brave

So I Sing

/ Gina Haney / Leave a comment

I called her a burn scraper.  Yeah. I’ve never been great with conversations.  That explains why that was my intro into telling her how through asking hard things of me, she was helping me to heal.

See, when I woke up in recovery I knew in my heart I’d never be the same. (Funny they should name it that, because I wasn’t recovering.)  The doctors and nurses played it all off, but I knew.  Gasping for air and unable to tell anyone why or what or how I was feeling.  Strip a persons voice from them and they’ll be at your mercy.  Whatever you or any other well meaning people want to say they need, are, want, feel… That becomes their new identity or prison.

My sister said that after Granny had her stroke, she felt trapped in her own body. That’s accurate.

You know what Satan says about your gifts? “You aren’t very good, and you certainly aren’t as good as_____. Just sing in the car; God hears you there and it’s for Him anyway.” Lose your gift and you know what he says? “Well you blew that. You didn’t use it and now you’ve got nothing to give God.  You aren’t useful to Him now.”

So when someone strokes your arm and tells you the doctors say she’s only got 18 months at best, and she just wants to hear you sing. What can you say?  I’d like to tell you that I didn’t care; that there were several other people in the room or that I wasn’t weighing my options, but that’d be false.  I did know I didn’t have much, but I love her and what I had was enough for her so she could have it.

So I sang.

Then there was the time we were setting in the foyer after service talking. That same bald head wrapped in what the best I could tell was a turban of glory ask me to do it again. Yeah, that isn’t awkward. Just bust into song. Right there. As if I’m worthy of hosting some concert, and these people have nothing better to do than be my groupies.

So I sang.

Then that time after Satan lost and she had a silver crown of curly hair as a trophy to prove it. She came to the seat behind me cupped a shoulder in each hand and ask me to stand and sing. In the second pew from the front, in front of everyone, I found my feet.

And I sang.

She had the guts to obey God and scrape at the raw places. Because if cancer taught her anything it was that to really recover you had to endure. And if cancer made her anything it made her strong enough and brave enough to do the painfully pious.

I stood there with my back to the crowd and laid it all out. The little 10% of the one vocal cord that works; sang.  This time I realized I wasn’t singing for Becky or because of cancer or for the ability to avoid regrets over not granting her a dying wish.  I didn’t have much but I love Him and what I had was enough for Him so He could have it.  And He did want it; like He wants the widow’s mites. It isn’t much but it’s everything I have, and it’s what he wants, and He says it’s enough.

So yeah, funny that my right cord is completely paralyzed and I have 10% on the left because that’s all God ask of us. Our 10%.

So I sing.

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A True and Holy Love Story

/ Gina Haney / 6 Comments

Here we are in the midst of the Christmas season; which I have managed to make more about the mass of gift buying than about The Christ, but there is still time to fix and still grace to cover that-another post another day.

While we are talking gifts, I’d like to tell you about a gift I received over a decade ago but just realized a couple weeks ago. Jailyn and I were cleaning the kitchen. She was sweeping while I was wiping down countertops. Broom in hand she morphed into a singing sensation as we all do (let’s be honest here). To my surprise it wasn’t “Let it Go”. Today is was the Little Mermaids “Kiss the Girl”.

I joined in and we were belting it out way too loudly to be pretty. We got to the line where it says,

Yes you want her

Look at her, you know you do

It’s possible she wants you too

There’s just one way to ask her

It don’t take a word, not a single word

Go on and kiss the girl.

 (Flashback) 

I was 12, and my sister, cousins and I were playing basketball at a church down the street; where a bunch of kids would hang out and play. Out of the blue, without warning a boy from school came up and kissed me. There I stood in front of all my peers being kissed without warning  by someone I didn’t like. I felt so humiliated. I played it off until I got home.

I called my friends and told them about how embarrassed and grossed out I had been; only to be told I was being a prood. As if that wasn’t bad enough the next day I learned how fast 7th grade news travels.

That was just one of several times I felt invaded by a boy.

Standing there singing those words I had sang and heard MANY times before but this time was jarring. When headlines are saying the count of women coming forward is now 16 and they have nothing to gain and everything to lose?

