have the capacity to make me feel insecure lose their power to press me down. So I have been eager to identify the source of my faltering and to reposition myself on the Rock that doesn’t waver when I do.

I started reading a book the other day about freedom in Christ, and felt the urge to stop and share with you my insecurity. It’s something I have struggled with off and on for years, and perhaps now--if I will let Him--God wants to uproot the lies that feed it once and for all.

I am a very intense person; I feel things deeply, I process things deeply, I articulate things deeply (and oddly...sometimes everything comes out in the form of poetry because, let's be honest, I’m sort of weird), and I have no qualms about sharing openly all the things I am walking through AS I am walking through them whether they are good, bad or terribly ugly. For better or for worse, that is how I am built. Correction: All but the last one fall into the category of "how I’m built," the last one showed up after I started following Jesus.

My biggest insecurity is that I overwhelm people...like an unwelcome hurricane crashing into a coffee drinker while they are relaxing on their peaceful patio, or a massive gust of wind rushing on an unsuspecting picnicker just wanting to take in some fresh air. As I just wrote them, I notice that these analogies both produce the same result: Their nature and presence push away the things they meet.

So when I go through seasons of being bombarded by this insecurity, I find that I shut up, and I shrink down, and I withhold my thoughts and myself because of my assumptions of how I will be received.

I think somewhere at the core of my fear is the familiar pain of being alone. I grew up alone; the environment I was raised in was super exclusive, I was very cut off from people and developed an identity of being a misfit in the world around me. No place to belong, no people to belong with. When I discovered fellowship in the Body of Christ, I delighted in it like no one else I have ever met...I grabbed ahold of it SO hard that the lies that could have kept me from it didn’t stand a chance at holding me back. And when I learned how to build friendships in my mid 20s, I relished the privilege of walking through life with others; shoulder-to-shoulder, learning from each other, helping each other, weathering life in the intimacy of the highs and lows we encountered. I love people; I love getting to know who they are and how they are built and what makes them tick. I love watching them change and grow and remain. I love discovering their unique quirks and getting to understand them. I love learning from them and getting to glean from their presence and purpose in the world. I love connecting to and with people from any age or walk or place.

All that to say, I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to return to the loneliness of my past. I don’t want to miss out on the people around me (because let’s be honest, people are the most important thing in this world). And so, when my insecurity rears its ugly head, it holds a lot of power over me because it calls out to me that the cost of my voice and my presence and my nature is too much...it will simply push away the opportunity for relationship or fellowship. And I find myself back in the familiar (yet painfully uncomfortable place) of being an observer of life, not a participant.

So there it is. I haven’t processed and prayed my way out of this and into freedom yet, but step one is to bring it into the light, right? I hope I will get to share with you the end of this journey, not just the beginning. :)