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.
Friday, October 19
Sunday, October 14
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.
Thursday, October 11
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.
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.
Monday, October 1
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.
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.
Sunday, June 3
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
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
Tuesday, May 29
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! :)
Wednesday, May 16
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:
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.
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.
Friday, May 4
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.
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.
Sunday, April 29
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,
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 3
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.
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.
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)
Sunday, April 1
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."
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...
I am fighting hard to love my Haitian brothers and sisters well...
Wednesday, March 21
Through the Looking Glass: Haiti Part I
I have spent most of today talking about Haiti. Reflecting on it with different people, through breakfast, lunch, a meeting with a professor, outreach, and a car ride home. Much of my thought today has been spent either attempting to process and articulate that experience, or avoiding it.
I plan, over the coming weeks, to share some of my favorite stories with you. This trip is full of God, and there is much to tell.
It feels that although I recount this experience from the view of a person who was there, a first-hand knowledge, in reflecting on it in my own, quiet moments of solitude and thought, that I was not actually there. I am telling someone else's story.
That girl in the pictures who looks like me - she cannot be me. I am looking at a mirage, a doppelganger. I feel as though I am a diver, peering into a submarine in the vast, wide ocean. Through a misty, cracked glass window pane, from this world into that one, this lifetime into someone else's experience. I did not experience that just one week ago.
I do not know how to hold on to this experience in a way that allows it to change and shape me, but to let go enough to be faithful to the things God has placed in front of me right now. I do not know that I have the strength to return from living out something that my heart so deeply desires, that my soul delights in, to something that I do not admire or love. From the one thing I want to be doing, to my actual, real life... So I will rest in this promise instead:
I plan, over the coming weeks, to share some of my favorite stories with you. This trip is full of God, and there is much to tell.
It feels that although I recount this experience from the view of a person who was there, a first-hand knowledge, in reflecting on it in my own, quiet moments of solitude and thought, that I was not actually there. I am telling someone else's story.
That girl in the pictures who looks like me - she cannot be me. I am looking at a mirage, a doppelganger. I feel as though I am a diver, peering into a submarine in the vast, wide ocean. Through a misty, cracked glass window pane, from this world into that one, this lifetime into someone else's experience. I did not experience that just one week ago.
There were moments when my heart cried out in blackened despair, Lord, where are you?! Do you see this? How can this be? There were moments where I wanted to throw my hands up and walk away. There were moments when I wanted to cry, and to shake my fists at God. There were moments that disheartened me in ways that reminded me of the deep, deep wretchedness of people and the reign that Satan (temporarily) holds over so much of the world.This cannot possibly have been only 5 days ago.
But even as I cried these prayers of hopelessness out to my God, prayers of bleak and shadowy circumstance, of parched souls craving water, and of hardened hearts needing grace, I was also so greatly encouraged. By the team that accompanied, and in many ways carried me through this trip - their prayerful-ness, their servanthood, their joy, their flexibility, and their humor. By the organization we are working with (http://HaitiLove.net), and its founder, who has significantly changed and molded my understanding of missiology and international work, simply by sharing his experience and wrestling with the hardest of issues in true humility. By my Haitian brothers and sisters who are already alive in Christ, craving goodness and mercy. These are men and women who taught me, through their own example (and most often without a single word) about love, mercy, leadership, dignity, compassion, and devotion. Things that I am still understanding, and searching for in my own life. God was mighty in the ways he provided, and was gracious in the way He showed Himself. He provided for our team far above and beyond the necessities of this trip, but out of His delight in us, His blessings overflowed.
I do not know how to hold on to this experience in a way that allows it to change and shape me, but to let go enough to be faithful to the things God has placed in front of me right now. I do not know that I have the strength to return from living out something that my heart so deeply desires, that my soul delights in, to something that I do not admire or love. From the one thing I want to be doing, to my actual, real life... So I will rest in this promise instead:
Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire other than you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever... But for me it is good to be near God; I have made the Lord GOD my refuge, to tell of all your works. ~ Ps. 73:25-26; 28
Monday, March 19
So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen Adieu...
I have recently resigned from all of my various titles/positions at the rec center. Not because I don't enjoy or value them, but because I am officially moving. Permanently. Not just for 9 months of the year as a college student, but as a person. Permanently and definitively moving.
***Does this make me a real, live, walking, talking, functioning adult?? Because I'm so not ready for that. If I can move without being an adult, then bring it on. But if this makes me an adult, then I am in so much trouble... I don't know why, but I don't want to be an adult. Ever. Maybe it was the early influence of reading The Little Prince, or maybe it was one too many bed-jumping sessions, or too much splashing in puddles, or too much ice cream before dinner, or one too many bent rules, or something, but I just can't wrap my head around the idea of me being an adult. Eeeeek!!***
The reason I am resigning and not just going on extended leave, or inactive employee status, is because I don't know if I am ever going to live in Colorado again. I don't know when I would be in Colorado long enough to need a job.
