When Forever is Really Only 27 Years

I was so smart, I got married at 19. I was in looooove.

I was so sure this was God's man for me. Sure enough to make the vows and say, "I do." Everything was right: the dress, the cake, the punch, the invitations, the flowers, tuxedos, attendants, gifts, well-wishes. I have to wonder how many guests wondered, "What in the world are they thinking??

As the years passed, we beat all the odds. We not only stayed together, we traveled and served God in various capacities. As the decades went on, we faced challenges like my inability to have children, burying parents, changing careers, owning and selling homes, and starting over every time we left the country and returned after doing mission work overseas.

Then the crash happened. It wasn't on the national news. The stock market didn't feel it. The world kept turning. But the crash of 2003 was real and of epic proportions in my world; the marriage ended.

Forever lasted 27 years. I was a statistic. I felt small.

"I'm going through a mid-life crisis," he said. He was cracked at the core with all that brings a soul to saying something like that in the terms of ending a covenant. "I hope I can begin again with someone who can give me children."

My heart broke for him.For us. How could he not fight for.... us?

Wow. The enemy orchestrated the ending blow using an argument of something I couldn't fix. Counseling wouldn't fix it. I was in my late 40s and my body was past the time of pursuing other options that would allow pursuit of a natural child. It was not a debate.

When your saddest reality becomes a reason in your spouse's mind to justify walking away---it is a blow to the soul and spirit. The Lord had warned me it was coming, but I didn't know the words that would be used. I was stunned.

So, I quietly took all I needed to start over again and moved to Texas to be near family.

"Well, God, You are my Husband. And with You, forever means forever." That was my new mission statement for life.

What did I miss? Where did I fail? How did I lose the very thing I cherished the most--my love and my 27 year marriage? Some of these answers escape me, still. Mostly because things like this are answered when the two people involved have a discussion and bring both perspectives to light. I did not have the gift of this conversation.

Aren't unanswered questions just the worst?? They are the hardest to put to rest. By God's grace, I have been able to lay it down. In compassion, I have begun to understand the weaknesses in that marriage. As best I can tell, they are as follows:

1. Secret sins and longings for something else undermine, erode and decay a marriage.
2. Falling out of fellowship with God and His people---losing accountability and growing cold in love for others breaks down the fiber of a union.
3. Refusal to seek counsel for individual and marriage healing is a sure covenant with failure.
4. Disillusionment with God because of hardships can weaken the soul that is not steadied by a growing, Word-fed spirit. Identifying yourself as a life victim will cause you to forget the faithfulness and power of God. You can be so paralyzed by "Why me?" that you cannot seek "What now?"
5. Believing the lie that you can do 'better' with 'another' and allowing that to grow in your heart until it becomes your 'truth' becomes a false armor of defense against a spouse who still wants to love you.

I was driving one day, before the day of marriage death, and heard a song on the radio that said, "You are the air I breathe; You are the air I breathe; Your Holy Spirit--living in me. And I ... am desperate for You..."  I pulled the car over and cried. I was so desperate for Him. As desperate as we are for breathing. It was the beginning of my return to He Who Never Left Me. And Never Would.

I found the strength to start over. To let go of a love that I had since I was a teenager. The Lord showed me it was like the splitting of conjoined twins. It had to be done carefully so both could live on their own--one without the other. I asked Him to masterfully do this. I was so identified with this union that I thought I would need to change my name from 'Marcie' to something else as I was convinced I couldn't be 'Marcie' without 'Alan'.  People talked me out of it.

I found that I was, am, and always will be 'Marcie'. I returned to my maiden name, Elliott, and restructured my life with my siblings and my father.

When I married my sweetheart, Dudley, I kept the name Elliott and joined it with his name, Smith. This was not as a sign of trendy feminine rebellion, but a sign of I am authentically Marcie Elliott now fully joined to Dudley Smith. I didn't lose myself to do it--but I brought all I truly am with me. All the years in another marriage are not lost or wasted--they are redeemed and they are still my life story.

In order to do so, I had to return to who I was before the first marriage and understand my birthright. I am my father's child: Marcie Elliott. I accept my forever husband, Dudley Smith. And together, I am completely known in a new life... Marcie Elliott-Smith. In our vows, I told Dudley, "You are my home."

I look at the hyphen and it looks like a minus sign to me. Something was removed for this to happen. Something huge. Something that had my entire devotion. And then I look again at the hyphen and I see a bridge. A connector. A path. Something that spans the authentic 'me' to the new life.

The old Christian song says: "No turning back. No turning back."

