In Her Sandals – Homeless, Destitute, on Death's Door

Homeless. Forced from the only home my son has ever known. It may have been a toxic situation for me, but I would have endured anything for him. My son had what he needed and wanted, but now, we are forced to leave. All because of her.

With only the clothes on our back, a little food and some water, we were told to leave. I can’t say I didn’t see this coming, but I didn’t want to believe my son’s father would turn us away.

No transportation. No housing. No job. No money.

We begin walking all the while I’m trying to come up with a plan. Wondering where we should go.

We can’t go back to my parents’ home. They won’t have us.

All I’ve ever done is servant type work, but no other job skills to keep us afloat. Plus, who would take me on knowing I have a son?

He asks me where we are going, what we are going to do. I have no answers.

We sleep outdoors and try to make the food and water last as long as possible, but it eventually runs out. I still have no plan.

I wonder if she ever even thought about what would happen to my son when she had her husband kick us out. I’m not exactly the “other” woman. She wanted her husband to sleep with me, so he would have an heir. She got exactly what she asked for. I gave birth to a son, his first born son. She resented me as much as I resented her, and the competition only escalated when she gave birth to a son at the age of 90.

I ration the food and water and often give my portion to my son. He’s getting weaker and weaker with each passing day as we wander aimlessly in the wilderness. Hopelessness and despair are my constant companions. The burden is overwhelming, and it’s not getting any better.

My son is wasting away. His lips chapped, and skin is blistering. His eyes are sunken. When he cries, there are no tears. I’m watching my son die a slow and painful death, and in the process, he’s asking questions. “Why did dad do this?” “Doesn’t he love us?” He would say things like, “I’ll do better. I promise.” “I won’t pick on Isaac any more. Can we just go back?”

I try to explain to him in terms he would understand – “This is not your fault,” “your daddy loves you,” and “We can’t go back ever again.” He cries again in my arms, and my heart breaks again as I rock him. My tears won’t come either.

I go from anger to rage then denial. My emotions have hit rock bottom in depression, but this is as low as I have ever been. I’ve just laid Ishmael in some shade. I know he’s going to die. I can’t take it. He’s begging me for water, for food, and I have nothing. I can’t even feed my own baby! What kind of mother can’t provide for her own son? What kind of mother am I?

I walk off. I can still see where I laid him, but I can’t watch him take his last breath. I’m sobbing uncontrollably, the ugly, snot-running, heaving kind of weeping that comes from carrying a burden alone for too long. I am just a shell. There’s nothing left in me to give. No mother should ever have to watch her child suffer like this and die.

Just when I think I can’t take one more minute of this life, Yahweh sends an angel to speak to me. Why did He wait until now to move, to speak? I can’t do this.

“What’s wrong, Hagar?” That’s the angel’s first words to me. “What’s wrong!?” – He asks. If I had the strength to be sarcastic my response would have been much different, but in my current state I had nothing.

He said, “Don’t be afraid for God has heard the voice of the boy.” He heard my son’s voice. What had my son said? I guess it doesn’t really matter. What matters is help is now here.

The angel tells me to get up, to help Ishmael up and to support him. He reminds me Ishmael is going to be a great nation. I knew Yahweh had promised a great nation, but honestly, I had given up hope.

As I’m raising Ishmael up, that’s when I saw it. It had been there all along I guess, and I never saw it. God had opened my eyes, and there was a well of water. (Genesis 21:19 – Then God opened her eyes, and she saw the well of water.)

As moms, we would move heaven and earth for our kids, but when things are out of our control and there’s nothing we can do to “fix” what is wrong, it can be one of the most helpless feelings.

Had you ever slipped on Hagar’s sandals? Had you ever thought of this story from her perspective?

God allowed Hagar to get to the end of herself before opening her eyes to what was in front of her. Sometimes we have to be driven to the pit of despair before we look to God for the answer. At no time in Scripture do we see Hagar crying out to Yahweh during the wandering. Was she relying only on herself?

God kept His promise regarding Ishmael. The Islamic nation comes from Ishmael. It is a mighty nation.

