The Moody Radio Interview

Moody Interview

After 10 years of an extremely broken father/daughter relationship, dad and I were finally, fully reconciled in June of this past summer (Don't fret, there will be plenty of posts to come on how that miracle happened).

Two weeks later, I was diagnosed with a form of arthritis (Again, no need to worry, I'm going to be blogging a lot on that too). As I prayed and wrestled through what it would mean for me to now take on the very disease that debilitated my father and destroyed my family, I reached out to my friends and extended family to help get me through this new phase of a very prolonged, painful story. And as I shared with them about why I was so broken about being diagnosed, I also began revealing the truth behind my family's tragic story.

Then my pastor asked me to share my testimony at our church's new campus. I cried all of the way through it but so did a lot of folks listening.

Then I was asked to share at an all-church Christmas service.

Afterward, I was approached by a producer at 90.1 Moody Radio and asked to be a guest on This Is The Day, one of Moody's daytime programs. "This is happening way too fast," I said in shock to the friend standing next to me. "For years, God has told me that I would eventually tell my story, but this? Wow..."

Over the course of the next few weeks, my family struggled through what it would mean to actually publicly tell the story we've kept quiet for 28 years. Oh, but the conversations that ensued - and the continued healing that took place - it was all worth it. Even if the radio interview never came to fruition, the process of preparing for it revealed a kind of beauty and wonder none of us could have anticipated.

See, it was my mom and I who worried and fretted over who would hear the interview, what it would do to dad's reputation and the gossip that would spread. One week before the scheduled interview, I was minutes away from pulling the plug.

"Gretchen," dad began when I called him in tears. "Do you honestly think that this story will be a surprise to anyone from my past who hears it?"

"No, probably not."

"Neither do I. I think this will make sense to a lot of people who knew our family. Something was very obviously going on. Don't you think I've thought through who could possibly hear this interview? Do you think I would have told you to go ahead with it if I wasn't okay with it?"

(Sniffles and sighs)

"Gretchen," dad continued, "Your mother is worried about me, but I'M OKAY with it being told. It's a story that NEEDS to be told."

"But why, dad? Why are you okay with me telling it?" I choked out. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I don't want to put our family through any more pain."

"I'm okay, Gretchen, because I'm changing. I'm growing. I've realized my mistakes and there's been some healing. God has told you to tell this story and He's provided an opportunity. Go and tell it."

Then I really broke down. I can't remember the last time that my father comforted me. I can't recollect a time in 10 years when he calmed me down, when he supported me. Later, when I talked with my mom she told me that he had had the same affect on her.

"That's one of the main things that made me fall in love with your father. His ability to comfort people. I haven't seen that in him in a very long time."

Several days later, I got a call from my father.

"Gretchen, in one hour I need you to pray for me."

"Uh...okay. Why?"

"Because you and I have had a lot of time to process and heal. I've apologized to you for the ways that I've specifically hurt you. Your brother and I had time to talk when he was home for Christmas. But I haven't apologized to your mom - my wife - for all of the ways I've devastated her and let her down. I just finished writing a 3 page list of all of the things I need to apologize to her for. In one hour, she'll be home and I'm going to start with #1 and work my way through it."

I don't think I made even one comprehensible sound for the next minute.

We serve such a powerfully good God.

Several days later, I spoke on Moody Radio. Friends, family and Moody listeners around the world tuned in. Lives were touched and in the process, mine was changed.

Click here to listen to the interview.

Peeling Off the Dragon Scales

God literally drew me to a desert soon after (See The Desert Place). Except it wasn’t a desert so much as a tropical island in the middle of the South Pacific.

I spent a year living in Fiji, on a deserted island with no electricity, no roads in or out. And it was a glorious year of refocusing and relearning how to walk with God.

One day I was told by a missionary living on that island to pick up a big rock and carry it with me all day. At the end of the day he asked me if I had had any profound thoughts. And I responded by saying, “You know, in the beginning of the day it was a real nuisance – and so heavy! But now… now I barely notice that it’s there. It’s like it has become a part of me.” 

“Ah,” he said, “and so it is with all of the unnecessary burdens that we carry with us through life.”

Stupid wise man.

