The Hardest Part, Or "How to Talk With Your Friends About Their Trip Overseas"

When I land in the US in 5 or so days, one of the hardest parts of my trip is just beginning: re-adjusting. I struggle exponentially more with reverse culture-shock than with actually adjusting to a new culture.  [Not everyone is that way, but more people than you might think have a hard time re-adjusting to being back in their home culture.]  It's not because I hate America (I don't, I love America!), it's not because I feel like I don't have friends in America (I have missed my friends desperately while I've been here!), it's not even that I feel like I identify more with Russian culture (there are some things here that make me absolutely crazy).  I'm not even sure I could tell you why I struggle so much with it, I just know that I do. 

I also know that there are a lot of people who don't understand that.  Some people haven't spent a lot of time abroad, or they have and they haven't ever experienced this.  Some people struggle a lot the other way - they have a much harder time with culture shock, and much less so when they return home.  Some people think differently.  Some people are able to separate what they did with their life at home.  Some people aren't as emotional, or maybe just deal with it better.  I'm sure there are more reasons.

However, if I may, I'd like to add my voice to the cacophony about working abroad, and coming home.  In no particular order, here are a few ways you can love us well when we come back:

1.  Don't ask vague questions.  Asking "how was [insert country/city of choice]?" is possibly the most overwhelming question you can think of in the days and weeks following our return.  

I know that it's kind of a reflexive part of a greeting in America.  But it's ridiculous.  Instead, asking questions like "so tell me about two or three of your favorite moments", or "what was your favorite thing about the culture?", or "what was an average day/week like for you?" gives us something concrete to start with.  Trust me, we'll probably have plenty to talk about from just that one question. 

2.  Keep asking us.  For weeks, keep asking.  Processing sometimes doesn't even start until we get home, and it definitely doesn't stop when we get home, so we will be working through this experience for weeks/months.  When I have to compartmentalize the last 6 months (or 1 week) of my life and pretend that it didn't happen, or isn't relevant today, I'm ignoring a huge part of what is going on in my life NOW.  Even though I'm home physically, my heart and mind are still split between two places, processing that experience.  So keep asking.

3.  When you ask, be ready to listen.  If you're not ready to listen, don't ask.  [You can also say something to the effect of, "I'd love to hear about your trip, can we get together later and talk about it?".]  Not everyone is a verbal processor, but for those of us who are, just letting us talk (sometimes for 30 or 45 minutes without stopping) is the best thing you can do for us.  Ask follow up questions.  And then just listen.  And then ask more.

4.  When you ask (sometimes, even if you don't ask), be ready for some tears.  (Yes, this applies equally to men and women).  Going to other countries for Work is hard.  Especially if we did it alone, but even with a partner or team.  Coming back is hard.  Usually, no matter how wonderful or perfect the trip was, we are hurting for some reason or another when we get back.  This is a good thing - it means that God is molding us.  Don't assume that when we cry, the trip was bad.  But be willing to sit with us when we do.  And to hear the hard answers to your questions, because no trip is ever perfect, and there's always more to be done.  

5.  When you ask, be ready to hear "I don't want to talk about that right now".  Sometimes, especially in the day or two after we return, and you're the 18th person we've seen, we just don't have the energy to answer you.  Especially if the 17 people before you asked the daunting "how was _____?" question.  Don't let that deter you - ask us again later!  If you get that answer, show us grace.  Give us a hug and move on.  We know you want to hear, and we want to answer you well.  Processing (no matter how you do it) is hard and takes a lot of energy.  If you do get that answer, sometimes you talking about YOUR life for 30 or 45 minutes can be the best way to serve us. 

6.  Lean on us.  We're probably going to be doing a lot of leaning on you in the weeks after we get back (for both practical and spiritual reasons).  Don't forget to lean on us, too.   When we get back, often we feel like we've missed out on life - everyone carried on without us.  We missed events, jokes, moments, meeting new people...  Making us feel useful, needed, missed, loved, and included goes a long way toward restoring our place in the community.   Don't stroke our ego, but don't think that just because we're in the throes of re-adjusting means that you can't cry with us because of something YOU'RE going through.  Solid, two-way relationships are essential. 

These aren't hard-and-fast rules that apply to everyone and every situation.  Use discernment.  But, remember that sometimes coming "home" feels more foreign than leaving.  In light of that, your love and support is absolutely invaluable - if all else fails, go for hugs and the Gospel. 

How I am learning to emulate Indiana Jones

Or, Why you should read the Bible BEFORE praying for something.  

I have a story to tell you:  I was praying the other night, reflecting on my time here (which as been both challenging and awesome), and I had an interesting experience.  It was one of those oh-crap-what-did-I-just-ask-for moments.  Allow me to recount for you:

...Lord, help me to persevere, and to be faithful to what is in front of me now.  Give me the strength to be bold and the sensitivity to listen to the Spirit.  Lord, give me endurance.  Yea, endurance, that's it.  Give me the endurance to work here well, with discipline and with joy.  

And then I thought, Endurance.  I think the Bible has something to say about that...

And I was thinking something along the lines of the verse where Jesus says "Well done, good and faithful servant".  Thinking yea, I'll meditate on that all week, and it will totally motivate me to endure, to push through and to be motivated.  Because Jesus is awesome and I love him. 

So I took my Bible, and I opened to the back where there's a mini-concordance.  And I thought, oh, good, this will be encouraging and I will memorize these verses.  This is going to be great!  I love it when God uses the Bible to speak encouragement to me, when I have those verses that seem like they're so full of joy and sweetness that they just can't be wrung dry, and when I am overflowing in the goodness of God!  God is such a good encourager, and I love it when he answers prayers!  Yippee!

I promise, it wasn't as plastic as it sounds now.  It actually was really organic and genuine.  So I wrote down the 4 or 5 citations from the back of my Bible, and I went to go look the first one up and write it out in my journal.  [I was entirely unprepared for the smack-down that was coming my way.]  It was Hebrews 10.

"But recall those earlier days when, after you had been enlightened, you endured a hard struggle with sufferings... knowing that you yourselves possessed something better and more lasting. Do not, therefore, abandon that confidence of yours; it brings a great reward. For you need endurance, so that when you have done the will of God, you may receive what was promised." (Hebrews 10: 32-36)

Hm.  Well, ok, that's not quite what I was hoping for.  But ok.  I guess that's true.  We will receive the promised inheritance... I can dig that.  Hope in heaven produces endurance.  Ok, got it.  Next verse, Romans 5: 

"...we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope,  and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.  For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly." (Romans 5: 3-6)

Ok wait a second.  Boasting in suffering?  This is not the direction I was hoping this would go... Suffering produces endurance.  Ok, I'm kind of suffering.  So I'm kind of building endurance.  I think.  Apparently endurance is tied to overcoming difficulty? Ok, well, let's check out the next verse, maybe that will be more helpful. James 1:

"My brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of any kind, consider it nothing but joy, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance; and let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking in nothing." (James 1:2-4)

Well crap.  It was at this point I closed my Bible and stopped looking up the verses.  This is not the connection I was hoping for.  Endurance and suffering are directly connected, apparently.  That sucks.  I think I'd like to retract my previous prayer.  I don't want suffering.  [At this point, I did not have any awesome Indiana Jones moments, like a cool leather-bound notebook telling me what to do via ancient hieroglyph and myth, which is sad.  I also did not have the adrenaline associated with the actual possibility of me literally falling to my death, which I'm thankful for.]

In retrospect, I'm not exactly sure what I thought I would find instead of this delightful epiphany,  because any athlete knows that endurance comes from working through the weakness, the soreness, and the pain of extending yourself to (and then beyond) your limit.  But it's definitely not what I was looking for when I opened my Bible that night.

After a few days of reflection on this, I found myself re-reading the first prayer in my journal, the one that I prayed while sitting in an airport cafe on my way to this city.  On June 30th, I explicitly asked for limitations, for difficulties, and for hardship for a two-fold purpose; one, to drive me to God's feet in prayer, humility, and adoration, and two, that God's name might make his own name known, and not mine.  [I am 100% positive that I simultaneously did not know what I was praying for when I asked that, and I believed I did know]. 




I've already been stretched to the limits of my comfort in the last 3 months here.  I've reached the end of myself, and I now have to make a decision to jump into the abyss, knowing that God is sufficient, sovereign, and good, or I have to shy away in fear.   I cannot walk the edge of the canyon.  There is no middle ground, no grey area or loophole where God can be great and I can be comfortable.   I do not fancy myself a fearful or timid person, and (ridiculously enough, partly because of my pride), I steadfastly refuse to turn away.  But for the last few days I have also steadfastly refused to move forward, to step out over that canyon like Indiana Jones (yes, I just Jesus juked Indiana Jones, and yes, I know the analogy breaks down), knowing that I will not be comfortable, but that it will be good.