You can read Hagar’s story in Genesis 16 and 21. In Her Sandals is not my attempt to add to Scripture. I research, and then I wonder what she may have heard, thought, smelled, tasted, and sensed.

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Can a Sister Get Some Help Around Here?

I absolutely love having people in my home. I love cooking the meals. I love making everyone feel comfortable, making sure they have everything they need. I have done my job well when I see people relax and enjoy a good meal I’ve prepared.

Most of the time I take things in stride. I prepare as much as possible ahead of time. If we are going to entertain a party, I make sure I have my help lined out, and they know exactly what to do.

I keep my home clean just in case someone decides to drop in. I want people to be at home, at rest, at peace when they visit. I enjoy good conversation that lasts beyond the meal, and the laughter of my guests is music to my ears.

I do admit there are times when I get stressed out about entertaining. Most of the time I can roll with things because there’s always a plan B, C, and D rolling around in my head. The time when I get stressed is when a large group of people show up, and I haven’t had time to prepare.

For example, my brother brought a group of men to the house unannounced. Don’t get me wrong. I can get it done, but one of the men he brought home was really important. My brother actually answers to him, so when he showed up with this group of men, I freaked out.

I do a quick scan of what’s in my kitchen. I have some fish, olive oil, wine. Thankfully, I had just made a couple of loaves of bread, but I’m going to need more. I make a list of the things I need in order to fill the stomachs of my guest. Then I make a list of what I need to get done. I do a quick head count of who will be staying for dinner. I need to run the market.

I start working on preparing the fish, and I look out the window to see my little sister sitting down with the men listening.

I try to discreetly get her attention, but she ignores me. I know she heard me. I know it. She knows it. I know she saw me waving to her, but is she moving? NNNNOOOOOO!!!!!!!.

I’m making all kind of noise in the kitchen because I’m getting angrier by the minute. I need help, and she won’t get off her behind and help me.

I butchered the fish I was working on. That made me mad. I wash my hands and head outside.

“Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Go tell her to give me a hand.” I’m sure Lazarus was shocked at my candor, but I was fed up with Mary just sitting there while I did all the work.

“Martha, Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has made the right choice, and it will not be taken away from her.”

Martha’s story can be found in Luke 10:38-41.

Isn’t this an abrupt end to the story? Don’t you want to know Martha’s reaction after Jesus told the lay of the land? Can you believe she talked to Jesus like that? GIRLFRIEND!!

In my past, I’ve been a Martha. Personally, I would have been taken aback, maybe stepped back to assess what to do. I assure you I would not have expected this response from Jesus. Still I wonder, did Martha sit and listen, or did she continue on serving but with her attitude in check?

So many times us “Type A” personalities have to be in charge and in control. We have our lists. Our lists have lists. We know what needs to be done and who needs to do it. If something goes wrong, it’s okay because we are prepared with plan B, C, or D. There are times, however, when things go wrong, and it throws us all in a tizzy. We are not pleasant people to be around when we default to this mode of operating.

Martha failed to see she was serving Jesus by serving others. Her heart had become distracted by the things she needed to do but more importantly by what her sister wasn’t doing. Martha was keeping score of how much work she was doing, and how much Mary was NOT doing, and it was not equal. Rarely are things equal.

Regardless of where we serve or who we serve, we need to make sure our hearts are in the right place. We need to make sure our focus is on Christ and kingdom work and not about the weight of the responsibility. If serving Christ is our focus, then God will get the glory whether things work out or they fall apart. He’s in it all.

In Her Sandals is my attempt to slip on the sandals of the women of the Bible and wonder what they might have thought, heard, smelled, and felt. In no way do I attempt to add to Scripture or take anything away from it. It is my goal to show today’s women they really aren’t that different from those in the Bible, and if God loved them, He can love you where you are today.

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Rizzie

“The woman who serves unnoticed and un-thanked is a woman who loves God
more than she desires the praise of others.”

 Wendy Pope

Go on! Get away from here!

Shew.