My ex-husband is a tender soul and I trust he is restored and loving God.

Sometimes forever is 27 years. Sometimes forever is eternity. Eternity swallows it all. Life isn't quite that compartmentalized, after all. The continuum is that God has been faithful to me when others could not. He is my Steadfast; the Ancient of Days; the 'One who looks after me' Genesis 16: 13.

I said, "I do" to Him when I was a child. And what a tried and true union that has been!

Long ago, someone prophesied to me that I would have two adopted children. Here they are:

Marcie, Betty, Crawford, Dudley

Marcie and Dudley

Crawford, Dudley, Marcie

When I Was a Cowgirl in Hawaii

In the late 80s, I was a cowgirl. Well, not really--but I often dressed like one. I was a youth pastor and a lot of our home-town kids were into going to rodeos and cow-stuff.  So, "When in East Texas... do as the East Texans do." I wore Rocky Mountain jeans, had Justin Roper boots (with matching belts, of course) and went to rodeos.

I was good friends with a couple who owned a local western wear store. It was a popular place to shop and hang out--and the man who owned it was a well-known professional rodeo dude. One late afternoon, I was helping them relocate to their new, larger store and he was out in the front trying to raise the big Justin Roper boot sign by the highway. He was attempting to hoist this sign by using a tractor. We heard an awful sound and ran out to find the sign had fallen on him--across his back. He was not moving. He was turning a horrible color and his eyes were desperate and bulging. I will never forget his expression.

I yelled for people to go get help and I put my hand on him and began to pray. I told him he would live and not die. I screamed for him to "LIVE! LIVE!" and kept praying and quoting every scripture that would come to mind. After what seemed like forever, the ambulance carried him away and his wife and I followed to the ER.

He survived--but with horrible breaks in his back and he was in very critical condition for a week in ICU. His wife and I lived on the floor in ICU as we prayed and fought for his life--visiting him whenever we were allowed to see him.

He had to learn to walk again. To care about living again--through all the pain. He was hospitalized for a long time and then moved to rehabilitation. It changed everything for their lives. But he managed to get to the other side and give testimony of God's grace in saving him.

He was interviewed by a pro-rodeo magazine so he could tell his story. He told them that he died but he could hear me shouting for him to LIVE... and he snapped back... knowing he was not to die yet.

(We were good friends--always kidding around and I said, "NO! I was saying 'LEAVE!', not 'LIVE!'"  hahaha That was our joke. He said, "Ohhhhh! You are going to have to repent!!!"  He was right.)

When he was strong enough to manage the store again, he sent me and his wife to Hawaii for 7 days -- one day for each night we spent sleeping on the floor in the ICU waiting room. It was a great trip! The whales were rolling in the ocean, we went out on a private yacht that had been owned by Marlon Brando, we took a dinner cruise, went to a luau, took a small plane to Maui for a hike/picnic excursion, snorkeled, climbed Diamond Head (Yes, I did!), went to Pearl Harbor, saw Mt. Kilauea erupting as we flew over it in a helicopter... Yep, this was no ICU floor!

During the entire trip, as we enjoyed all the wonders that were around every corner, we marveled the most at how God saved her husband's life. We were so humbled and amazed at God's goodness.

And Hawaii wasn't that bad, either!

Orphaned and Twice Adopted

When I lived in Siberia, I met the most accomplished, famous violinist in Russia. His name is Alexander. His story is absolutely remarkable.

During the last world war, he ended up in an orphanage in Poland because his Jewish parents were displaced by the war and the oppression against Jews. His parents were never seen again and Alexander tells of living in the orphanage, hearing bombs, raids, and having a childhood of fear.

At the end of the war, the orphans were to be released from the orphanage--many of them with nowhere to go. A Russian gentleman visited the orphanage asking to meet with abandoned Russian children who were interested in learning music--specifically, the violin. Alexander wanted to learn music, so he found the courage to speak up and ask if he could meet with the man.

The man met with a few children and made the decision to adopt Alexander. Instead of wandering the post-war streets of Poland, he was adopted!  The man took him to his nice home in Russia, raised him as his son and taught him how to play the violin. This man was the master violinist of all of Russia in his time. After some time, the man learned about Alexander's family history.

As The Divine Plan would have it, Alexander's new father had previously tutored Alexander's natural father in music and the art of the violin! Alexander's father had been a brilliant violinist and now Alexander was parented again by another father -- one who knew his natural father and could teach him much more than the violin. Alexander was able to receive a storied upbringing by someone who knew his father!