When it comes down to it and I have to choose, I would rather regularly be at the end of myself and uncomfortable than be comfortable and not know my God.  So my new prayer is that I would learn to love it here, at the end of myself.  I don't just want to camp at the edge of this cliff.  I want to homestead the land here.  I want to dwell here for the rest of my life.  I want to be the vessel through which God does mighty and wonderful things - not because I am spectacular, but simply because I have positioned myself here and refused to move.  I want to love God more than I love my comfort.

So bring it on, invisible-bridge-across-the-abyss-that-may-or-may-not-be-there.  And even if you aren't there, my God is still good.  I will choose to "[know] that you yourselves possessed something better and more lasting", that "hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts".   I'm enduring beyond the edge of my own strength - because God's is enough.  So bring it on.  I'm coming for you, sans hat and lasso (because I'm not quite that cool). 

Where Prayer and Joy Meet, And the Baffling Place that Leaves Me

I watched a man place his faith in Jesus Christ today.

Ok, I didn't actually watch it happen.  But 6 weeks ago, when my plane landed in a foreign country and I while I began to explore a new realm of food and culture, he was not a Christian.  4 weeks ago, when I first met him, he did not believe that Jesus Christ had given him eternal life through His resurrection.  2 weeks ago, he had not laid down his life at the foot of the cross, counting the cost as rubbish for the sake of Jesus.  But today, today we walked along the cobblestone street, admiring the street performers and the blue sky, I was blessed to hear him tell his story: one of how he had decided that Jesus was the Truth, and that He was worth everything.  I cannot begin to describe to you my elation at this moment.

But my elation was not because I had anything to do with his decision.  I, in fact, had absolutely nothing to do with this decision.

It was just blessing lavished upon blessing.

******************************

Sometime in October of last year, I first heard of this young man, Dmitry*.  In email correspondence with a friend living overseas, I was given the opportunity to pray for him as he actively sought truth and light in a dark world.  And so I scribbled his name in the back of my Bible, where I keep a list of others around the world whom I regularly dedicate myself to praying for.  And I started praying.  Some weeks I labored over him every day.  Some weeks I only lifted up a quick prayer while walking down the street.  But every day, I would pick up that Bible and look at that list, and there was his name, staring back at me.   Some days, my fickle heart didn't believe that my praying would do anything.  That I would pray and pray and pray and never see results.   Some days I didn't want to pray.  I selfishly thought that my own problems, my own burdens ought to displace Dmitry's need for a loving savior.  And so, some days, I neglected him.

But his name was always on my list, so I continued to come back to him.  And as the email correspondence between this friend and I picked up, and as I began to hear more and more of his life here, Dmitry kept coming up.

Pray for him, he'd say.  He's growing.  He's getting closer.  

So back to my knees I would go.  Back to petitioning God that he would soften his heart, lift the veil, whatever metaphor or scripture I could find, I'd pray it.  Sometimes it was rote - the same prayer I'd said for the last 12 people on my list.  Sometimes it was genuine, gut-wrenching, searing, sobbing prayer.  The more I prayed, the more it became genuine.  I began to feel that, despite the fact that I couldn't pick him out of a line-up of 2, I was getting to know Dmitry.

Prayer unites people in mysterious ways.  There's a kind of compassion you develop for someone when you truly labor over them in this way.  It's unlike any other kind of servanthood you can conceive. Pouring out your soul at the foot of the throne of God, begging God to do something does not create a negligible bond.

So today, when Dmitry said to me that he had chosen Christ, it wasn't because I had prayed.  Rather, because of these last 10 months of prayer - praying through tears and apathy and love and compassion - God has amplified my joy a hundred fold in rejoicing with a new brother.

God used my [insufficient and altogether lacking] petitions to the Holy Father, by the indwelling of his Spirit, which he gave to me by the death and resurrection of Christ, to amplify my joy at something which he did not even have to include me in, and which he was going to accomplish with or without me.

Seriously?  So basically, God did everything.  The Father sent the Son, even though the world was mightily screwed up.  Who then lived perfectly, willingly suffered and died on the cross, and then proceeded to be raised from the dead.  In order to give me [me!?!] His presence in my life all the time, in the Spirit.  Who then enables me to pray, to the glory of Christ.  In order that the Father might answer my prayers to His glory.  All of which, in turn gives me more joy than my soul can possibly contain.

This is too good to be true.  Seeing the fruit of the Gospel manifested in someone else's life is such sweet balm to my parched and weary soul, which so desperately aches for the promises of Heaven.  God did not have to let me see this fruit.  He graciously chose to anyways.  He did not have to save me.  He graciously did anyways.  He did not have to enable this trip to be a possibility.  He graciously did anyways.  He did not have to give me an opportunity to get to know Dmitry.  He graciously did anyways.

All so that, standing in the middle of a cobblestone street in a foreign land, on this random August day, God could show me how he has used and woven and molded my prayers for nothing less than my eternal happiness and unity with a brother.  Who knew when I got that email 10 months ago asking for prayer, that I would be the one left speechless and overwhelmed with joy and sweet, abiding love for my God?



*Name changed for security.  

Carmen Sandiego, and a Brief Update

I told people I wasn't going to use Facebook or Blogger while I was here.  I lied.  There is too much to write about, too much to be said, and too many awesome moments not to share.  (And yes, I will explain my extended hiatus from the written world in a later, soul-baring post.  Fret not.)

To back up: I feel as if my life might be a remake of the game "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?" (Does that game reference make me old?  It makes me feel old...).  I have some friends whom I accidentally neglected to tell about my little journey halfway across the world.  Not that it surprised them in the least, anyone who knows me knows that I am a wanderer - something which has only been confirmed the longer I live and the more places I see.  I can't help it, it's who God has made me to be -  it's the only thing I know.

There are people like my grandfather (whom I love very dearly):  He is the kind of man who is perfectly happy to stay in one place for his whole life.  He was born and raised in the midwest.  He never lived further than one state away from where he was born.  He's not much for traveling.  Don't get me wrong, he doesn't live in a cave or under a rock.  He'd just rather read about, see pictures of, or hear from other people who have been to other places, and not have to go himself.  I have a lot to learn from my grandfather about contentedness and perseverance.

Then there are people like my parents (whom I also love dearly):  They like to travel.  Recreationally.  To fun and beautiful places.  Our family vacations involved road trips, airplane rides, train rides... all sorts of transportation to all sorts of places.  (Well, mostly places we could camp and be outside, but that's what you get when Colorado hippies take family vacations. Who ever liked vacations inside anyways?)  They enjoy it for what it is: a brief experience into a new place and (perhaps) a new culture, for a short time.  Then they return home and get on with life.  I have a lot to learn from my parents about stability and practicality.

And then there are people like me:  People who travel to infuse their blood with life and vigor.  People whose passport is in their top five list of most valuable possessions.  My fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants and throw-caution-to-the-wind attitude is distinctly tied to the wandering, nomadic part of my soul.  I desire to (figuratively) get my hands on as much people, place, culture, and experience as I can possibly have in this short life.  And so I am here.  Halfway across the world (well, technically I'm exactly 1/3 of the way around, if you go by time zones), reflecting on who I am and what on earth brought me here.

As I sit on a couch that does not belong to me, in a country where I do not speak the language, having had experiences I did not expect, challenges I did not foresee, and blessings I could never have imagined, with another month of living in this place, I cannot help but feel oddly at home in the chaos of this rhythm.

Plan (optional).  ;)
Pack.
Stamp the passport.
Wonder at a new place.
Gospel.
Laugh.
Be absolutely, utterly alive.
Learn.
Praise the God of the Universe.
Repack.
Breathe.
Have airport adventures.
Pray.
Hear "Welcome Home" from the US Customs agent.
Smile.
Cry.
Pray.
Breathe.
Unpack.
Cry.
Open a new tab on my web browser for the Kayak Explore Website.
Plan (optional).
Repeat.

It's a lifestyle that seems to make some people uncomfortable.  I can understand that.  There are things I sacrifice to live the way I do.  But it's the most honest reflection of who God has created me to be, of the gifts and passions he has given me. This, I think, is going to be my life for the foreseeable future.  With that, I'll tell you I'm somewhere in the middle of the wondering/laughing/praising/learning phase.  And I'll leave you with this small anecdote:

Today, I went to a local gathering of believers, where we sang songs of praise and adoration to our God.  In a room of less than 100 people, there were songs being sung in at least 4 languages, with at least 6 (and almost surely more) people groups represented.   What a tangible representation of the God who is working in the world, and what a marvelous taste of the splendors of heaven!  

A Future, Freedom, and Favor

This is day 2 of guest posts from Whitney.  If you want to read the first one, click here.  

