Splashes of Hell

My heart thumps as I listen to her story.

Having had no outlet for her gritty words, they jumble together all at once.

She’s my divine appointment, someone God led me to minister to.

Her journey is like flipping through sheets of an old novel, tattered pages from the wear, compromised binding from the broken.

She’s frail and doesn’t parent perfectly. But I too am a needy mama who doesn’t parent perfectly. She is on and off drugs, but doesn’t want me to judge. Who am I to throw the first stone?

She’s lambasted by family, shunned from society ~ a society who rejects the least of these. Tears drip as memories roll across the screen of her mind. She hesitates in an attempt to hold away the floodgates. She’s tough but even more loving. “How are you today?” she’ll ask.

I think she needs Christ to lift the gauzy veil between the past, the now, and the still to come. She needs to feel the radical weight of smeared blood on splintered wood with words carved in red ink, “I love you.”

She thinks the parking lot we sit in, is the pit of hell. I tell her, even though God gives us tiny tastes of hell on earth, they’re merely splashes compared to the real thing. I think God gives us glimpses of hell so we might be awakened out of our spiritual slumber. Like an icy cold reality in our face. One that seemingly wakes us from the fleshly fire we find ourselves burning in.

But how?

How do I effectively share the Gospel to this woman sitting in my car asking, “Why?”

Effective or not, I do it anyway.

I share Jesus with child-like vocabulary.

I continue, slightly fumbling.

God gives himself, not a bunch of answers.

He is the answer.

He doesn’t give a bunch of words.

He is the Word, the Word made flesh,

nails gouged,

spat upon,

beaten bloody,

hatred hammering.

These aren’t just facts about Christ. This crucified love isn’t abstract or detached. The good news is up close, personal, and poured out like wine as strong as fire.

We hold hands and pray together in the middle of hell-fire parking lot downtown. I thank God for being good not because he explains reasons why, but because he explained himself on Calvary. The spotless Son of God, who in the span of nine hours, bore the sin of billions and made it over-the-top personal for us.

With a squeeze of the hand, “Amen,” we both whisper.

I drive away heavy.

But suddenly,

I find myself thanking God for my own splashes of hell. A drenching of what life would be like without him. I smile as reality shines. The pulses of pain that skip across the surface of my soul make me the perfect (or imperfect) instrument for His use… should He choose to use me.

I pray He always will.


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3 Responses

WOW! Simply….wow!
Thank you for this and for your willingness to be used of God when he put you in the position to offer strength and a listening ear for someone who so desperately needed it. “I find myself thanking God for my own splashes of hell. A drenching of what life would be like without him.” This is really what’s it’s all about, isn’t it? We need that constant reminder of WHAT we could be and WHERE we could be without a relationship with our Jesus.
Thank you, Kelli. Love you!
Debbie Dillon recently posted..Love, MomMy Profile

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Girl, this is Pow.Er.Ful. You need to expand this into a magazine article on a lifestyle of evangelism. Just sayin’!
Shannon Milholland recently posted..Random? Acts of KindnessMy Profile

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You are an awesome witness of His great love being poured out onto this needy world… love the way He uses you. Beautifully written. Love you…

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