Move On: When Mercy Meets Your Mess

By Vicki Courtney

You can say good-bye to the person you've been pretending to be!

Life is often messy. God makes provision to help us move beyond our messes.
Oftentimes our first instincts are to hide, deny, ignore, or run. In Move On best-selling author Vicki Courtney helps readers come clean with their muddy messes, revealing the deeper issues they must face, including: 

• the need for approval
• struggles and broken dreams
• shame
• legalism
• idols
• Christian snobbery

It is in the middle of our messes, Vicki says, that Mercy shows up and offers us a safe place to process our struggles, imperfections, doubts, and fears. Once we face our messes, God, with his sweet mercy, can help us to get real, deal, and truly move on. Then with Mercy by our side, we are able to break free and experience the grace and freedom God intends. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Nelson
• Release date: Aug 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9780718022419

Vicki Courtney

Vicki Courtney is a national speaker to women of all ages and the best-selling author of many books and Bible studies including 5 Conversations You Must Have with Your Daughter and Ever After. Vicki and her husband, Keith, have three grown children, a son-in-love, daughter-in-love, and an amazing grandson.

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Preface

The Mess That Changed Everything

On the morning of April 19, 2011, I pushed the Publish button on a blog post that changed the course of my ministry. Most important, it profoundly altered my view of God and allowed me to see His gift of grace and mercy in a new light. I opened the post with these words:

Few would argue that the Mom, I’m pregnant announcement is at the top of a parent’s list of knock-the-breath-out-of-you announcements you hope never to hear from your unmarried child. As someone who has written on the topic of sexual purity, I have stated often that my kids are not exempt when it comes to worldly temptations. I was humbly reminded of this fact a few weeks ago when my oldest son delivered the news, Mom, I think Casey may be pregnant. Ryan and Casey are good kids who made a bad choice. Two months into their engagement, they let their guard down, and as a result, they face a new challenge—shortly after marrying, they will become parents.

I want to give you a bit more background about that morning—just six weeks prior—when I learned about the pregnancy. Ryan had recently graduated from college and was living at home before the big wedding in July. His fiancée was finishing her last semester of college eight hundred miles away. When he left for work that morning, I was sitting in my living room in my favorite writing chair, reading over the final manuscript for a new Bible study for mothers of sons called 5 Conversations You Must Have with Your Son. In my lap were the final page proofs for the book, and I was putting the finishing touches on Conversation #3: Not everyone’s doing it! (And other naked truths about sex you won’t hear in the locker room). Yep. It was all about sexual purity, and it provided some handy tips on how we as parents can encourage our sons to save sex for marriage. (In addition to the Bible study, I had also written a book by the same title, and it was due to hit the bookstore shelves just weeks after I made the announcement above on my blog. I’ll go ahead and pause here and give you a minute to clear the lump in your throat regarding the irony of the rather awkward timing of my son’s announcement.)

I was absorbed in proofing Conversation #3 when my boy walked back through the front door after leaving for work just fifteen minutes before. I assumed he had forgotten something, but when I saw the look on his face, I knew something wasn’t right. It was one of those mother’s-intuition moments. I immediately got up to meet him halfway as he made a beeline for me. He was ashen and his voice quaked. Mom, I can’t stand it any longer. I had to come back and tell you something.

My six-foot-one boy fell into my arms and mumbled through tears, Mom, I think Casey may be pregnant. In that moment, I was not an author. I was not a speaker. There was no thought whatsoever of the parenting books I had written or the one that was about to release. In that moment, I was a mother and I did what any good mother would do. I cradled my boy in my arms, wept with him, and boldly reassured my son that, with God’s help, we would get through this. I was a fellow sinner whose own life had been radically altered by the good news of God’s amazing grace, and now it was my turn to administer that grace to my son. There was no pep talk. No How could you?! No condemnation. Only grace.

I shudder to think of what my response to my son might have been had I not already vowed to give up the pretender game a few years prior. You know the game—your life may be unraveling at the seams, but you paint on the trademark plastic smile and pretend like every day is rainbows and butterflies. And, in spite of my once-bold declaration to live in openness and transparency, I find that I still have a tendency to pull the game off the shelf from time to time, dust it off, and play another round. Old habits die hard. I like to think of myself as real and authentic, but until the day of my son’s announcement, I had handpicked what I would allow to be exposed and what would remain covered. That buffet-style authenticity changed on that day.