God teaches us in so many ways, and for me, much of that has been through the experience of being single. In the moments that I’ve taken the time to think a little longer and dig a little deeper into why I long for another person to share my life with, God has revealed my needs and the amazing ways in which He satisfies them. In the times I have felt vulnerable and fearful, unwanted, and trapped by my own emotions, the Lord reminds me that He has secured my future. He has chosen me and demonstrated unwarranted favor; and in Him, I have the freedom to love and be loved the way my heart aches to.

This summer I was planning to move in with my two dear friends, who I am thankful to now call my roommates. As we were apartment searching we found ourselves running up against several obstacles. A variety of factors threatened our options to find a place to live and the pressure of one expiring lease yet to be replaced increased as the weeks went on. By the grace of God, this experience strengthened our faith, but not without moments of fear on my part. I knew that God would provide, and I don’t  think that I truly feared a lack of physical provision. What I did fear was aloneness in these circumstances. My would-be roommates were amazing during the process, and I had support from family, friends, and my church, but I felt that my future was untied to anyone. I didn’t doubt that people cared, but couldn’t shake the feeling that if I went down, I was going down alone. Financial struggles and insecurity were not new experiences for me, but for the first time, I felt that I was fighting them alone. Far away from family, and financially untied to any another person, my future felt uncertain in a much scarier way than I had yet experienced. When the weight of this hit me, my first thought was “if only I had someone…”.

Then I actually stopped to think, if only I had someone…then what?

Here God reminded me of His presence and power in the world and my life. Would my future be any more secure than it is now? Would a husband be a better provider than the creator and sustainer of the universe? When the almighty God beckons me to bring all things to Him in prayer and supplication, what more would I ask of someone else? The Lord knows my every need and provides for me (Matthew 6). What’s more amazing, my life and my future are hidden, secure, with Jesus Christ (Colossians 3:3). More than physical provision (for which I am thankful to God) my future is united with Christ’s. When I wonder if I’ll have a husband or family of my own and am tempted to be anxious, I’m reminded that Christ is my life, that I am united to brothers and sisters in Christ, and that as His bride, I have a hope and a future.

While the apartment search and its accompanying fears only lasted a few weeks, I’ve struggled off and on for years with another kind of loneliness. If I’m honest, this is too often wrapped up in vanity and pride. My desire for someone to want me, and to choose me, betrays a self-centeredness that does not honor the Lord. However, I don’t think that there is always sin in acknowledging the sting that comes with rejection, or hurting when feeling alone. In fact, when I find myself wondering why someone may not have chosen me, or why I am still single, it’s all the more amazing to consider that God did choose me. All the faults I try to hide, God sees in ugly detail. All the failings I try to compensate for, God already knows, in addition to the ones that are still coming. And yet He still chose me! Christ suffered rejection and affliction because I was beloved. Amazing.

There may be plenty of reasons I am single, but not being loved isn’t one of them. Looking at this truth in the face of my singleness has lead me trust and rest in the Lord. I have to wonder if I would know that peace and feel the depth of His love the way that I have if I hadn’t also felt rejected from men.

Finally, I have to say one of the most joyous aspects of all of this that the Lord has shown me lately has been the freedom I have in Him. There is so much to say about the freedom we have in Christ, but right now I am talking about the freedom we have to love and express love.

I have learned some hard lessons about misplaced love and affection. Whether I have set my sights on an imprudent match, or have let my thoughts and feelings run away too quickly with a good man in the picture, I know that whatever pain that may naturally come with loneliness is much worse when I run away with my own plans rather than waiting on the Lord. But knowing that doesn’t make it much easier to stay cool and collected when there is a romantic interest in view. Something inside me can’t help but to make plans, or consider all of his good qualities, and to hope that my feelings will be reciprocated. For me, the excitement of a new friendship can also come with the fear that I will be unguarded and foolish with my emotions. So what to do with my giddiness and my affections? Who should be center of my daydreams and hopes for the future?

It’s so obvious, and yet, it floored me in a whole new way. I thought I understood what it meant to love the Lord with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength. I did, in some ways; but the sweetness of pouring all of my affections and hopes into the One worthy of everything that I am had been lost on me before. The beauty and true joy of being able to express all of my love to the Lord, unabashedly, without abandon, and not fearing His rejection has captivated my heart all over again. I am free to literally sing love songs to the Lord without fearing a broken heart. Not only am I free to do this, this is my calling, what my entire life for eternity is all about: loving the Lord with every ounce of my being. I don’t have to stop myself short and scold myself for running away with thoughts about God. In fact, I sin when I do not put all of my hopes in Him and when I do not remember His goodness and beauty each day. Isn’t incredible to think that one of my greatest desires is the most important commandment? To love. Sadly, in my life, that love is too often corrupted and misplaced. But what freedom! My desire to love deeply and fully is not to be quelled, but to be stoked into a deep and abiding love for my God.

Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!

Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!

Psalm 34:8

What can I say? I have tasted and seen. I have tasted the bitterness of my fears and failings in loneliness, making all the more sweet the Lord’s goodness in His love.

More Than Lonely

This is a beautiful and much appreciated guest post from my dear friend and roomate, Whitney. She is much more mature, articulate, and thoughtful than I, and I am proud and honored to share her thoughts with you. She will be doing a post every day through Thursday, in a series for Valentine's Day.

As Valentine’s Day approaches, I expect I’ll feel a range of emotions. As a Christian who is a woman, and single, it’s not always clear to me how I “should” feel on Valentine’s Day, or on other days when I fear that my relationship status is what defines me. Some trains of thought, emotions, and reactions to those emotions clearly do not honor the Lord, and in those I continue to be convicted and by the grace of God, brought to repentance. But if we understand marriage and romantic love as good, God-given gifts that demonstrate the Gospel and bring joy to God’s children, then dismissing or condemning my desire for these things does not seem to honor the Lord either.

We know that when good things, like marriage, become ultimate things in our lives, this is idolatry and sin. Over the past two years, I’ve learned a lot about the place my desires should not have in my life. I’ve learned that when I define my value in the currency of attention and praises of man, there is a serious problem. I’ve learned that when I use my circumstances to judge the character of God, I sin grievously. There are many other ways in which God has shown me the sin in my desires and emotions, and for that I am so thankful. And yet, God has also used my hopes for marriage to reveal beautiful truths about Himself more deeply in my heart. Over the last six months or so, my heart has soaked up knowledge and beliefs about the Lord and these have grown into deeper affections and emotional longings for Him in ways I had not yet experienced.

As certain events triggered pangs of loneliness, God prompted me to dig a little deeper and examine my longing more closely. In the past, feeling lonely was painful, but seemed to be a simple desire that could be satisfied by a simple change in circumstance. I could only feel what was lacking on the surface, and therefore only sought a surface level solution. The problem and the fix both seemed so simple, which made it that much harder to understand why God wouldn’t just “make it happen”.

But my loneliness isn’t a simple, one-dimensional emotion. At times it comes out of insecurity and a fear that I won’t be provided for. At others, it springs up out of a desire to be deeply known by someone and loved in spite of that. As God peeled back the layers of my own heart and hopes, he showed me what I was really searching for, and made it all the more clear Who will satisfy me.  By identifying the specific desires of my heart, God’s attributes and promises became all the more soothing and satisfying to me. “Lonely” sought a person, or the idea of person, while “insecure”, “afraid”, “wanting to be known” sought far more than even a good man could ultimately satisfy.

Even though I am single, I still enjoy Valentine’s Day, and love to celebrate the love that God has showered upon me through others and in my union with Christ. So this year, I want to celebrate God in His goodness and love by sharing the specific ways He has proved Himself (yet again) to be all sufficient, and all satisfying. In considering the ways the Lord provides for us, knows and loves us, gives us hope for a future, and unites us to a family, I hope to share just a few of the ways He is glorious and good to His children. I will share some of these thoughts over the next couple of days, and celebrate Valentine’s Day by considering our amazing Lord who loves far better than we can imagine.

When I first considered writing this, I was excited to share what God has taught me; but in the following days I was confronted again with my spiritual weakness, and began to question whether I had any business talking about honoring God in singleness. Even as I write today, I am all too aware of my failings in self-pity and joylessness. If these posts were meant to tell others how to do it right, they would be a fool’s errand. But if I wait until I “arrive” and live perfectly to proclaim the glories of God, I will waste my life. I am weak and foolish, but God is kind to teach and to lead. So, even as I confess my own sin, I will gladly share God’s grace in my life. For today, I will end with this amazing truth:

For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39

Remembering Haiti

So I saw a woman yesterday.  She was on the metro escalator.  I was in a rush, and I almost missed her in that dingy cement hole, the one that sends reverberating conversation up and down until it becomes indistinguishable from the rush of wind or the roar of the train.  I had to look down, to make sure my racing feet didn't stumble over the awkward metro escalators, or someone's bag, or more likely, my own shoes.  But I did a double take for her.

