There have been several news stories in the past few months of well known Christian leaders whose lives didn’t measure up to their teaching. In the past, some of these people had been referred to as “heroes of the faith” and it is always a hard lesson when our heroes turn out to be fallible and undeserving of our acclaim. This sort of person always makes me think of pointillism, when you are far away there’s a grand and beautiful scene but when you get close up it is a chaotic mess of unconnected dots. I have met many pointillistic people in my lifetime, to the place where I am wary of people who seem too “put together”. If everyone is raving about someone I will be found sitting back and quietly observing to see if there is substance to the painting or if it is just a smattering of colored dots masquerading as a completed work. The news about the failings of these well-known examples of pointillism made me ask myself the question “who are my heroes?” I began to think about the people who inspire me and push me to grow in my life and especially in my faith. Of course, there are many heroes to be found in the Bible and I draw inspiration from their lives, as their stories have shaped me (I’m especially fond of Deborah for some inexplicable reason…teehee) but the heroes that came to mind are of a slightly different sort. They are no less impressive than great biblical characters and their stories are just as formative to my life. In fact, I think if we lived in a different time, these heroic tales would be the ones told around tables and fires along with the stories of Esther, Daniel, Ruth, Nehemiah, and Paul. I haven’t told my heroes that I’m writing about them so I’m going to be rather generic but these heroes have names like Jen, Ben, Kerry, Tim, Brooke, Angie, Rick. They aren’t names that would be recognized by the world but they are precious names that I speak with honor and admiration. My heroes haven’t performed great miracles or achieved heights of fame or fortune. What makes them heroic is that they are faithful! My heroes are people who have walked roads of trial and victory with steadfast, hard-won obedience to God. To me, these people are like the Chagall painting above. There are masses of color and shapes (am I the only one who sees Pacman in the top right corner) that don’t seem to fit together well but when you step back you see a life-changing image. There’s something about this type of painting that makes the scene more poignant because of the over-the-top use of color and unnatural shapes. My heroes are riotous messes who have opened their lives so that you can see the beauty of how all the colors have come together into a glorious whole.

One of my heroes left home as a teen and traveled to a distant continent never anticipating that home would never be home again. This hero became someone with great compassion for the wanderer, foreigner, and displaced, offering hospitality beyond measure and loving fiercely those who, like her, needed a mother close at hand. Another hero battles anxiety but refuses to let that stop them from living a life of service and care. This hero is a “behind-the-scenes” marvel who gives without expectation of return and is always on the lookout for more opportunities to serve. I have several heroes who have willingly turned their lives upside down to adopt or foster children who needed loving homes. These heroes have battled unexpected monsters of every variety to give a family to beautiful souls with no one to call their own. I have a hero who found herself widowed when her life was just getting started and has become a source of healing to others suffering loss and a mentor to young women who are trying to find their footing in life. I have a few heroes who lost beloved children before they ever had a chance to take their first breath outside the womb and these heroes have turned their pain into places of healing for others who have walked that path. They have become voices for the unborn and shelters for the wounded childless. I have heroes who have shepherded small churches in towns so tiny you didn’t know you’d been there until you’d left. These faithful servants don’t care if you know their name, they care if their flock is healthy. These heroes have worked multiple jobs because the congregation couldn’t pay them a salary. They have lived in falling-down houses that they have made into welcoming homes because the people they served were more important than the place they lived in. I have heroes who have opened their lives and shared stories of tragic choices they made before coming to Christ. Instead of hiding these stories, like private shame, they have allowed God to use their past pain to lay the groundwork for someone else’s healing. I have a hero who prayed and waited years and years for a child only to face the fight of their life when the cherished long-awaited child was struck by a horrific immune disorder. This weary hero has become a warrior unlike anyone else I’ve ever met, who fights for their child and others who are fighting a faceless monster trying to steal their childhood. I have heroes who have painfully walked away from abusive marriages, heroes who have raised their children alone to preserve those children from greater pain. I have heroes who have fought to rescue marriages on the brink of collapse and have become beautiful images of the restoration power of God. I have heroes who have watched their spouses walk away from a life of faith yet they have continued to live a life devoted to Jesus believing that their faithfulness will bear the fruit of restoration. I have heroes who have been beaten and misused by churches more akin to cults than the body of Christ who have allowed God to heal their hearts and are now paving the way for others to be restored from toxic leadership. I have heroes who wake up every morning and go to bed every night in chronic pain from which there is no relief. These heroes refuse to give up on a meaningful life and they pursue purpose with great intention because they know how much it costs. I could go on and on about my heroes because there are so many of them but I am crying buckets as I think about these precious people and should probably wrap this up before I turn into a pillar of salt.

Truthfully, part of what is so spectacular about these messy images of color and shape that I call my heroes is the fact that if they knew I was talking about them they would humbly refuse the title of hero. These remarkably ordinary people whose lives have such incredible impact would be quick to point out how often they fall and how desperately they cling to the grace of God. That’s one of their super-powers! These heroes, whose names will most likely never make the news, have changed the world one life at a time. They have allowed their failures and wounds, their tragedies and mistakes to become the very instruments that God uses to heal, inspire, restore and renew. They have given God the glory for their victories, never taking credit for themselves. These are the people who I aspire to resemble. Diana, Bev, Josh, Jeanne, Sarah, Andrew, Faythe…ordinary names that belong to extraordinary people. They are daily reminders to me of a God who can take our frailty and make something everlasting. They are living examples of a God who replaces the ashes of our circumstances with beauty, who gives us something praiseworthy in the place of despair. It is in the plodding on, slump-shouldered, gritting their teeth, determined-yet-not-defeated, trusting-what-I-cannot-see faith of these heroes that I see the mysteries of the love of God a little more clearly. They are my heroes; my beautiful, vibrantly colored, disastrously messy, absolutely breathtaking heroes.

A little P.S. I actually love pointillism as an artistic style (just not as a people group).