The brokenness and beauty of Alexander's story can be heard in his music. His music has stirred hearts all over Russia. He was so gifted and accomplished, that he was in great demand and traveled to give performances before audiences he never dreamed would be interested in him. His gift brought him before kings, nobility and people who honored him.

Alexander's wife came to our church in Siberia and invited us to their home for dinner. We listened to his story in awe--and we could not believe we were hearing this amazing story from this beautiful man. Then, to the surprise of our interpreter, Dennis, and my friends, Alexander played his violin for us!

My friend, George, shared with him about the Master. He shared how a beautifully made violin only truly knows its value when it is in the hands of one who understands the instrument. Alexander gave his heart to Jesus, his Heavenly Father, the Skilled Maker of our hearts.

Again, Alexander's gift brought him before a King.

How Divine!

 

Marcie, Dennis (interpreter) and Alexander

I Corinthians 1:

26 For consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth.  
27 But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong;  
28 God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are,  
29 so that no human being might boast in the presence of God.

He is Wonderful. 

Dolly Parton, an Accordion and God's Humor

In the late 80s, I went to Nigeria. I was not sure I was supposed to go, but was invited with a group of women who were establishing women's ministry groups throughout the nation and launching this effort with a conference. I had no idea what I was getting into.

We were told to bring things from America that would help get these ministries started. I told my friends and family that if they wanted to donate things, I would take them in my luggage. The oddest thing was donated: A large, HEAVY, old accordion--trimmed in mother-of-pearl. (Uh, sure---that'll fit in a suitcase and won't be heavy at ALL!)

I went to my doctor and got all the shots, malaria pills, etc. that were necessary for the trip. I was packed and ready to go.

On the plane, one of the women in charge came around to each one of us, asking what gifts of the Spirit we most often minister in. Hmmmm. "Teaching." That was all I could think to say. I figured all the other missionaries were teachers so I surely wouldn't be speaking and would be available to pray and assist all the others.

Wrong.

I was soon scheduled to teach a workshop on Spiritual Warfare. Really?? How am I to teach that, exactly? I prayed. (I worried.) I agreed. Our team had been fasting and praying--so I figured I was as ready as ever to address these African women.

Wrong, again.

The malaria medicine I was taking upset my empty stomach, so I ate a banana. I had been bitten by a spider during the night and had a red-line of blood poisoning running up my arm. I was weak and sick. "And our speaker on Spiritual Warfare is Ms. Marcie!"

"Thank you very much," I said, as I took the microphone and started talking about freedom in Christ. Suddenly, the room felt like it was moving. I leaned against the wall behind me and pulled the table closer that was in front of me -- so I was pinned to the wall. I kept talking from my notes.

Next thing I know, I am being carried out of the room like a flour-sack by four Nigerian men who are telling me "Sister Marcie!! The devil is a liar!" Seems they knew more about this than I ! haha (My apologies to the lovely Nigerian gentleman who tolerated me barfing banana on his shoes...) A friend of mine, my Mother-in-the-Lord (Martha Knox--who should have been teaching, anyway!!), finished the seminar for me.

I love God's sense of humor.

At the next meeting, a man said, "Are you the lady with the accordion?" "Yes." "We have a musician who has been praying for an accordion. Does it have pearl trim?" (Are you kidding me right now??)

You see from the photo (below) that the accordion was given to the man who had been praying. I was just the delivery person. Now, the trip began to make more sense. An expensive hand-delivery--but WOW--I just got to see that! 

We went to different cities, speaking in churches and groups and I saw worship like I have never seen before.

I didn't rock the nation with my awesomeness (DUH!). I was rocked by theirs. I saw expressions of God's love 'to the one'... as in the experience of delivering the accordion. It was my privilege to love on all those people. I didn't want to speak at meetings; I wanted to touch.

Another night, I was sick in my hotel room and could hear a song playing from down in the alley: Dolly Parton singing "I Will Always Love You".  (Really? I am in Africa and I need to hear THIS??)

I went on this trip to be a helper. A delivery person of gifts. An observer. I came home with a full heart--loving a nation that, before that trip, I had never known anything about.

Nigeria. "I Will Always Love You"

"Ask of me, and I will give you the nations as your inheritance, the ends of the earth as your possession." Psalm 2: 8

(Below: Me, teaching... before I fainted and was carried out of the room!)

Love,
Marcie Elliott-Smith

God Sees Me

I have had several times in my life when it was extremely important that I know that God sees me.