Her floral dress was simple - old lady-ish, if I may say.  It looked almost like it was taken right out of my grandmother's closet in the 60's.  A tad dirty.  Her hair, short, was greying.  She was carrying a large bag, one that seemed cumbersome and heavy, difficult to get onto the 'up' escalator.  Her body, beleaguered with age, moved at a pace that stands out in this city, and in a way that seemed stiff - as if her whole body were groaning for some rest, and perhaps some new cartilage in her joints, too.   But there was something else - her face.  Her face, it reminded me of someone.

And that was when it went from a double-take to a triple-take, to an awkward half-gaping stare across the metro escalators.  From only about halfway down the escalator, I watched her travel up on the other side until the end of my down escalator forced me off, and my attention forward.

She looked like Justine.  Justine from Haiti.  From a world and a half away, this woman could have been her twin sister - even moving and dressing like her.  And my worlds felt like they were colliding, and then crumbling.

I have done a terrible job of being a friend to Haiti.  From my comfortable bed, and my air-conditioned apartment, and my desk piled high with textbooks and essay outlines, forgetting became the simplest solution.  If I don't think about it, I don't have to pray for them.  I don't have to love them.  I don't have to be a steward of my time and experience, to talk about them or to think of them, or to send them encouragement.  I can just forget.

But the truth is, I can't and shouldn't forget, at least not completely, and the Lord uses moments like this to check me.  That place, those people - they own part of my heart and my soul.  Much as I may try to push those memories down, to separate that part of my experience from everyday life, I can't.  Moments like this come crashing down on me not just because I am realizing that I have forgotten - it's a minor identity crisis to realize how much something has affected you, and in ways you did not realize, and in ways you were ignoring.  I left part of my heart there, and I took part of theirs with me.  Not just a dead part, a past part, but a living, beating, breathing, active part of my soul.   A part of my soul that tugs, that cries out desperately for prayers, for help, for love and for devotion.  So sometimes, re-remembering something you have deliberately forgotten is painful.  But it is also beautiful.  And so I will seek to remember, and to be shaped by those people.

The Power of God

One of my professors recently accused me (as a collective part of the class, but I'll admit, it applied to me directly) of being un-educated about the world - insulated by my elite status, economic privilege, and American identity, he said we were not well-travelled or well-read, nor did we demostrate comprehensive (much less exceptional) knowledge of the global community.  Nobody in the room had ever travelled to a country which had US sanctions against it.  Nobody in the room could name the capital of Cote d'Ivoire, or the famous leader of the Ogoni people who was executed by the Nigerian government in 1995.  Nobody could adequately explain US actions against Cuba during the Cold War, or against Iraq during the First Gulf War.** 

And it's true.  While I have travelled some, and I know where on the continent of Africa Cote d'Ivoire is and have a basic understanding of Ogoniland, Cuba, the Cold War, and late 20th century US foreign policy, I couldn't answer any of these questions accurately or in great detail.

And that got me to thinking - he's got a point.  Why don't I know more?  There are people all over the world right now who are probably watching the debates leading up to the US presidential elections, but I couldn't even tell you more than a couple state leaders, much less when they were elected (or took power), who they ran against (or killed), or what their platforms are (or who they hate).  I probably can't even tell you what form of government they have.  In a globalized society, especially as someone who wants to work overseas, isn't this an important thing for me to cultivate?  Shouldn't I be able to discuss these things?

One of the things he said was about making time to watch things like 60 minutes, read the news beyond the front page, and explore other parts of the world.  And then that got me to thinking - yea, right, in all my spare time, let me just pop on the news and take time to know the companies that own other companies that own other companies that are in bed with politicians that are making policy with other politicians that are threatening agriculture in America, and thus determine where I should or shouldn't buy things.  Because that's what I have time for. 

He's right though, if I wanted to make time for it, I could.  I could learn that.

But I started thinking about what I do use my time for, and it looks something like this: get adequate sleep, have good quiet time with God every day, have time to make food for yourself, serve your roomates,  get all your schoolwork done, serve your church body, engage with your city, relax and spend time doing things you enjoy, get out of the city and slow down, get to know people well so that you can love them well, encourage them, speak truth to them, let them speak truth to you, laugh hard, love fiercely, make time to maintain relationships across many miles.... the list goes on.  And I started thinking about what would get cut out to make me a "good world citizen".  And the first thing to go would be my sleep.  And then my time with God.  And then my relationships.  And then my sanity.  And none of those I'm willing to sacrifice.

So you're right, Professor.  I'm a lousy "world citizen".  I'm a lousy International Development student.  I'm a lousy AU student.  I can't name capitals or policies or historic events or politicians.  I can't explain globalization, I can't discuss the US hegemony and it's consequences, and I don't understand the implications of our business ties to other countries.  I don't know a detailed history of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, I don't know the nuances of US foreign alliances, or the politics of the UN.  So you probably shouldn't elect me as president.  But if you asked me to name all the members of my church, I bet I could do it.  If you asked me to tell you about my friends - what they're struggling with, what they're loving, the way they talk, the things God has brought them through, the things they're interested in, the books they're reading, the things God is teaching them now - I could do it.  If you asked me to tell you about how profoundly my own life has been affected by my brothers and sisters in Christ, you'd have me talking for hours.  If you wanted to know the names and some of the stories of the homeless people who live in my 'hood, I could tell you.  If you asked me to tell you what I desire to see from the Church, what my theology is on globalization, and what my role in that is, I could tell you.  If you asked me to tell you about the glories of God - you'd be amazed at how much I know. 

In this city, it's easy to get caught up in what you don't know, and what you should know.  It's easy to find identity and power in being the supreme authority in the room on some global subject matter.  I've fallen into that trap plenty of times myself.  In one of the most powerful cities in the world, surrounded by powerful people, I have to remind myself what true power is.  These people are only politicians and policy-makers by the will of God.  They only have their position because God has deemed it fit for this time and these people.  But I have the holy, perfect, overwhelming love of God - I have His spirit, the same spirit that raised Christ from the dead, the same spirit that raised me from death, into life - and I am to steward that with the gifts He has given me.  And He has given me people. 