When the blog post went live, comments began to pour in, and I held my breath. Like any mother who is bent on protecting her cubs, I was ready to do battle with anyone who dared to rob my children of the forgiveness and grace that was theirs to claim. I had been in ministry long enough to feel the sting of judgment that can come from my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. And, dare I say, I’ve been that sister who at times has administered the same harsh sting of judgment. (More about that in a later chapter.) As I read through the comments that posted on that day, I was pleasantly surprised at the graciousness of God’s people. There was no judgment, no suggested Vicki Courtney Book Burning, no unsolicited advice about what might have been missing in my parenting arsenal of teaching—only grace. It was as if all of us—my family, my readers, and my audience—breathed a huge sigh of relief on that day as we came out of our hiding places to remind each other what God’s grace really looks like.

As I read the comments from my fellow sisters and brothers, a passion to write this book was birthed in my heart. I realized that you, too, are exhausted from playing the pretender game, and many of you are desperate to remove your masks. You shared your own muddy messes and begged for the opportunity to be real and to emerge from the shame-laden trenches emboldened with a newfound brand of grace. You wanted permission to be imperfect and to expose your own blemishes. Not permission to stay there, but permission to be a work in progress. And then it dawned on me. If more people could see this brand of Christianity, they would be beating down the doors of the church to get in. I honestly believe that. If we’re looking for a successful evangelism strategy, this may be the one. Imagine a world where people are drawn to the life-changing displays of God’s love in our own lives, rather than repelled by our harsh words of judgment and finger-pointing over the sins and imperfections of others.

I guess you could say that God staged an intervention in my life that day when my son dropped his bombshell news. A much-needed intervention. I’ve been in recovery in the days that have followed. And honestly, I hope I never recover from what He’s taught me about His grace and mercy.

The truth is, we’re all a mess. But the good news is that God is bigger than any of our muddy messes. Unfortunately, most Christians will live their entire lives attempting to clean up their messes on their own or, even worse, hide their messes under a multitude of modern-day fig leaves.

This book is for those of us who are weary of hiding and pretending. It’s about finding the courage to come clean about the messes we are. To lay our hearts and souls bare before the Lord and say, I’m not okay and I need Your help. But this book is also about finding the courage to come clean with each other and acknowledge our struggles and imperfections. To remove our masks and live wholehearted lives rather than the double-minded lives many of us have settled for. It’s about saying good-bye to that person we’ve been pretending to be and celebrating the person God created: a gloriously imperfect mess who is loved by a perfect and holy God.

A Glorious, Beautiful Mess

This past weekend, I went on an evening boat ride with my family. We anchored the boat with the intent of doing some stargazing. My grandson is nearly two now, and to say he is obsessed with being in the water would be an understatement. One of his favorite things to do is jump off the deck of the boat and into someone’s waiting arms. No sooner than we had put the anchor down, the chorus of pleas began. Two-tree, two-tree, two-tree. That is his way of saying, I want to do that thing where y’all count ‘one, two, three,’ and then I jump, okay?

I watched as my daughter-in-law stripped him down to a diaper and life jacket. My son Ryan jumped into the water, and with his arms open, signaled for his boy to jump. Before Walker hit the water, he was already demanding two-tree again. Over and over again, he jumped. And over and over again, his daddy caught him. This went on for a dozen or more jumps; and then my son, growing tired, told his boy, no more. Time to get back on the boat and stay on the boat. Taking a cue that his daddy was officially off the clock, Walker immediately turned his attention to me and began saying, Mimi, two-tree? Mimi, two-tree? What began as a question quickly turned into a frantic and urgent request. Mimi, two-tree! Mimi, two-tree!

It was heart wrenching to see him screaming for another chance to jump into someone’s arms. Look, I couldn’t handle the peer pressure in my younger years, so what makes you think I stood a chance when my grandson was begging me with taunts of Mimi, two-tree!? So I did it. I jumped in. Fully clothed, I got up and took a running leap off the back of the boat. My reward was coming up for air and hearing the precious giggles of a two-year-old who didn’t think there was anything unusual or odd about a fifty-year-old Mimi jumping into the lake with all her clothes on. I then assumed my rightful place in the water as my son lifted my grandson back up to the platform to begin his next round of jumps, this time into his Mimi’s arms.

