who am i that god should care

  

Let every body stand up and shout, This is the One who helped me out.

It was something that God wanted to do
Something that God wanted to do
It was something that God wanted to do for me

Nothing I was worthy of
Yet He did it for me in His love
Something that I thank Him for
Something of His mercy
Something of His power
Something of His glory

Who am I that He should love me?
Who am I that God should care?
All my shame and guilt He carried
Such a love has no compare

It was nothing I was worthy of
Yet he did it for me in His love
Something that I thank Him for
Something of His mercy
Something of His power
Something of His glory















I'm a child of my Father
He loves me, I am His own
I'm His child for ever and ever
To my God do I belong

It was nothing I was worthy of
Yet he did it for me in His love
Something that I thank Him for
Something of His mercy
Something of His power
Something of His glory

Something
Something


Worship video. Seven minutes. 2015 guitar and voice.

Something that I thank Him for
Thank You, Jesus
Something that I thank Him for
Thank You, Jesus
Something that I thank Him for
Thank You, Jesus
Something that I thank Him for
Thank You, Jesus

Something of His mercy mercy
Something of His mercy mercy
I don't deserve it but You gave it
I don't deserve it but You gave it
I don't deserve it but You gave it
I don't deserve it but You gave it

 













Something of His power power
Something of His power power
You are mighty, You do declare it
You are mighty, You do declare it
You are mighty, You do declare it
You are mighty, You do declare it

Something of His glory glory
Something of His glory glory
Yes I know the Name
Yes I know the Name
Yes I know the Name
and You are good

Let them know the Name
Let them know the Name
Let them know the Name
for You are good

Let every body stand up and shout
This is the One who helped me out
Let every body stand up and shout
This is the One who helped me out
Let every body stand up and shout
This is the One who helped me out
Let every body stand up and shout
This is the One who helped me out

It was something that God wanted to do
Something that God wanted to do
It was something that God wanted to do
For me and you and you and me

It was something that God wanted to do
Something that God wanted to do
It was something that God wanted to do for me

Wanted (lyrics and guitar chords) by Karl Marxhausen, copyright 2015.

feeling it

    I woke up this morning from a dream about mom. She was telling me how it was when she was with her doctor after I was born. Her grappling with the absence of my feet. How she herself was in a daze coming out of the ether. It wasn't until she unwrapped the bundle that was placed in her arms that she noticed my legs were straight with tiny toes at the end of them. No feet for her baby. The doctor pronounced her first child had clubfeet.

    In the dream she wasn't specific but implied that the doctor knew things that were confidential. The dream said no more than that. As I typed this post, it was the stories she had spoken to me that filled in the gaps. How they had been at a beer party earlier that day, driving over a bumpy rural road to get her to go into labor. And so on.

    I thought about a Carrollton friend Charlie when he cried over the phone to me, scared to death with the reality of his own grief. Its awkwardness, its tumble, what it is like to FEEL it bubble out, without dignity. The words of David came to mind in Psalms 56:8. How all our struggles and tears were kept by God in a bottle, as a valuable part of our existence, given his attention.  How precious were our tears. In contrast to sharing the pain, life has told me to keep those pains shielded from public view. Hold the grief down. Hang on to the hurts. Build up walls. Be like an island or a rock, as the poet Paul Simon wrote.

    One morning as she headed out Jan told me that I should take some time to think about my mother and write down the memories I have of her. (Double click to enlarge images)

She advised me to be open to crying. "Let the tension and stress be released." As she spoke memories began to surface. So,  I acted on my wife's idea, curled up in the recliner, wrote and drew in my journal.


It was like the lyrics of Running Blind by Michael Hedges. The way memories went "tearing its way through my heart."

Hedges' song here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cBiQAEBYIWY and lyrics follow.