So yes, I am insulated in ignorance simply by my relative position in the world.  And yes, I probably ought to know more about the world I live in.  But I would not spend one drop less of time glorifying God and loving people for all the knowledge in the world.  I might be a crappy "world citizen", but that's not what I'm called to be.  I'm called to be a disciple - a little imitation of Christ - and so that's what I'll strive for. 



~~~~~
** For those of you who are curious like me and wondering, here are the (short) answers:
~Cote d'Ivoire's capital is Yamoussoukro;
~The president of the Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People (MOSOP) executed in 1995 was Kenule "Ken" Beeson Saro Wiwa;
~The US sanctions against Cuba were initiated because Cuba nationalized all business, and expropriated that land owned by US businesses to the state;
~The sanctions against Iraq during the 1990-1991 period were initiated because Iraq invaded Kuwait and annexed and re-appropriated oil drilling on which the US was dependent.  So there you have it. 

Lessons on Idolatry: Peace

Peace has become a recurring theme in my life for the last 6 weeks.  In fact, 4 of my 6 classes deal with peace, violence, justice, conflict, reconciliation, and divided societies in some capacity or another.  It's a hard semester - there's a lot of trying not to cry, trying not to throw my hands up and just walk away in frustration, trying not to become so cynical as to be completely ineffective, trying to avoid my tendency to over-simplify while simultaneously balance said tendency against a paralysis of any analysis at all.  Between essays and classes, I'm examining theoretical approaches, four different regions/case studies, practical workshops, simulations, and expert interviews.

Amidst all this craziness, reading, and work, I'm trying to be "peaceful" myself.  It's a tad overwhelming.

And I'm finding that it's far too easy to find myself trapped in a world where peace is the highest good.  Where peace is the ultimate thing that I'm working for.  Where my soul and my heart breaks for violence and anger because of the hurt that it causes, because of the people that it affects, and because of the stories it leaves in its wake.

But that's not the only reason violence and conflict should break me.   I'm loosing my eternal, Kingdom perspective.  It's an easy thing to do in this city, but that doesn't make it any more excusable, or any less devastating when you realize it's happening to you.  I've turned peace into an idol - something that I hold as better than the goodness of God himself, something better than the presence of Christ in my life, than the indwelling of the Spirit in my soul, than the hope I have in heaven - not a hope of peace but a hope of God Almighty, perfect and holy.

This new kingdom includes peace, yes.  Revelation 21:4 offers the promise of a new world, in which the "former things" have passed away.  Isaiah, in chapter 9, tells us that Jesus is the "Prince of Peace", among other things.  The character of Christ radiates peace, rules over peace, is manifest in peace, and advances peace.  The Bible talks about peace a LOT - in fact, all of the New Testament epistles except one (1 John) mention peace and call the believers to it.  Clearly it's important. 

But (at the risk of sounding too "new-age-y"), the Bible is more concerned with "inner" peace than with worldly peace.  When the Bible talks about peace, more often than not, it's referring to a peace with God.  This is the most important kind of peace.  This is a peace only achieved through the death and resurrection of Christ!  Apart from Him, peace is impossible.  And in Him is a peace that "surpasses all understanding" (Phil 4:7).  Without Him, external peace is useless.  This is the mantra (one of many) that I have been preaching to myself as of late.  I have found myself more often than not puling out my Bible in class to examine what Scripture tells me about the world, and about my place in it.  And what is clear is that my mission is to love people well.  Nothing else.  It is not my job to resolve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, or to be some great negotiator.  It's not even my job to be able to name the head of every nation in the world, or explain how globalized business dynamics are going to dominate the evolution of state relations for the next twenty years.

My job is two-fold:  Love God.  Love people.  That's it.

I can only spread peace by firmly being grounded on my own peace with God, a bridge that was accomplished only through the cross and empty tomb.   Even our sermon on Sunday highlighted this (in a sense) by discussing the supremacy and sufficiency of Christ.  The resurrection is beautiful not because it brings an end to conflict between people, but because it brings people into right communion with the one, true, living God, and only then does it transform people from the inside out!  This is the most beautiful realization - the burden of peacemaking does not fall to me, but it falls to God himself, and it is a burden he has already taken up and carried! 

Peacemaking is so much easier when I realize that it is something that has already been accomplished, and is being made manifest entirely apart from my broken heart or my feeble effort.  I must rest in God, and allow Him to do the heavy lifting. 

Which He does with gladness.

Perpetual Chaos and Beautiful People

When I planned out this summer, it didn't sound quite so overwhelming.  Granted, I didn't really plan half of what happened, and the other half I didn't really think about.  It sounded like an epic adventure that I'd read about from some well-travelled author, or something that would go on my bucket list but never be achieved.

Let's just call it what it is: I'm a nomad, by nature. I'm someone who doesn't really settle in, who doesn't nest, and who has spent the better part of her adult life running away from roots rather than putting them down.  It's something God is working on in my heart.

But this summer, He graciously allowed me to indulge my desires to run rampant around this beautiful globe and play like a kid in a sandbox!  Not only did He allow it, but He actively orchestrated it without me even realizing it was happening!  And what a joy it was to see His work being actively and wholeheartedly pursued around the globe, in ways I never thought I'd get to see.  My God is up to something in the hearts of so many people, He is working mightily in so many places - and everywhere, He is the same! I have been reminded of how incredibly, faithfully consistent my God is.  His hesed love, his covenant with his people - how it is being worked out everywhere in this world!

Only now, nearly 2 months after returning from my latest trip, am I finally able to step back and look at the last 5 months as a whole.  I spent so much time getting ready to travel or processing each trip, that I wasn't able to step back and see the whole thing until recently.  I traveled from the West to East coast of this country (~3200 miles and 12 states), to 2 countries in the Caribbean and one in Central Asia.  Everywhere I went, I saw the beauty of God's character, the majesty of His work, and the love of His people manifested in new and bright and breathtaking ways.   I'm so thankful for the brothers and sisters who prayed relentlessly for each trip, for the the family who funded much of it, for the friends who were able to accompany me, and the new friendships formed.

Now, it's all catching up with me.  The exhaustion.  The processing.  The sitting still.  The Lord has taken this season of indulgence and used it to bring me into a season of challenges.   It's just one of those times when I have to fight for everything.  I am mourning, learning, re-evaluating, seeing sins, and learning about service.  It's a hard season.  But a good one.  It is a season of complete and utter dependence on the Lord of creation. 

This is a season I could not survive, however, without my dear brothers and sisters in Christ.  The ways God is working on my heart are profound and beautiful - I am learning to trust people, to open up to people, to love and serve those around me, and to be loved and served.  I am more thankful than ever that the Lord has redeemed not only me as an individual, but his whole Bride.  I could not persevere through this without their support and love.  

And I am abundantly thankful that He knows my heart so well, that he could orchestrate such a wonderfully delightful summer, and simultaneously give me the best and most supportive church family to come home to. 

An Open Letter to my Brothers in Christ

Brother,

Thank you.  There have been some videos, some movements, some poems, websites and other media that have sprung up recently from Christian men seeking to encourage us as women - to remain pure, to not settle, to set high standards, to allow ourselves to be served.  Others have asked forgiveness for sins of lust, of abuse, of impurity, of disrespect, of anger, of selfishness, of arrogance, of inflicted pain - intentional or otherwise.

For this I want to thank you.  It is a joy and an honor to call you a brother.  It is good for us to see that there are men out there, pursuing God, loving friends and family well, seeking after the Gospel, waiting for their wife.  It truly is an encouragement to know that not all men are after me for my body.  That not all men are cowards, or are arrogant.  That there are men of Christ, and that someday, Lord willing, I will be able to say that I have a husband who genuinely loves Jesus more than me - because men like that DO exist. It is nice to know that I am not crazy, that I am not waiting on a fairy tale, and that men are seeking healing for the abuses and the pain they have historically or personally caused. 

But I think it is time a woman stepped up, to encourage you.

Many of you seek to serve us so well - as friends, as sisters, as wives.  You do so without recognition, without prompting, and with much joy.  Thank you for that.

You have taught me much in the last two years about what I ought to value in men, and how I ought to carry myself.  You have restored much faith, and you have led by example.  As friends, you have taught me about service, and what that looks like, and how I can serve you well.  You have taught me about being served.  You have taught me about brotherly love.

Many of you are already married. We single women (and men, probably) are watching closer than you think, and you have wonderfully led by example. You have taught and shown me much about life, about men, and about marriage.  I have seen what functional, healthy, Christ-centered marriages look like, and where I have much room to grow before I am ready to be yoked together with a man.  I have seen how you fight for your marriages when they are hard, and I have seen how you lead steadfastly when a storm blows in.  I have seen your honesty, and your attempts to destroy the lies the world builds up about marriage - in order that we single women (and men) can avoid some hardships and mistakes you have already walked through.  I see you discipling younger men and I can only hope and pray that my husband would have had this in his life too.  I see you advancing God's kingdom one life at a time, and this is a joy.  I see you honoring and loving your wives well - in a way that reminds me that my standards are not too high, and that I really am waiting for someone like you. 