One of the darkest times I survived by God's grace was several years ago. I was very alone in this experience and came out of it with extreme confusion and soul-pain. It took a counselor and people who love me to pray for me to walk in a place of clarity again. I was (and still am) not always able to explain that season very well. It was at this time, I found comfort in this scripture:

Genesis 16: 13  "So she called the name of the LORD who spoke to her, "You are 'God who sees,' because I have truly seen the one who looks after me."

My heart was so quieted by this verse--to know that when I cannot explain myself or what I experienced--He saw. He knows. The good; the bad; most importantly, the heart of it all. My heart. Thank God.

Have you ever been through something like this? When you don't even know how to capture it all in words because there are so many feelings involved and so much pain? I am so glad that The Word, Himself, is a witness to my life and one day, He will tell me the whole story and I will know as He knows. But right now, I am just so glad He knows. He sees. It settles me down. The One Who Looks After Me.

When I was in Siberia in the 90s, I was walking in the marketplace with a couple of other missionaries. We were talking as we were waiting for a bus. A woman walked up to me and said, "Are you an American?" I said, "Yes." She said, "Do you know Marcie Carter?" (My previous last name. :) I said, "Yes. That's me!!"  She said, "I have a fax for you from your Mother!"

WHAT????

I am in Siberia. In a city of over a million people. Waiting for a bus. Someone hands me a fax from my dear Mother, in Texas. 

I read this fax with tears. It was a letter from God--through my Mother. She was getting the message to me that my niece, Melissa, was born.

For some reason, my Mother was confused about how to contact me. She knew I had been through training with Youth With a Mission a few years earlier, and must have thought that is how she could contact me at this point! She called their central office and got a fax number for a contact in Siberia and sent the fax to them. The woman who received the fax had no idea who I was or how to find me--so she kept the fax in her purse and prayed that we would cross paths. (Yes, that is me... the skinny girl with sunglasses--reading a fax!!)

Wow. God Sees Me. He is The One Who Looks After Me.

A couple of years ago, I was at a women's retreat. The speaker, Linda, was preparing to minister to the group but was overwhelmed with emotions at the last minute. The Lord told her, "Go have Marcie pray for you." She said, "Where is she? This is a large camp ground!" He said, "She is in the meeting room."

I had been wandering around the grounds alone, praying--and felt I was to go to the meeting room and pray there.  Linda came in and found me there--just as the Lord said.

God Sees Me. He is The One Who Looks After Me.

I love Him. I am glad He sees me -- knows me -- and looks after me. Especially when I need to discuss something with Him in my life that I need to change, I am comforted that He truly already knows and is wayyyy ahead of me. I rest in this understanding.

Do you need Him to show you that He knows who you are and where you are? 

Ask Him.

"Father--You are so good. You are a parent who keeps up with all of your children. Of course you know where I am and what I need. I love you for that. Please orchestrate a connection that expresses Your love for me so I can grow in my awareness of Your nearness. I want to be closer to You and know You more! In Jesus' Name, Amen"

I Found an Old Journal

I found a journal this morning. One that I was keeping in 1990 when I was in cross-cultural evangelism training in Hawaii. As I read through the stories of what the Lord did, I cried because I had forgotten.

I want to share one of them with you--so you can see the sweetness of the Lord.

In a small group prayer meeting, Karen (not her real name) shared her testimony and then asked for prayer because she had a block in her life that was keeping her from growing in God. We listened to her testimony, and began to pray for her. I kept 'hearing' the word "adultery". Hmmm... wasn't mentioned in the testimony.

("Adultery.")

Really? Am I supposed to SAY that??

Keep praying.

("Adultery.")

"Lord please let someone else say that."

("Adultery.")

Me: Sweet Karen, I think I am hearing the word adultery but I'm not sure how it would apply to you.

K: Well, I haven't committed adultery, but I did date a married man one time.

Me: Oh---well let's confess that and disentangle you from the effects of that sin and the involvement of his broken marriage covenant.

Done.

Still praying.

("Murder.")

"Lord, please. Wait a minute. I can't say that."

("Murder.")

Me: (trying to say this as harmless as possible) "Karen, have you intensely hated someone in your heart? You know that is the same as murder."

K: "Yes. And not only that, I tried to kill him. But when I went to shoot him, the gun came apart in my hand. I know it was angels."

We all praised God for how He intervened for her (and the dude) that day! But since the Lord brought it up, we figured there was unfinished business. (He isn't like a man who will continue to bring up something that is healed and forgiven!) So, she went on to forgive further and lay down any lingering thoughts of revenge, regret, etc. And she was finally free.