Somewhere defined in aimless words
Somewhere within my angry herd
of stampeding emotions
Love was running blind

I read my way through those scattered pieces
Gathered up all the trampled feelings
And built up the fences strong
so l could hide

But all night long I would stare
at all the moon and the stars I could bear
Then from daylight on
It would tear through my heart
It went tearing its way through my heart
Tearing its way through my heart

Dazzling circles slow too soon
But dancing to some forgotten tune
You weave in the sky some pattern I can trace
Fading to taste the afterglow
Pure as the song you sing so low
Your senses came down to meet me
Face to face

Baby all night long I would stare
at all the moon and the stars I could bear
Then from daylight on
It would tear through my heart
It went tearing its way through my heart
Tearing its way through my heart
Tearing its way

As I drew and waited and put down more, it happened to me. The thing Jan suspected took place.

The Holy Spirit of God unlocked the muscle memories within.

 

The silence in the house was broken with deep sobs felt in my stomach muscles.




Groans and coughs.
Spitting into the wastebasket.
Letting the memories out.


Like the way she relentlessly squeezed my pimples when I was a teenager. I hated that about her. That memory of violation. Like the way she drank alcohol during her pregnancy and the Fetal Alcohol Syndrome that deformed my feet. The shame and rejection put onto my little heart. The restoration that God brought back to me through the prayers of Betty, Larry, Jan, and others. 

 
By his stripes we are healed, Isaiah wrote in his book 53:5. To me that meant my reality today could be altered by what Jesus did, when he died and resurrected from the dead. His act was like a historic vortex that sucked up every harsh memory I chose to go of and infused an x factor that brought release and healing to my mental state in the present.

When I told Charlie about my mom dream God spoke through his words to encourage me. What was so damn important about being needy, emotional, feeling these feelings, and asking for help? The way that dream came to me. The way You put me in that position. The way You chose to visit and open the door for Charlie to help me.
    

iceberg

       The part of me "that I know about" sticks up just above the water like the small tip of an iceberg. Below the surface, the "greater part of me" is  like a huge submerged iceberg.

       The one that knows me inside and out began to open my mind and my heart, to wonder, to ponder, to ask for help, to seek forgiveness. In 1986 -- The Spirit led me to meet with the pastor and together God made a way. I was thirty years old when I began to deal with resentments and buried feelings. Feelings I had been told to suppress. Feelings I had been asked to suck up and not feel. A poison that colored how I interacted with those around me.
       
       The Spirit of God is a gentleman. He is not a bully. He will not badger you or defeat you. He does not come to stomp on you or pull you to the ground. But he does seek your hand and make advances. When you are ready, he comes along side and gives you the courage to ask for his aid. He waits for an open heart, he listens for a soft spoken "yes," a whisper of consent. He acts when we give him our permission. For me, logic and reason have kept him at an arm's length. I thought I knew how he worked. Let me tell you, there is so much more. More than my Lutheran teachers told me while I was growing up. 

      During the counseling session the Holy Spirit revealed hurt feelings I had bottled up. Anger at being controlled by mom. Verbal slights. Like I couldn't come up with the answer myself, how I had to do things her way. Anger at high expectations from my dad. If I did art he could love me.  It was my reactions, my choice to stuff down the resentment, my choosing to remember and hold the grudge, blaming dad and mom -- instead of forgiving them. This believer in Jesus had lots of anger at God as well.

     Pastor Al had seen the wonders of Jesus in his own life firsthand. Al led me to Jesus in prayer. The Holy Spirit gave me the courage to forgive my dad first. In a later meeting, forgiving my mom. And still later, forgiving myself. Pastor Al said the prayer. But Jesus restored my life.

Peter, Cole, and Me

"How are you now?" he asked me, during the question and answer time.  I looked at my basketball teammate from recess and replied, "I know where to get help now. As a grownup I do get mad from time to time, but I have learned how to handle it." The blonde fourth grader went on, "You are just like me. I have anger issues too and I am working on them here."

Our group had finished listening to the book "Touching Spirit Bear." Ms. Price and Ms. Allen had read chapters to us after we came in from recess each day.