Many of you are single.  Women watch you, too.  We see how you look at us, how you talk to us, and how you serve us as sisters - with grace, with dignity, with the utmost respect, and with love.  How you do not objectify us, but you value our whole being.  We see that some of you are dating other girls, and that you take the utmost care to protect your purity.   We see that you do not have to be our boyfriends for you to help us move, for you to just hang out with us because you enjoy our company, or for you to do spontaneously kind things for us.  You are willing to love us and serve us as we are, we do not have to earn your favor.  We see you seeking the Lord more than you are seeking a girlfriend, more than you are seeking a job, more than you are seeking influence and power.  We see that you, too, are advancing the Kingdom.  You are devoting time to your relationships, to go deep and to serve your brothers well. We see all of this. I know it is probably harder than you would like.  I know you do not do this perfectly all the time.  I know there are men who are on you to be better men.  Keep pursuing Biblical manhood, but remember that you are already doing a lot of things well. 

I have spent much of the last 6 years hating men - even men like you.  Railing against them.  Fighting for my own independence, despite all indications that I am entirely unable.  Propping up images and illusions of my own glory, my own sufficiency, and my own perfection, while lamenting, coddling, and nursing the wounds that had been deeply cut.  I have spent years convinced that all men are cowards, afraid of any sort of relationship because of the damage that might be done.  Afraid of touching scars that might cause me pain, and instead choosing to shut you out, to secretly be disgusted with you, to find flaws where they needn't be found.  Arming myself against "the patriarchy", which included all men and all forms of chivalry, meanwhile complaining that there were no "good men".  Resigning myself to the fact that I would be miserably alone forever, because "nobody was good enough for me", when really I was too afraid of you to give you a chance.  

I have simultaneously spent that time longing for someone to hold me, to validate my insecure conceptions of beauty, to affirm me in my comfortable state.  What I have really been looking for is the companionship one might typically find in a dog, I was just looking for it in a man that I could call "boyfriend" - one who would not challenge, who would not push back, who would only serve me, but not need to be served.  Who would require no labor and love beyond that of a cuddle-buddy.  I have been degrading your companionship, your friendship, and your very person to something that made me comfortable, instead of conforming myself to the designs of God, and admiring you for the way God has made you - and the way He intended for us to interact. 


For all of the hateful things I have said, for all of the hurtful things I have thought, and for all of the disgustingly un-Christlike things I have done (and they are plenty), brother I am sorry.  I truly am.  I cannot and will not continue to treat men this way - you are my brother!  Please forgive me, friend. 

Friend.  I am so honored to call you that.  Friend.  Please, please keep doing what you are doing.  Keep seeking the Lord.  Keep serving your brothers and sisters in Christ with humility, and with love.  Keep advancing the Kingdom, keep seeking purity, keep fighting for the good name of Christian men.  We know you are out there (even if we do not believe it or act like it all the time).  You have, in the last two years, taken my broken, terrified, and angry heart and turned it into one that is in the process of being restored.  Without knowing my story, without knowing my anger, my frustration, or my scars, you have simply lived out Christ-like servanthood and attitudes to me, and it has changed me profoundly.  Thank you.  Please, brother, in all humility, continue to walk with me as my heart is conformed to God's.  I am sure I will stumble.  Please call me out, but recognize that I am still recovering from the lies of the world and my own fickle heart. 

Thank you, brother, for doing what you are already doing.  Continue to do it.  We women are watching, and we are learning.  I am more thankful for the men in my life now than I ever have been before.

Affectionately in Christ,
K

The Epic Road Trip, Part I: West Coast to Denver

As it turns out, my summer is full of a lot of travelling.

I know, I know, you all are thinking about how hard this is going to be on me, and how much I hate travelling and how much this surprises you, but don't worry, I think I'll manage.  Somehow.   ;) 

First on the list:  Cross-country road trip.  This happened by accident, it wasn't supposed to be a part of my summer, but it ended up being a great (albeit accidentally put together) opportunity, so being me, I grabbed the bull by the horns and took it!  :)  

(if you want pictures, you will have to go to Facebook, adding pictures made this post way too long) 

I flew from DC to San Jose, where I met up with my bestie Angela, and we hung out in San Francisco for a day.  It was a whirlwind tour of the city, but we drove past Candlestick Park and AT&;T Park, and along the Embarcadero. We walked through Chinatown and the Financial District, saw Grace Cathedral, Nob Hill, and the Ferry Building (where I had the best coffee of my life - yes, even better than Dominican coffee) before driving up to Coit Tower to see Lombard Street, and then through North Beach and to the Wharf. We hung out along the Wharf, walked out to Pier 39, saw Alcatraz, and ate deliciously fattening clam chowder and a Ghirardelli shake from the original factory before we headed home.  

Yes, we did all that in 6 hours.  :)  It was awesome.  Also, San Francisco = maybe the coolest city ever.  If you haven't been, it should immediately be bumped to the top of your vacation to-do list.  

For those of you who are extremely observant, and noticed an important landmark missing from the above lightning-speed tour of the city, fret not my friends.  Yes, I did manage to see the Golden Gate Bridge (although to my mother's relief I did not get to bike across it, nor did I get to go BASE jumping off it, nor did I get to scale one of it's spindly red pinnacles and hang precariously from the top.  It seems as though at least one of these ought to be on my bucket list, just for kicks...).  We drove out that way the next morning as we left the city.  Yes, it was amazing at it seems in the pictures.  And I got to do it all with one amazing best friend.

For our next breathtaking stop, we drove over Donner Pass, and to Lake Tahoe.  Oh. My. Goodness.  This place is beautiful.  We stopped and just stood, in our shorts and t-shirts, almost in disbelief that there is a place with a real, honest to goodness sand beach, a huge lake (big enough for all watersport, except whale hunting or marlin wrangling, but unless you're the foolish old man from The Old Man and the Sea - which is a worthless story - marlin wrangling probably isn't your thing...), AND real, snow-capped mountains, all with 70 degree weather along the water.  I am not kidding you.  It is as gorgeous as it sounds.  But don't worry, my Colorado loyalty is still in tact.  

We then spent the night in the middle-of-nowhere Nevada (which is not a particularly beautiful state, for the record...).  The next day was full of just as much excitement, in a different sort of way.  

We hopped in the car around 7am, and got in about 3 hours of driving before the unforeseen hit... Gertrude's transmission went out on us, right at the Utah-Nevada border.  Here's how that went:

We were able to get poor Gertude going enough to get the two miles from where she wanted to die to the nearest mechanic, where she officially died in the parking lot.  It took another 4-ish hours to diagnose the problem, figure out what we were going to do about it, and how to get everything back to Denver.  We ended up waiting another 2 1/2 hours in the casino (the ONLY place to hang out, which was back over the Nevada border - yes, I think this town exists strictly for gambling...), while we waited for a friend of Angela's dad to come get us.  After we loaded up his truck, said our sad goodbyes to poor old Gertie, we drove 2 hours to Salt Lake City.  

Let's just take a moment and count the blessings here, shall we?:  Broke down in the morning, in the daylight, along a well-traveled and easy highway.  Only 2 miles from one of the only mechanics between Reno and Salt Lake.  Managed to get the car to said mechanic without a tow truck.  Had the kindest, most generous, very knowlegeable mechanic anyone could ever have asked for.  Had a friend in Salt Lake.  Said friend in Salt Lake fed us, drove with us, let us nap in their guest room, and were some of the friendliest, most generous people I've ever met.  Was with my best friend.  My best friend has a family that I completely, 100% trust.  Can we just say that God is so good?!    

Aside: Salt Lake City is so much prettier than I thought it would be.  Also, fun fact: Salt Lake is super shallow (mostly less than 15 feet).  

We waited another two hours at this friends house (they were so kind and gracious, and they even fed us an amazingly delicious dinner) before Angela's dad arrived, where we loaded up the car, turned around, and drove straight back to Denver.  Driving through the night did not make my mother happy - even after I reminded her that I refrained from attempting some crazy stunt off the Golden Gate Bridge.  But, we were still home in time for Mother's day.  

This was the boring part of the trip - it was dark outside, so I took a grand total of 3 pictures, and slept for most of the trip (when I wasn't driving).  Besides, it was mostly Wyoming, which has gorgeous parts, but also has ugly parts, so it was ok.  

I was welcomed back to a foggy, overcast (but nonetheless beautiful) Denver around 6am.  Home at last.  :)  

Here's to hoping part 2 won't be quite as dramatic!  :)  

Haiti (Act II): Jeddavie (and the Return)

I love Haiti.  With all of my heart, I really do.

I love doing ministry there.  I love pushing through the hard, frustrating moments to find those moments of divine perfection, pushing through language barriers to finally understand one another, and pushing through the ugly circumstance to find the redemption underneath.

I met Jeddavie when praying for a small shop, where a couple was trying to support themselves and build a family.  When we were done, she grabbed my hand and led me to her home.  She, too, was seeking prayer.

This is not an uncommon occurrence in Haiti.  Almost everyone there will tell you they are Christian, and everyone always wants prayer, especially from "the white missionaries".  We did a lot of praying, and nearly every person we encountered wanted something from us.  After all, the only reason white people are ever in Haiti is to give something away.   We only hope that it was received with humble hearts, with brothers and sisters in Christ, and that the Gospel went out unhindered.

Jeddavie is a woman raising 3 kids by herself.  I do not know what happened to her husband, or if she even had one.  Her entire home is about the size of my bedroom.  When I stepped in, the smell of bodies, dust, and urine was strong, despite her clearly valiant attempts to keep her home clean and presentable.  She stood probably about 5'3", but had a strong presence and so seemed much taller.  Her hair was pulled back under a scarf, which she was using as a head covering.  She was well muscled, and her hands were calloused and worn, although I would guess she was only around 30, in some ways she seemed much older.  She had a beauty and dignity about her, a sort of maturity and leadership that was immediately present.  We discussed the Gospel with her, and it became apparent, despite the language barrier, that she adores Jesus.