Day and night I am outside with the bugs, birds and animals. I never leave. I’m here 24/7. What I’m doing is NOT glamorous by any stretch of the imagination. As a matter of fact, I’m so filthy. There are times the stench is so strong, I vomit. I can’t look at them. The sight of them would cause most to have nightmares, and the smell would prevent most from eating for weeks.

But here I am, and I’m not leaving. I couldn’t protect my sons while they were living, but I’m doing my best to protect them now.

So many people think that living in the palace or being the son of a king is so fantastic. They never consider the cost. My sons were executed for something the king did. I couldn’t even call the king my husband because he wasn’t. I was his concubine. I was a glorified prostitute at his beck and call. I just happened to give him two sons, so I had a little more favor than the other concubines but not much.

Regardless, my sons along with five other sons were hung because the king had attempted to wipe another people group off the map. They took my sons. There was nothing I could do. And they hung them on a hill the first day of the harvest season.

From now until the day I die, I’ll dread the first day of harvest season.

My grief was so intense. I thought I’d suffocate, but then I realized they were going to leave my babies hanging in the tree. I wasn’t permitted to get their bodies and bury them. They may have been grown men, but they were my babies. I gave birth to those beautiful beings. I was there when they entered this world, and I was there when they left it. And I was going to be there until the very end.

I grabbed a sack cloth and spread it on the rock. I didn’t want people dessicrating my sons’ bodies any more than they already had. I didn’t want the birds to pluck their hair or eyes. I didn’t want wild animals tearing their skin and pulling their bodies apart. That would be more than I could bear.

I was so torn. I wanted to see my babies, but I didn’t want to see them like this. I wanted to touch and hold them and talk to them. I wanted to hear their voices once more no matter how loud. But that wouldn’t happen.

At first when I wasn’t shewing away the birds, I was crying. At night, I’d have a fire to try to keep the wild animals away. I used whatever weapon I had handy. Sometimes in my anger, I slammed sticks together and screamed at the top of my lungs to scare the animals away. I would just scream at them using the anger that was in me.

Then the bodies began to bloat with gases and erupt. I thought the smell would rot the inside of my nose. I tried wearing a veil or scarf around my nose and mouth, but let’s face it, seven rotting bodies let off a lot of odor, and absolutely nothing could mask it. But I stayed. I didn’t abandon them. I didn’t leave them once. I protected them the best I could. I should have been scared, but I was so angry and depressed, I just wished the animals would kill me and get it over with.

I guess because the bodies were exposed to the elements of the high heat and drought, they decayed so quickly.

I saw my babies’ bones. No mother should ever have to see their babies die. No mother should ever have to watch their babies’ bodies fall apart in decay. No mother should ever have to experience any of this. As a matter of fact, the mothers of the other boys didn’t come. I don’t blame them. I just knew I had to come.

After it began to rain, David heard about Saul’s sons hanging in this tree and about how I wasn’t leaving them. He sent men to collect the bones of Saul and Jonathan and of Saul’s 7 sons who hung. David took my sons’ bones and gave them a proper burial. I don’t know if he would have done that if he hadn’t heard that I was there and not leaving.

The story of Rizpah can be found in 2 Samuel 3:6-8, 21:8-14.

I recently lead a women’s retreat on service. I selected five women in the Bible with different stories of service, and Rizpah was one of them. I divided the women into groups. They read the Scripture, did a little research, and strapped on her sandals. The women who had Rizpah came back to the group talking about “Rizzie.” It’s amazing how personal women in the Bible can become when we slip on their sandals and walk their path while thinking about what she may have seen, heard, smelled and thought.

Rizpah served from a place of great heart ache. She served faithfully day and night in a position that was not desirable in the least. She puts to shame the Christians today in America who make every excuse as to why they can’t serve the body of Christ.

Ephesians 6:7-8, “Serve with a good attitude, as to the Lord and not to men, knowing that whatever good each one does, slave or free, he will receive this back from the Lord.