As I waited to catch my grandson for what seemed like the bazillionth time, I couldn’t help but marvel in the reality of the moment. It hadn’t been that long ago when I heard that announcement, Mom, I think Casey might be pregnant. What a mess that was. And now, this: Mimi, two-tree! Mimi, two-tree! Mercy met us in our mess and turned it into something beautiful.

Coming clean about our struggles, weaknesses, and imperfections is a scary thing. It’s a lot like jumping off the back of a boat and trusting that someone will catch you. Not only that, you want to know it will be worth it when you come up for air. From someone who’s taken the jump, let me assure you, it’s worth it. When you’ve experienced the mercy of God in the deep, staying on the boat and playing it safe is no longer an option.

So what do you say? Your Father is waiting with open arms.

One . . . two . . . tree . . .

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Chapter 1

Cleanup on Aisle One!

What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open.

—MURIEL RUKEYSER, KÄTHE KOLLWITZ

Sometimes I feel like I’m playing a part I’ve been cast into, but it’s not who I truly am. I fidgeted nervously in my seat as I shared this confession with a Christian counselor several years ago. My voice trailed off at the end and I quickly discounted the statement. I’m sure it’s just a phase I’m going through.

But he wouldn’t let me evade the thought. Let’s stay there for a minute. Tell me more about what makes you feel that way.

I’d spent my entire life doing whatever it took not to stay there. It had taken all the courage I could muster to walk into his office, much less make the confession. Now I wanted to retract my statement and go back to talking about things that were in my safe zone. Silence ensued. Say something. Anything. I attempted to deflect his statement with another excuse in a long line of excuses: It’s probably because my last child is about to leave the nest and I’m experiencing a bit of an identity crisis. No big deal. He nodded his head. More silence followed. Dad-gummit, this guy is good.

I glanced at the clock, desperate to make a getaway from the unfamiliar realm of stay there. Thirty-five minutes left in the session. He smiled. Go on.

I could either spill my guts or play an expensive round of the quiet game. I took a deep breath and continued, Sometimes I feel like a fraud in ministry. It’s not that I don’t believe everything I teach and write about. I do. It’s just that I’m reminded on a daily basis of how rarely I myself measure up to the truths I talk about. More silence followed. He knew I needed to say more, and he patiently waited. I mean . . . I talk a lot about Jesus Christ being our ‘everything,’ but I spend my days trying to find satisfaction in a thousand different false gods. Honestly, I don’t know why anyone buys my books. If they knew the real me and saw my long list of mess-ups, they’d ask for a refund. Especially if they followed my children around for long enough and realized they’re far from perfect too. With every word I spoke, I felt a tiny surge of courage.

And I’m so tired. I’ve been burned-out for nearly a decade, but I can’t seem to slow down. I don’t know how to be still. It seems like the more I do for the kingdom, the more distant I feel in my relationship with the Lord. My eyes filled with tears as I followed with a burden I’d never spoken aloud before. No matter how much I do, I never feel like I measure up. Not as a mother, a wife, a Christian. Behind the curtain of my life, I’m a mess.

When I left the counselor’s office that day, I felt like a burden had been lifted. Breaking the silence felt good. Incredibly good. I had taken a necessary first step: admitting to the mess. My healing journey began when I finally granted myself permission not to be okay. Not to stay there forever, of course, but rather to acknowledge that not being okay is a perfectly normal part of the Christian journey. I walked into the counselor’s office suffering from a spiritual midlife crisis. I was worn-out, confused, and just plain exhausted from years of trying to keep up the appearance of being a devoted follower. Add to that the pressure to manage the appearances of my children. My façade was beginning to crumble. And that was a very, very good thing. Had I not come to the powerful realization during this season of counseling that it’s not only okay but perfectly normal to be a work in progress, I’m certain I would have plunged into full-out damage control when my son’s unexpected pregnancy announcement came nearly two years later. Stepping into that counselor’s office for the first appointment marked the beginning of the end of the pretender game