We prayed with her, and left.

The next day, at our Bible study, she appeared again.  She had clearly stopped in the middle of some laborious work that resulted in her being covered in dust and sweat (somewhat of a rarity for women in Haiti), and came with her worn, and clearly well used Bible.

As we interacted with these women, and we began to teach them, it became clear that she was not only a hard worker, but well-educated (at least by Haitian standards), and well-respected within the community.  She was the one who immediately jumped up to read scripture, she was the one who shush-ed the other women when they were being too noisy, she was the one who handed out extra pens to the women who had forgotten.

This woman loves her Saviour.

In the midst of the frustrating interactions with Jaqueline (here is her story, for those interested), in the heat of Haiti, feeling thwarted by languages and defeated by the cultural expectations of us, Jeddavie provided a glimpse of hope.  She provided a moment of redemption, and a person (a woman, no less!) to train up and encourage who is already ingrained in that community in a way I never could be.

She is one that I have continued to pray for relentlessly, hoping that she can be a light for that darkened community.

And she is one I will be going to see again, to check on and encourage, to teach and to love.

Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, with that I have an announcement to make:

In less than one month, I will be returning to Haiti!  

Yes, that's correct.  This was in fact as fast a decision as it may seem to you.  The opportunity arose, the Lord stirred in my heart, and less than 3 weeks later I found myself committing to going again.  The plane tickets are bought, the passport is ready, and my heart is full.

It was not as easy a decision as you might think, however.  Partly due to my own folly, my own foolish heart and partly due to the Lord's perfect timing, and the work of the Spirit, it was a slightly tormented 3 weeks.  Indeed, it took more prayer, thought, fasting, discussion, sleepless nights, and prayer (yes, I know I mentioned it twice - it took that much) to make this decision than it took to make the decision to go in March.

I did not want to allow myself to get to excited, to be hurt or let down by a gracious God's good "no", if that was His will (how foolish my heart is, that the pain of a "no" would cripple the good and perfect plans God has for me!), and I did not want to fall into a trap of going (or not going) for the wrong reasons.  I lost sleep over this decision.  I prayed and fasted and prayed, knowing and making known the desires of my heart and seeking the will of the Lord.  I talked to a lot of people, most of them more than once.  And in the end, I heard a passionate and jubilant "yes"!

And so, I will be returning to Haiti.  With abundant joy and overwhelming gratitude for a God who indeed grants me the desires of my heart, in one month, I will be standing at Jeddavie's doorstep, hoping to see her smiling face.  I cannot wait to greet a sister with a hug and word of encouragement, and to continue to build up and be built by my family in Haiti.

Remembering Where I Came From

I see growth in you, she says.  Evidences of grace. 

I know! I giggle, mostly to myself.  From across the couch, she smiles at me.  And then my little giggle turns into a full, toothy grin, a hearty chortle that sounds ridiculous, like something between a man and a donkey.  But I don't care.

In that moment, I can look back.  I look back at the girl I was 2 years ago, on the brink of a life-changing discovery I didn't even know was happening.  I look back, and I laugh.

The kind of laughter that only the redemption of Christ could bring to someone looking back at their life, so deep in sin and death and pain.

5 weeks later, I'm walking out of the grocery store, laughing the same laugh.  Another friend has told me something similar.  And I can't help but smile with joy.

It's fun, I say.  It's just fun!

She smiles.  You're adorable.

I smile back.  Here's what makes me laugh, I say, I get to pray, for the rest of my life, that God would grow me in a way that I would not recognize myself year to year.  I can grow as fast as I want, and I don't ever have to worry about getting to the end.   God will never run out of things to teach me!

That's true, she replies with a chuckle, clearly enjoying watching me sound like a 5-year-old who has just learned a basic but awe-inspiring fact of life.

It's fun, mostly because it has nothing to do with me.  Absolutely nothing to do with me.

Sometimes I lament that I am not, and can never be, that girl who has never known life apart from Christ.  I lament the lost years, the tearing down of what I built up in order that God might build instead.  I want to regain the lost years of a relationship with my God.

But then I remember that I get to experience the redemption of Christ in a unique way, because I walked in rebellion for so long.  Not that my experience is better than someone else's, it is just different.  I have gotten to experience different facets of the same Gospel.  

And so I remember as I walk, that God is teaching me.  Slowly transforming me from one degree of glory to another, day by day.  And it is beautiful. 

Because it is all about Him. 

If only...

If only it were easier.  

Some days, I want to step into my home and for life to be easy.  I want a dog to play with and cuddle with and a large bookshelf set up in the corner, I want a cabinet full of tea and coffee, and roommates who never irk one another with their silly habits - or perhaps, a husband as a roomate.  One who is tall and broad, a powerful and commanding man of God, but who is sensitive and enjoys my chick flicks and thinks my Ben & Jerry's addiction is "cute" or "sweet".  I want perfect weather all year, and to be able to go hiking whenever I want.  I want to have the kind of time that allows me to have two or three hours in the Word every day, and then hours more pouring into those around me.  I want big windows, and only one job. I want to have the motivation I need, to be joyfully immersed in what I do, to be able to pour into children and young men and women, to instill the Gospel in them.  I want to be able to throw dinner parties with dear friends, and to do spontaneous things like take a glass-blowing class or decide that it's a great day for outdoor portraiture on the mall, because I can.

And I wonder when my life will look like this.  After school?  After I get settled in a "real" job?  After I am retired? 

*****

And then I step back and I realize - never.  Never will my life look like that.  My life will probably always be fraying around the edges.   There will probably always be laundry on the floor, kitchens to be swept, and work to be done.  There will always be moments of frustration, of exhaustion, and of sadness.  I will never have an apartment that is big "enough" (at least not in this city), and I will never be put together. I will never have that much free time, I will probably never not have a job, and I will probably always be a little bit tired.

I am a mess. I will probably always be a mess. 

But I am, and will be, a holy mess.  It is the moments when I stay up all night working on a paper, and then look out the window to see the glorious sunrise, painted by my Creator.  It is the moments when, although I am exhausted, someone still asks me about Jesus, and I am renewed.  When I get to carry a tired, frightened little girl up the stairs when I, too, am tired and frightened and she whispers in my ear, "don't put me down!" and I snuggle her closer and we are both reassured.  When that same little girl says to prayer requests, "I'll pray.  I want to pray for that!" with an enthusiasm that makes my heart leap with joy, and restores in me the sense of peace I lacked.  When I get to watch my dearest friends and sisters have victories, both small and large.  When I can set aside my pain to celebrate with them, when they reciprocate, and when we can celebrate together, each of our victories.  The moment when I am crushed in humility by a sister's teaching, and restored by their fellowship and undying love.

Those moments are all the more precious because of my chaos.

In the midst of my chaos, I want it to disappear.  The stormy seas, I want them to go away, to magically be smooth and simple.  Because life would be so much easier if it were smooth sailing the whole way.  And easy equals happy, right?

But it would be too easy.  It would be worthless.  And un-holy.  Without having to wrestle, what is life purposed for?  Comfort?  God does not call us to comfort.  God calls us to HIM.

And after the storm is over, I have always - ALWAYS - been able to look back, and say that I am thankful for it.  God has always been faithful.  And he will always be faithful.  And I will always be dependent.

I can trust in my God.  Some days I know this with all my heart.  Some days I know this in my head.  Some days I question.

I pray that I have the faith of Paul, that someday I will look around in the midst of a storm and say,

"Take heart, for the God to whom I belong and whom I worship has promised his protection! He has promised his never-ending grace!  Take heart, friend." 

For it will be exactly as it was told.  (Acts 27:22-25, my paraphrase).

My God, the creator of the universe.  He is worthy of trust. 

What a beautiful thing, that I am not dependent on myself, but on Him who can do all things, and in whom all things hold together.

Haiti: Jaqueline

As people are asking me to tell stories of Haiti, this is the one I keep coming back to.  Not because it is my favorite, but because it summarizes everything that happened on this trip - the highs and the lows.   The people, and the mightiness of God. 

Ascribe to the LORD, O families of the peoples. ascribe to the LORD glory and strength.  Ascribe to the LORD the glory due his name; bring an offering ad come into his courts.  Worship the LORD in holy speldor; tremble before him, all the earth.   (Ps. 96:7-9)

We stepped into Jaqueline's home, and I noticed the clutter.  Hardly 5 of us fit inside. She seemed hesitant, reserved.  We were there to pray with her - her husband had passed away a few years ago, and she was trying to raise her son on her own, without a job.  She said she was Catholic, that she went to church, and that she needed prayer. We prayed with her, and left.

Later that day we came back, and she was sitting on her porch.  We had come back to invite her to a Bible study for women that we were going to do the next day.  She was excited - so excited that she asked B. to take a picture of her, so that we would remember to pray for her.  Filled with hope and excitement at her enthusiasm, we did.

But then she didn't show up for the Bible study.  I ran back from the church we were meeting in to her home, which was right across the street. I found her, and told her as best I could without a translator that we were going to start, and asked her again to join us.  She nodded, and held up her finger to indicate that she'd be over in just one moment. 

She never showed up. 

So B., our translator and I, upon finishing the training, march ourselves right on over to her doorstep, and find her there, just hanging out with her friends. 

We missed you at the Bible study, I say.

Yea, I had things to do, she replies. 

Right. Lots of things.  Like hanging out with your friends. 