In Her Sandals is my attempt to slip on the sandals of women in the Bible and walk the path they’ve walked. It is not my intention to add to Scripture or take away from it, but to help women today to see women of the Bible as real relatable people and how God worked and used them. If God can work and use those in the Bible, then He can use you.

wendypope.org

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In Her Sandals -- My Past Does Not Determine My Future

My Past Does Not Determine My Future

Let me just start off by saying, I’m not proud of my past, but I am not who I was in my past anymore.

My past does not define my worth today. My past does NOT determine my future.

I’ve been dragging around my past every day because people won’t let me forget it, and people won’t forgive me either. If I wanted to get a fresh start here, I don’t know how I’d even do it. Everyone knows who I am, what I’ve done, and what I’ve been.

My choices today determine my future, and today, I feel so light, so free, unburdened. Some people think I made a spectacle of myself today, as if I’m not used to that feeling. Some wonder how I even had the gall to do what I did given my past. Some think I was wasteful.

But you know what? It doesn’t matter what some people think. It doesn’t matter at all! Because today, I am free. I am free from the baggage, the pain, the guilt. I am free from the sin and heaviness I’ve carried. I am no longer the woman I was when I woke up this morning. I AM FREE!

Isn’t it crazy how one insane act can change your future, and yet my future is going to be so different. I still have hurdles to overcome and battles ahead, but the tightness in my chest, the weight on my shoulders is gone, and all because I met a man.

Before you stop reading, this isn’t about some man who used me or wanted one thing from me. He was different. He wanted nothing from me.

I’m not wanted in a lot of places especially where the high and mighty and self-righteous tend to be, but I heard he was at Simon’s house. By threatening to expose secrets, I was able to make my way into Simon’s house where this man was. From my perspective, it was the only way I’d get close to this man because people like me were NOT allowed to associate with Pharisees.

I had heard this man teach before. When he spoke, it was powerful. He spoke right to my soul. He told us to repent. Goodness knows it took me a long time to repent, but I did it. And here he was reclining at a table in front of me.

I couldn’t help myself. He had taken away my guilt and shame. The heaviness I had carried for so long was removed. I made my way to him. The tears came and poured down my face. I bowed down to his feet and began washing them with my tears. Sin after sin, tear after tear, falling away.

I wasn’t sure how he was going to respond, but he was compassionate. He allowed me to wash his feet with my tears and dry them with my hair, and then I kissed and anointed them with the oil from my alabaster jar. At first my tears were because of my shame but then they turned to tears of joy knowing Jesus was allowing me, a sinner, to wash his feet.  Unworthy. I am so unworthy.

People were judging me. I didn’t care. I was compelled to do this. I had to do this thing. While I was anointing and kissing his feet, he tells Simon that no one washed his feet when he came into Simon’s home as is the custom. No one anointed his head with oil either, and yet, here I was washing his feet with my tears and anointing his feet with oil. Then the best words I’ve ever heard came from Jesus’ mouth, “I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven: that’s why she loves much.”

Then Jesus turned to me, as if my day could not get any better, and he said, “Your sins are forgiven. Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”

Her story can be found in Mark 7:36-50.

On YouTube, the Imperials sing a song called “Forgiven.” The words are, “I’m forgiven. Now I have a reason for livin’. Jesus keeps givin’ and givin’, givin’ till my heart overflows.” I can’t help but think that this woman had to have felt like her heart was overflowing that day. Can you?

Not only did she receive forgiveness, but her faith grew. She met the Messiah. She received peace.

She received forgiveness and peace. How many in this world are hungry for both?

She received the peace that passes all understanding. Philippians 4:7, “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” How amazing is that!?

Hers was a life transformed. That’s what happens when you have an authentic experience with the Savior. You cannot help but be changed.

In Her Sandals is not an attempt to add to the Scripture. I do some research and attempt to slip on her sandals. I wonder what she might have heard, seen, felt, tasted, smelled and done all while I’m reading the Scripture. Then I write what I would have done in her sandals.

I look forward to meeting this sweet lady in heaven one day and to hear her tell this story for herself.