And so he made me think through what I was unnecessarily carrying. And when I was ready, I was to place my rock at the foot of a cross he had set up 10 feet away as a symbol of laying down my life burden.

I knew immediately that the burden God was calling me to lay down was the identity that I had formed from being the traumatized daughter of a very sick man (Daddy Disclaimer). I remember visibly shaking as I approached that cross and heard God whisper to my heart, “That is not your identity, dear Gretchen. Lay it down and pick up your true identity in me.” I should have thrown that rock down with all of my might and leaped for joy but instead I hesitated and hesitated, trembling at what it might mean. 

I don’t know how to be anything else, God, I thought. What am I supposed to do with the big gaping hole that will be left when I set down this burden?

In C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia series, there is a story told in the book, Voyage of the Dawn Treader about Eustace. Eustace accidentally turns into a dragon (I know, I know. Who DOES that?) and after many attempts to turn himself back into a boy, he encounters Aslan, a lion who resembles Jesus Christ. Aslan tells Eustice that he must tear the dragon scales off with his big lion claws. Eustace explains, “The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off… He peeled the beastly stuff right off… And there I was as smooth and soft as a peeled switch.”

In Fiji, terribly afraid and feeling like my skin was being peeled from my bones, I set down my identity as a victim, and took up my identity as whole, victorious, daughter of the King.

This is Me

So, I'm new to this blogging thing. Like, really new. And when my friend Bethany introduced me to the blog-o-sphere so that I could begin publicly recording what I hope to eventually publish in a book, I became slightly overwhelmed. Okay, so REALLY overwhelmed. I mean, there are people who actually, seriously write on these things. Every. Day.

I eventually rose above my overwhelm-edness and got to creating. But then I took a serious turn for the worse when I had to fill out the "This is Me" portion on my side column. Even though I paired it down to "I'm a writer, professional communicator and obsessive organizer who once was harassed by modern-day pirates in the South Pacific," my original version went something like this:

I'm a writer, professional communicator and obsessive organizer who once was harassed by modern-day pirates in the South Pacific. And can't stand still while brushing her teeth. And owns an original piece of art painted by a leper. And firmly believes singer/songwriter Sara Groves was sent to this earth just for her. And has accidentally swum with alligators and sharks. Many times. And believes her tears tell her about the condition of her soul. And loves people but sometimes imperfectly. And collects old books and leather trunks. And has seen God perform a miracle right in front of her. And loves to explore mountains and forests. And new countries. And life under the sea. And people's hearts. And knows that life has made her strong but God has made her tender. And longs to be known and loved in that knowing. Oh, and who will accept peanut butter and chocolate in any form.

Seriously?  How does anyone expect me explain who I am in 10 words? Impossible, I say!

Pearls of a Great Price

I have never put much stock in the meaning of my name. I could never find name cards in those convenient store racks, or gas station key chains that sported the eight letters that made me, me. In the rare moment when some little trinket did bear my name, I immediately bought it, thrilled that someone, somewhere, had heard the name “Gretchen” before.

Both of my parents were teachers and so had eye-twitching associations with most kid names that only those who attempt to teach twenty-eight squirmy and irritable children all day long can have. My parents tell me I’m named after a family acquaintance. But they always include the caveat that neither of them had a student named Gretchen and they simply liked the sound of it. Most people are proud of the meaning of their monikers and to some extent live up to them, as if names hold latent powers over their bearers.

I love learning the meaning of names:

Joshua – “God rescues” 

Abigail – “Joy of her father”

Bethany – “Daughter of the Lord”

But my name? Well, it always kind-of struck me as funny and shallow. “A pearl.” No meaning that invokes power. No name that speaks of God’s love, compassion, or even judgment. Just a small, imperfectly-rounded, not quite white ball. Awesome.

It wasn’t until I was 26 that I started awakening to the meaning of my name and began to see God’s hand in the eight letters that define me.  God had been working with me on Matthew 7: 6’s challenge – “Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and then turn and tear you to pieces.” I too quickly spill “pearls” to anyone who’ll listen, anyone who’ll make me feel valued by sitting across the table and hearing my story. But God has been quietly whispering to my heart to guard what is precious and unique, and to save my innermost thoughts and feelings for Him… and for those who’ll protect and hold gingerly what I give them.