That’s when I realized the gift I’d been given. I though of how many times we have laughed about how long it took Josh to get the nerve to just hold my hand. I remembered how respectful he had been; waiting for our first kiss, and I remembered the phone call after he had felt he’d crossed the line.

Josh gave me the gift of a true love story to share with my daughter. A bit of truth to counter the Disney lie with. We stopped sweeping and looked into each others eyes as I shared the testimony of true love. Holy and real romance.

A brave young man who lived a life against the grain and in opposition to everything the locker rooms, magazines, movies and hormones told him. A man who respected a girl who was accustomed to disrespect not because she was someone’s daughter or sister or future wife, but because he knew she was made in the image of God. She was Gods and not his.

So sure we can keep on believing those are harmless lyrics, and kids will be kids, but somewhere something’s going wrong when boys are thinking they have the right to girls and girls are thinking its a boy that will make them alright. Its all mixed up, jumbled up and backward.

I am a hopeless hopeful who believes we care and can change things.

I believe we aren’t ok with the schools or anyone else teaching our kindergarteners about homosexuality. I believe uncomfortable as it may be we would rather tell our children the truth then let them go on believing the lies. Because, we aren’t blind to the cost and we know its more than reputation on the line here—souls are at risk. They belong to God and we are our brothers keeper.

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A Relentless Surrender

/ Gina Haney / 7 Comments

I don’t claim to know the ins and outs of how the whole thing went unraveling; but I have this relative whose wife just picked up and left him. After all those years, after three babies (one of which is in Heaven), thousands of diapers, hundreds of forever promises, I’m sure millions of tears. Date nights and maybe a few late night fights? All that ugly… …And all that beautiful! She just up and walked.

In this instance blood isn’t thicker than water. That side of my family is Jehovah’s Witness. They weren’t at most of our family get-togethers and we weren’t close. She however, while time and life had moved us, had been a special childhood friend many moons ago. We talked boys and rode bikes together. Always to the South Park and always my relative who she was crushing hard on. Even then as an oblivious girl; I remember seeing a hollowness in her. In the Jehovah’s Witness cult, her family (who are also Jehovah’s Witness), and friends within the church… They can’t/wont/aren’t supposed to talk to her now that she’s left. How’s that for filling the hollow with hallow?!

Her hurt must have been deep to choose to leave knowing she’d lose everyone.

I was in the back yard of my parents house on Mothers Day weekend when I saw her getting stuff out of a storage unit with another guy. Her head fell low; as if she had reason and shame. Maybe she missed the memo that we are all a little bit broken and confused?

A few weeks later, I was in the grocery store, and sandwiched between the chips and bread we met again. Again, heads drop, but my heart fell harder. What little I know of her since those bike rides is this: She’s always chasing hard. Not after my relative nowadays, but after a piece that’ll fit the hollow spot that was big enough for an oblivious child to see. She’s chased hard after more hobbies and jobs then I could name. Now there is another man too. And aren’t we all just standing in front of the mirror looking for the reason we matter?

Whats a lost girl got when the only gospel ever taught to her is false?!

There I was, dropping my head like the awkward mess I am, because I listened to the father of lies tell me that living gospel to her would only be hurtful and awkward!

If I could roll back time I would have lived gospel. Then I’d tell her what I want to tell you…what I have to tell myself: When we live for God, He calls us to live brave! Seriously Brave! Lions den, fiery furnace, five stones and a giant kind of brave. Relentlessly surrendering to him.

Sometimes brave means its time for change. A change of location, of mind, of heart. Sometimes it takes more bravery to stay exactly where we are and battle though the discontentment, emptiness or uncertainty of here. Sometimes it means starting a blog and posting your bare naked heart.

We all have got a hollow spot. And we’ve all chased hard to fill it. Sometimes stretching the hollow bigger by trying to cram things in that aren’t THE thing that will fill it. Only the Hallowed one can fill our hollow places.

Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fullness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.
Psalm 16:11

Relentless surrendering to the path of life He shows us gives JOY and pleasures for evermore.