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In Her Sandals -- Everything's All Right

“I’d rather be viewed as weak to the world because I’m submissive to my husband…than be weak in the Lord because I submit to the views of the world!” Candace Cameron Bure

My son has just died. He was only a boy, and he died in my arms. I saw the life go right out of him. My only son. My only child. I had rocked him in my arms and watched him die. I scooped him up and carried him upstairs. I placed him on the bed. This is not happening today. I am not going to outlive my only son.

I leave the room, but before I close the door, I look at his face and breathe deeply. I cannot fall apart right now.

I did the only thing I knew to do. I explained to my husband I was going to take an aid and quickly ride out to see the one man who could do something. I was going to bring that man back to our home. My husband didn’t understand my intention, so I stopped in my haste and grief and looked at him. “Everything’s all right.”

I couldn’t say more.

People do some crazy things when they grieve, especially when they have just suffered the death of a child. I’m sure my poor husband thought I was mad with grief because our only son given to us from Yahweh was now lying dead upstairs in a bed.  Truth is I had never been clear-minded as I was right then. I just knew I had to go. I had to.

I was holding it all together. If someone asked me a question, my response was, “Everything’s all right.” It didn’t matter the question. That was my response. I don’t know if I was trying to convince them or myself. I just knew I had to get to that man.

That man was the man who promised me a son. That man had eaten meals in my home with me and my husband. With my husband’s permission, we made a room for that man to stay in our home. His room was where my son was lying right at that very moment. I had to get to that man.

When I approached his home, his aid came out. Once again, I said, “Everything’s all right.” Then I see Elisha’s face, and I run and fall at his feet. I had held it all together up until that point. I was sobbing. As I wept, I looked up at Elisha and said, “Did I ask my lord for a son? Didn’t I say, ‘Don’t deceive me’?”

I never even told Elisha my son was dead. I couldn’t bring myself to speak those words. If I said them, they might take root and be true. But Elisha knew. He sent his aid to my home, but I insisted Elisha come. I wasn’t leaving without him. Gehazi took Elisha’s staff and ran to my home. He placed it on my son’s face, but he couldn’t resuscitate my son. Yahweh gave me a son through Elisha, and through Elisha, God would restore my son. I just knew it.

Elisha did come to my home. He shut the door and left me outside. “Everything’s all right. Everything’s all right.” I just kept repeating it over and over. When the door opened, Gehazi told me to go in, and there was my son.  I had heard him sneeze. It was the best sound I had heard all day.

The Shunammite woman’s story can be found in 2 Kings 4:8-37.

There’s actually more to this woman’s story. She was a prominent woman in her community, and she was persuasive. She persuaded a quirky prophet to eat in her home. Then she asked her husband about creating a room for the prophet so he had a place to stay when he came through town. Each act of service grew her faith, and she did so by having her husband’s blessing.

Because of her service, her faith grew. Because of her faith, she was blessed with a son.

When her faith was put to an extreme test, her faith rose to the top. She didn’t prepare her son’s body to be buried. She prepared for what she believed God was going to do, and He did because of her faith.

Don’t you just love her!? I cannot wait to meet her one day. She was persuasive yet humble. She was submissive yet confident in her actions. She was content even though she lacked a son.  This is one woman with whom I’d like to be friends.

If there’s a verse that best exemplifies her faith it is Philippians 4:11, “I don’t say this out of need, for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am.” HCSB

In Her Sandals is my attempt at reading and studying the Bible, then slipping on her sandals. While wearing her sandals, I am thinking about the things she might have felt, thought, smelled, touched and heard. In no way am I attempting to add to Scripture or take away from the Word of God. 

I love teaching women about women in the Bible. Many women today find the women in the Bible to be un-relatable or not flawed, when that is not the case at all. In Her Sandals is a way for women to see women in the Bible as the beautiful but flawed masterpieces God created. Please feel free to share In Her Sandals with a friend.

CandaceCameronBure.net

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In Her Sandals -- What's a Mom to Do?

I’m not leaving until I get answers. No one else can fix my daughter. No one else can heal my daughter. He’s my last chance of finding an answer. My last hope.