Do you know why B. and I are here? I ask. 

I go on to explain the Gospel to her - that humans are sinful, and we deserve God's punishment because of that.  But that God graciously took it upon himself to make a different way.  That Jesus took the wrath of God and was died and buried and then rose again that we might live in His righteousness, to His glory, with Him, forever.  We do not have to be captive to sin any longer. 

She says, I'll believe you when you bring me something.  She insists she's heard this story, that she's a Christian because she goes to church.  I want to cry.  I want to show her that's not true.

I try to reason with her, to explain that God's character is good, that He loves her and wants a relationship with her, and Jesus is the only way.  But it goes nowhere.  Pray for rain, she says.  We need rain.

So we say we will.  And we leave. 

And on the way back, I do my due diligence.

So God, that woman said they need rain.  And I said I'd pray, so I guess maybe you could bring some rain, if that's cool?  mmkay, thanks. 

That was my prayer.   Unexpectant.  Unloving. 

We go back to the house, change clothes, and head to the beach to bathe for the first time in 5 days (Yes, I know how gross that is.  You don't have to remind me.  I washed my hair 3 (yes, three) times in the ocean that day.).  Walking to the beach, I look up.  Along the horizon are storm clouds - a storm strong enough to bring the rain cloud down with it when it comes, like a bedsheet or something.  The kind where the sky looks all dark purple-y and blue, even though its only 4pm, and you can't tell the sky from the land. 

Hey, that looks like some serious rain over there, I remark. 

I don't make the connection.  

Graciously, God allowed us just enough time to bathe before the lightning started.  Then we high-tailed it home. 

Not 30 seconds after we walk in the door of the home that God graciously provided for us (another story, coming later), the deluge starts.  Caked with salty-ocean goodness, but feeling cleaner than I've ever felt, I think, gosh, that's some serious rain! I'm glad we got out when we did...

Wait, rain!  Rain!! Jaqueline... and she said... and then I prayed... but I didn't really mean it!  Well, I guess that doesn't matter now... apparently God decided to bring rain whether I meant it or not.  God is good like that. 

We come to find out only moments later that this storm is the first time that it has rained a single drop in over 6 months.  The wells are dry.  The dust has blown over everything.  The village needs water.

God is abundantly good.  

We have to go find that woman! I think.  B. voices those exact thoughts moments later.   But it's now dark, windy, muddy, and still raining.  It's actually chilly.  Tomorrow, we agree.  Tomorrow before we leave. 

After breakfast, we venture out.  We're still not sure the truck is going to make it all the way down the dirt road (now mud road) to pick us up, but we haven't gotten a phone call yet.  I take Johnson (a translator), and B. and I go to her house.  The door is locked.  There is nobody home.

Seriously, God?! After all that, now you won't let us talk to her?? I rant.

We go back, dejected.  The truck is here.  Time is limited.  But I must see her, I must speak to her, to ask if she believes, to see her face! 

Noah and I venture out again, right before the truck leaves.  Her door is still locked.  We stand there, almost willing her to just walk around the corner.  But she doesn't.  We begin the walk home, and I pray desperately that she would not be unmoved by this. 

Mid-prayer and me almost in tears, she walks around the corner.  I'm so taken aback it leaves me speechless.  Luckily Noah jumps in. 

Hi!  It's good to see you again.  Did you notice it rained last night?  We ask.

Oh, yea.  She blows off the question as if we asked her if the sky was blue. 

You look nice, Noah offers.  Are you going to the city?

She gives a half smirk, and replies that she's going to Cap-Haitien today.  All dressed up in her heels and her skinny jeans and her leopard-print top, hair freshly done.

Do you think differently about God?  Noah probes.

She avoids the question by reminding us to pray for her.

There is nothing more to be said.  She is unmoved. 

I want to shake her, to sit on her porch and be equally unmoving and ask her, so Jaqueline, do you think differently about God today?  Do you believe in Jesus today? until she says yes, yes today I understand.  Today I believe. 

I cry out to God, wondering how this woman could not believe amidst such mighty works.  Lamenting her unbelief, her hardened heart, and the state of her soul without the presence of God. 

But then God whispers, remember, you were her, too.  You were the one who refused to see, refused to hear.  You were stubborn.  Amidst my greatness, my mercy, my redemption.  You were hardened, too.  For 8 years.  You refused to believe.  And yet I still claimed you as my own.  


Trust me.


Trust that I will claim my people - I will have them, no matter what.  I will have my people for myself. 

Trust me.

But the steadfast love of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him and his righteousness to children's children to those who keep his covenant and remember to do his commandments.  The LORD has established his throne in the heavens, and his kingdom rules over all!  (Ps. 103:17-19)

How to Stop Loving the Nations

---This is an expansion of a piece originally written for Restoration Church, which you can read here---

I have a heart for the nations.  It's Christianese for "I love the whole wide world, especially the lost people." 

It sounds like a good sentiment to want to have - the Gospel is inherently transcendent of cultural and geo-political barriers.  It's something that's key to understanding our place in the world and God's sovereign plan. There are too many people who don't have any understanding of this - of God's delight in people everywhere, of His mission to have a people from all the nations.  There are too few missionaries and too few dollars being spent on missions.  There are too many narrow-minded, ethnocentric Christians in America.  I want the American church to be gripped with a desire to send people to the nations.    

But it's hard to have feelings for something so abstract.  The nations.  What does that mean?  The whole world - you love all 7 billion people on this planet?  All the countries, all people-groups, all languages and tribes and tongues?  All of them - every single one?  

Loving the nations is easy.  I used to love the nations. 

But loving a place - one specific country, one people-group, one community - is hard.  It's messy, and dirty.  There are a lot of tears, some laughter, some frustration. Love is more about action and interaction than about a feeling. Loving a spouse is hard, loving family is hard, why should "loving the nations" be easy? 

I'm learning how to love a people, instead of the nations.

Loving the nations is easy because it requires no real investment.  It requires no true devotion or labor. 

Loving Haiti is messy.  It's dirty.  It's hard.  It would be easier to walk away.  The disabled child who is left to his own devices, the woman who will not believe in Jesus even if God moves heaven and earth to reveal Himself, the pastors who neglect their flock, the men who drink and do not work and hit their wives and children, the elderly who will not be cared for, the communities built around perversions of the Gospel, the circumstance of those who live there... it is all there.  It becomes easy to wonder - How do you love that?  Why would you ever even want to love that?

Because amidst all that, there are men and women who love Jesus with a depth and ferocity and devotion I pray I have one day.  There are pastors who want to be trained.  There are families who have made sacrifices to put food on the table, to keep all their children in school.  There are people who want to know Jesus.  There are community leaders who have sacrificed their whole lives to build a better community.  There are young men and women who desire to partner together in ministry and in life. 

It is hard not to fall in love with the majesty of God, and all that He is doing there (and believe me, He IS working there!).  Despite the dirt and the tears and the sweat and the poverty, I love Haiti.  Ask anyone who went with us, they will tell you the same. I love the people we have met.  And that is hard.  Loving people (any people) is a difficult, and sometimes excruciating thing to do.   I love my brothers and sisters in Christ there - they challenge me and edify me and love me so well.  But I also love the people we met who abhor the Gospel.  I love the people we met who are resistant to what we have to say.  I labor over all of them with tears and time in prayer.  I ache when I think of them, the way I ache when I remember that there are members of my family who do not know, and may never know Jesus.  I miss my brothers and sisters of Haiti the way I miss my brothers and sisters who are currently in California, Minnesota, and the Persian Gulf.  I long for the day we will all sit at the throne of God together and worship, the day we will sit together and share endless stories about God's mighty provision and holiness.

Loving them is not easy.  It would be easier to just turn it off, and to choose to go back to my life, forgetting that I met them. To let their stories fade back into the mosaic of my life - we were only there for one week.  To forget them would be simple.  To love them is hard.  But it is also a joy and a privilege! I want to stop being shallow in my love for “the nations” and start to be deep in my love for a few places, that the name of Jesus might be known there, no matter how hard or messy.  

I am not saying you can only love one people, ever.  I am not saying you should not pray through the nations (in fact, I think the Operation World Project, and praying through the nations, one a day, is a beautiful thing and one of the best "initiatives" for the Kingdom - keep doing it!).   But hypothetically loving someone that you may or may not meet someday is very different from actively loving someone you have come into contact with.  Loving people requires time, energy, and investment in them.  This is not something you can do for everyone - you do not have the capacity to know or love everyone on the planet. It is something that you can hope to do for those you DO come into contact with, but you cannot do it for everyone.  

What you can do is invest deeply in those you do meet.  Pick a people group.  Pick a country.  Better yet, pick a city or a town.  Go there on a mission trip - even if just for a week.  Meet people.  Don't just shake their hand and share the Gospel and walk away - get to know them.  Sit with them.   Laugh with them.  Share a meal.  Then when you come back, let them stay in your heart.  Pray for them - regularly.  And not just for the two weeks after you get back.  Make a commitment to pray for those you met for a year.  Or 5 years.  Or a lifetime. 

We can pray for things we do not know - when we pray in faithfulness and accordance with God's will, the Spirit intercedes for us.  We can pray through the Operation World Project, and God will use that.  God will claim his people,  through any means necessary, with or without us.   But investing and loving a people is different than being committed to praying for the people of God.   Prayer for people does not always equal loving them.  Loving people always equals prayer. 

I am fighting hard to love my Haitian brothers and sisters well...