The author Ben Mikaelsen told about the struggle of two juveniles, Cole and Peter, on a remote Alaskan island. Pain and anger, justice and healing were central to that story. Near the end Cole and Garvey helped Peter deal with his feelings. The scene where Peter cried uncontrollably and was held in the arms of Cole meant a lot to me.

The two teachers I work with in the Behavior Management Program had me speak to the group today about an art collage on the wall. After discussing the street materials I used in the collage, I tied the image to Peter and Cole.

I too had anger issues growing up. Anger at my parents, anger at myself, holding on to grudges, wanting to get even. The hurt caused by words did take longer to heal than physical cuts do. (Something Garvey told Cole in the story) For me, the feelings had been stomped down inside. Mom could blowup at our house, but I could not. Bitterness shaped how I related to others. Then, help came. Twenty-five years ago painful feelings resurfaced in my life and I cried many tears. There were shoulders for me to cry on. Tears were a good thing. They have become a treasure. When the pain was pushed out, it was replaced with peace, lots of peace and healing. It also brought JOY and HOPE into my grownup life. I came to forgive myself and others.

When I gaze at the collage I think of an explosion, things flying through the air in a freeze-frame. It reminded me of the help I got. In the center was the butterfly, the One-who-gave-me-help, and all around was the glitter, his activity, breaking off problems that were bigger than I could handle, huge things beyond my control. I think of the JOY and HOPE, the people who helped me through it, the holy spirit and his reply, his answer, his deliverance. Real time, real life, real rescue, real help.

One of the classroom posters told us to use our words to say what we FEEL. Writing about the anger helps. Drawing about it helps.

 

The laminated blue poster on the wall has three life goals in our classroom. 1) I CAN take good care of myself, even if I am mad. 2) I CAN be okay, even when others are not ok. 3) I CAN be productive and follow directions, even if I am mad. (BIST)

 There was one collage on the wall I had not talked about. Students could check it out sometime, touch it carefully, but not tear any of it off.                                                         Consider these two questions. 1) What materials might it be made of? 2) How does it make you feel? Dark? Sad?

It was then I took questions from the group, seated at tables, at cubicles, in the recovery room, sitting on chairs. Today.

 

 

(Book cover courtesy of Ben Mikaelsen website, http://www.benmikaelsen.com/books_touchingspiritbear.html, Ben Mikaleson Audio Interview at Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ben_Mikaelsen, BIST (Behavior Intervention Support Team) poster quote, http://www.bist.org/components/com_virtuemart/shop_image/product/Goals_for_Life_P_4b27084d807e8.jpg,  More on BIST and OZEMAN, http://www.ozanam.org/, accessed March 21, 2013)

* * *

I am the one who ran away.

The Disciple That Fled by Karl Marxhausen 13.5 x 16.25 inches
Crayon and ink on paper

Double click to enlarge image



The Flogging of Christ by Karl Marxhausen 17 x 17 inches
Crayon and ink on paper







In the 1800s, a public hanging occurred downtown, outside the courthouse. That time a murderer was hung. Had Jesus been put to death during modern times, the mob that killed him could easily have been the Missouri Klan or angry farmers, housewives or villagers like me. In the background, the Carroll County courthouse towers like a silent spectator by the glow of imagined torch light. Christ Lynched Outside the Carroll Country Courthouse by Karl Marxhausen 17.5 x 14.5 inches Crayon and ink on paper




One so sincere so remarkable decided to let public injustice flood his senses with trauma exhaustion swollen eyes bleeding back torn ligaments stomach cramps pain name calling hatred and shame, so that I could forgive myself and my oppressors just as he did. He would die, be anointed for burial, lie dead in a rock tomb for days, be raised from death and be fully alive, but for now he is alone, aching, tempted to back out, hounded by doubts, hot and sweaty, determined to do it for a people he has yet to meet, readers like you and me. Despair of Christ by Karl Marxhausen 23.5 x 18 inches Crayon and ink on paper