Now I remember this very well. Sometimes the nudging of the Lord is so gentle and natural, you can think it is your own thought. The only way to know is to take a step of faith. I've made some mistakes with this but I've also seen God's hand, too. I know that, for me, I feel like I die a little bit more each time I step out. Must be part of what He means when He says, "He who loses his life, for My sake, will find it."

(Matt 10: 39)

Life.

Life is worth a try! :)

Sometimes God will Shove You

The first time I felt God pushing me to talk to a total stranger about Him was when I was 19 years old. Some of you would be more comfortable if I had said “The first time I felt God leading me…” But I’m telling you….He pushed!  This is when I began seeing--souls are important to God.

I had been a Christian since I was a little girl and was comfortable talking to my friends about God and had several experiences with Him in my young life.

This time was different because I was to approach someone I didn't know. Stranger danger!!

It was 1978. I was living in Shreveport, Louisiana and was at a laundromat doing a few loads of laundry.  I saw a dude and felt I was to ask him about his relationship with Jesus. I sized him up and found him to be intimidating. He had long black hair, black fingernail polish, weird make-up, ultra skinny and just looked totally maniacal. Ozzy Osborne kinda scary.

I poked my husband (yes, I was married when I was 19) and said, “You need to go talk to that dude about God.”

His reaction was, basically—heck no! Like I was crazy.

That pushed it back to me.

You know it can be really easy to think you know what other people need to be doing ‘for God’. “He needs to ….” She needs to…” “My parents ought to…”  It can cause us to fool ourselves into thinking we are cleaning up the world with our little judgments while we ourselves get very little done.

I love the scripture in John 21:

So Peter seeing him (John) said to Jesus, "Lord, and what about this man?" Jesus said to him, "If I want him to remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow Me!"

Therefore this saying went out among the brethren that that disciple would not die; yet Jesus did not say to him that he would not die, but only, "If I want him to remain until I come, what is that to you?"

Mind your own business, do your own work and encourage others along the way.

So, I get it. I am the one who is supposed to talk to who is now officially named in my head as “Dude”. (Clever, I know).

Then I start head tripping. Maybe just because of his appearance, I’ve profiled him as not knowing God and I’ve sinned by judging by someone’s outward appearance! That’s it! As horrible as that sounds, it is something I can take care of in the privacy of my own heart and I do NOT have to walk over and initiate conversation with “Dude”.

Beautiful. I have now justified my plan to quench and grieve the Holy Spirit by using some hyper-spiritual self-judgment thing that sounds so righteous.

Well, after a quick “Forgive me, Lord, for judging this soul”---I had no relief.

Then the unexpected happened.

Dude started to gather his little pile of things to leave.

I thought my heart would jump OUT of my chest and leave me dead on the floor. I was suddenly more afraid of missing the opportunity to talk to him than I was of actually talking to him! The fear of the Lord gripped my heart and I knew I was in this Holy grip that Paul referred to as “being apprehended”.

Philippians 3:12 “I have not yet reached my goal, and I am not perfect. But Christ has apprehended  me.”

The word ‘apprehended’ is such a word of authority. Like someone with more authority than you has seized you for a purpose---and part of that purpose is to comply.

Proverbs 19:23 - Showing respect (reverential fear) to the LORD brings true life-- if you do it, you can relax without fear of danger.

How much time passed with all of this---I have no idea. I felt like it was eternity---because it was. Eternity was upon me and eternal things were being pushed and pulled around me and I had no idea of time…only aware of the struggle.

Armed with only a weak opening sentence, I approach Dude and said, “We don’t know each other, but could I ask you if you are a Christian?”

Well, now it was out in the air. The proposition that had grown in my heart, mind, spirit and actually sprouted violently through my flesh. Like it would die if it didn’t find air. His face changed and he looked up at me—I figured he was in his 20s—and from his downcast face, I also figured I could outrun him.

Sure enough, his fingernails were nasty, he had markings of Satanism in the way he was dressed and it made no natural sense for me to approach this person.

He said, “I was raised in church. A Baptist church. My mother tells me she prays for me all the time. I’m so far away from all that now. She would say God sent you.”

I said something like, “Will you let me pray with you? You’re not as far away as you think.”

And Dude and I prayed in that nasty laundromat (actually, I think it was named the “Laund-a-ra-lux”). He promised he would either call his mother or, if that seemed too hard to do right away, call another familiar person to help him with his next steps.

I left clean—and a bit ashamed of myself for not responding without all that hesitation.

But then I understood----this is war.