It’s exhausting taking care of an unstable child. I never know if she’s going to hurt herself or hurt someone else. I can’t remember the last time I had a full night’s rest. At the least little sound, I wake up to make sure she hasn’t gotten up out of her bed to wander away.

I have no privacy because I can’t leave her alone. When we are in public, I tie a piece of fabric around my waist and attach the other end around her waist. People give me all kind of looks, but it is truly the only way I can keep her from running off.

I’m used to getting weird looks in public. I hear the comments under peoples’ breath. “What’s wrong with that child?” “Somebody needs to get ahold of that girl." “Why doesn’t she leave her at home?” I don’t have a choice. I don’t have the energy to explain to everyone what is wrong with my daughter. And as for “getting ahold of that girl,” well, something already has a hold on her. And while I wish I could leave her home, I can’t.

Isolated is how I feel. Isolated and overwhelmed. We have family, but who wants to be around us, when she behaves the way she does. I’ve had friends, but they come and go. Mainly go. No one I know has walked in my shoes. There’s no one I can go to for guidance or help.

But I heard there’s someone coming to town who can heal my daughter. I’m going to track him down, and I’m not leaving until he heals her. No one else will fight for my daughter. It’s up to me.

I fasten the fabric to my waist and secure the other end to my daughter. I lead her as best as I can, but I think she must sense something because her violence and reactions are stronger than normal. We make our way through the market. People typically clear a wide path when she’s in one of these fits.

I see him. I walk up to him. My daughter becoming more and more violent, screeching, spewing like a rabid dog. I yelled out, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David! My daughter is cruelly tormented by a demon.” At first, I think he doesn’t hear me, so I repeat it over and over until he has to pay attention to me. I am not going away until something happens.

His followers go to him. I can’t exactly hear everything they are saying because my daughter’s behavior is so erratic. I know they are discussing me. I know I’m making a scene which is ironic because it’s normally my daughter disturbing the peace, but I’ll do whatever it takes to get to him to heal my daughter.

They separate a little, and I make my move. I kneel down in front of him. I can’t hold back the floodgate of tears. “Lord, help me!” All the weight I have been carrying in taking care of my daughter became too heavy to bear.

He looks at me, and for the first time, he said. “It isn’t right to take the children’s bread and throw it to their dogs.” I’m not insulted. I know he’s here for the Jews, and I’m not Jewish, but there’s no reason why he can’t heal my daughter like he does the Jews.

“Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table!” I have nothing to lose. I’ll be the beloved, little, lap dog. Just heal my daughter.

That’s when Jesus looks me in the eyes and speaks directly to me, “Woman, your faith is great. Let it be done for you as you want.”

And just like that it was over. I look up at Him to make sure I heard Him correctly, but at the same time, the fierce pulling on my belt has stopped. Immediately, I look for my daughter, and she is standing calmly by my side, clear eyed, smiling. She isn’t drooling, screeching, pulling, hitting or all the things I had known her to do.

How can I not cry!? I scoop her up in my arms as relief washes over me.

When I look back up, Jesus had moved on toward another group of people who needed healing. I begin replaying everything in my mind. “Woman, your faith is great.” He said my faith was great. I had been at the end of my rope. Jesus was my only hope. He was all I had, and He didn’t disappoint.

My daughter is healed. She’s beautiful and smart. She smiles. We have conversations. We go out into public without incident. I never really knew life could be this good.

This story can be found in Matthew 15:21-28. A Gentile mom was in desperate need of a Healer, a Physician for her daughter. Jesus didn’t degrade her by referring her to a dog, and she understood His point. Jesus had come to the Jews first, but because of her faith, He rewarded her.

Are you desperately seeking Jesus about anything in your life? Are you seeking His healing and restoration? He is faithful.

In Her Sandals is my attempt to slip on the sandals of women in the Bible. I research and read to find out traditions and ways for that time. Then I read her story asking questions about what did she feel, think, smell, touch, see, and I write what I might have done. I do not want to add or take away from Scripture, but rather maybe a different perspective or point of view.

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