When I starting getting to know a guy in February of 2008, I wanted to douse him with all of the nuances, quirks, heart-wrenching moments, mountain-top experiences and adventures that make up me. But the recent Matthew 7:6 lesson gave me the restraint I needed to prevent the smothering process. I later explained to him that the Lord was teaching me to hold on to my pearls and to reveal them only as I felt the release - and the trust - to do so. Soon, “pearl” became a common term for us when we began sharing more personal things, or when we weren’t ready to divulge something the other person was asking about. It wasn’t until a few months into using this coined term that I re-remembered the meaning of my name. I was a pearl. I was a pearl that the Lord didn’t want to share with just anyone. Only with someone special who wouldn’t trample me underfoot. A man who would hold the precious parts of me with all the tenderness of someone who knew my value and unique qualities.

I happened across Joni Eareckson Tada’s devotional, Pearls of Great Price one day, ironically while I was out looking for devotionals with the same guy. “I think this is the one,” he said and handed me the gold, pearlescent-looking book. The first page stopped me dead in my tracks. What I read touched me so deeply and threw me headlong into a journey to finally embrace my God-given name—and my God-given meaning.

Pearls of Great Price – Joni Eareckson Tada

Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls.

When he found one of great value,

he went away and sold everything he had and bought it.

Matthew 13:45-46

“Dad Tada explained how a pearl is produced. A tiny bit of sand lodges in the flesh of an oyster and becomes an irritating intrusion. Unable to expel it, the oyster covers the particle with layer after layer of milky secretion until the irritation has become smooth, round, and acceptable. It also, inadvertently, becomes a precious gem.

“Some jewels may be made from rocks and crystals; other jewels might be mined out of the earth, but not so pearls. Unlike other gems, pearls are drawn from something that’s alive. Pearls are produced by a life that has overcome affliction, that has overcome suffering. Little wonder they are so valuable!

“Jesus is the Pearl of Great Price. He is unlike any other. Our Savior is the precious gem set apart from the rest. He lives in such a way that he overcame suffering and affliction… Jesus overcame the working of death. He is superior because his love poured forth from a life wounded by pain. He has become our example. And he has bound us with other believers who value his priceless friendship.

“I have experienced more than a few irritants in my life… But God continues to give layer after layer of life-transforming grace; he has made each irritation smooth and acceptable. All because of his help and hope. What was once an intrusion – debilitating pain – has become a precious gem… It is worth everything – absolutely everything – to be his friend.”

Months later, as I was reading The Shack I came across this passage as Jesus speaks to Mack, a man who has faced seemingly insurmountable loss.

“Well Mack, our final destiny is not the picture of Heaven that you have stuck in your head – you know, the image of pearly gates and streets of gold. Instead, it’s a new cleansing of this universe, so it will indeed look a lot like here.”

“Then what’s with the pearly gates and gold stuff?”

“That stuff, my brother,” Jesus began, lying back on the dock and closing his eyes against the warmth and brightness of the day, “Is the picture of me and the woman I’m in love with.”

Mack looked at him to see if he was joking, but it was obvious he wasn’t.

“It is a picture of my bride, the Church: individuals who together form a spiritual city with a living river flowing through the middle, and on both shores trees growing with fruit that will heal the hurt and sorrows of the nations. And this city is always open, and each gate into it is made of a single pearl…” He opened one eye and looked at Mack. “That would be me!” He saw Mack’s question and explained, “Pearls, Mack. The only precious stone made by pain, suffering and – finally – death.”

Starting day one of life, it seems as if I was meant to experience suffering and affliction in a deeper way than most of my friends. It feels that way to me at least. For years I asked “why?” as I looked around at friends who’s lives had been handed to them on silver platters. I so clearly remember my junior high youth pastor’s wife telling me, after I had revealed yet another painful trial I was experiencing, “The Lord must be preparing you for something huge in your life.” I lived in fear of what that might mean until the Lord released me from it ten years later in the jungles of Fiji. It was quite the journey – one that I’m still on, I might add – to realize how much the Lord must love me to allow me to go through such sorrow, bringing me closer to Him. As I continue to learn about pearls – my precious namesake – I more eagerly embrace my moniker, my value, my story.