The thought of this makes me very, very sad. I am a Colorado girl. Through and through. Not that I can't adapt to other places, but if we're just being honest, I belong in that state. It's just an awesome place, period. And I'm built for it. Hiking, camping, biking, climbing, stargazing, x-country skiing, swimming, thru-hiking, snowboarding, downhill skiing, snowshoing, 300 days of sunshine, working hard to play even harder, wearing flannel and chacos, always carrying a nalgene, shorts, a blanket, and a snow shovel in my car - all for the same day- thinking that a brand new Subaru is the best car any girl could ever want.... Let's just call it what it is, shall we? I first and foremost define myself as a daughter of Christ, and secondly as a Colorado girl. I belong there. Or at least I feel like it.
And suddenly, having to put on paper for someone else to see, that I won't be going back... that makes me sad. I'm really not sure what to do with this feeling. The world is such a big place, and I don't know where the Lord would have me go. I just know it's not Colorado.
This is something I've been resisting for a long time, hoping that I could hold on just a bit longer to the things I hold so dear. The time I spent there. But I feel the calendar rolling forward more and more, I feel time betraying me and breaking my heart, and as desperately as I want to cling to that - to my life and my experiences and the abiding love I always will have for that place - I have been convicted. It's time to let go. Until I let go of what I have had in the past, God cannot use me now. And He cannot prepare me for the future.
Trying to place my feet in the past, the present, and the future not only requires an extra leg that I do not have, it also requires some extraordinary acrobatics that I can no longer manage. I am tired of fooling myself into this crazy circus-style straddling act, trying to maintain control through my own means. I know that I truly do not belong there - it is a safety net that I do not need. For me to keep this job any longer, or this belief that I will someday return is saying that God is not enough. He has led me here, so here I will stay. With contentment. I belong here now. And later, I will belong (Lord willing) somewhere else.
Tearing yourself from something so familiar, so comfortable, and so adored is a hard and painful thing to do. The deep nostalgia that I have for that place is so rooted in me that giving this up, officially admitting what I have known for a long time, relinquishes so much of my identity that I feel a tad lost and overwhelmed. This is not homesickness, this is redefining my entire identity and rooting it more deeply in Christ, right now. I am, and always will be a Colorado girl, because it defines how I grew up, what I know and hold dear, the things I value, the way I play... But it cannot, and will not, define my home or my life course.
This is, I suppose, just another (very different) part of dying to yourself. It is time for me to say adieu, and plant myself boldly with both feet firmly in the present, with Christ as my foundation. As hard and sad as it is to admit this to myself, it must be done. And so I say to you, great state of Colorado, a tearful farewell, knowing that the Lord withholds nothing good from me, and trusting in His sovereign grace.
***Does this make me a real, live, walking, talking, functioning adult?? Because I'm so not ready for that. If I can move without being an adult, then bring it on. But if this makes me an adult, then I am in so much trouble... I don't know why, but I don't want to be an adult. Ever. Maybe it was the early influence of reading The Little Prince, or maybe it was one too many bed-jumping sessions, or too much splashing in puddles, or too much ice cream before dinner, or one too many bent rules, or something, but I just can't wrap my head around the idea of me being an adult. Eeeeek!!***
The reason I am resigning and not just going on extended leave, or inactive employee status, is because I don't know if I am ever going to live in Colorado again. I don't know when I would be in Colorado long enough to need a job.
The thought of this makes me very, very sad. I am a Colorado girl. Through and through. Not that I can't adapt to other places, but if we're just being honest, I belong in that state. It's just an awesome place, period. And I'm built for it. Hiking, camping, biking, climbing, stargazing, x-country skiing, swimming, thru-hiking, snowboarding, downhill skiing, snowshoing, 300 days of sunshine, working hard to play even harder, wearing flannel and chacos, always carrying a nalgene, shorts, a blanket, and a snow shovel in my car - all for the same day- thinking that a brand new Subaru is the best car any girl could ever want.... Let's just call it what it is, shall we? I first and foremost define myself as a daughter of Christ, and secondly as a Colorado girl. I belong there. Or at least I feel like it.
And suddenly, having to put on paper for someone else to see, that I won't be going back... that makes me sad. I'm really not sure what to do with this feeling. The world is such a big place, and I don't know where the Lord would have me go. I just know it's not Colorado.
This is something I've been resisting for a long time, hoping that I could hold on just a bit longer to the things I hold so dear. The time I spent there. But I feel the calendar rolling forward more and more, I feel time betraying me and breaking my heart, and as desperately as I want to cling to that - to my life and my experiences and the abiding love I always will have for that place - I have been convicted. It's time to let go. Until I let go of what I have had in the past, God cannot use me now. And He cannot prepare me for the future.
Trying to place my feet in the past, the present, and the future not only requires an extra leg that I do not have, it also requires some extraordinary acrobatics that I can no longer manage. I am tired of fooling myself into this crazy circus-style straddling act, trying to maintain control through my own means. I know that I truly do not belong there - it is a safety net that I do not need. For me to keep this job any longer, or this belief that I will someday return is saying that God is not enough. He has led me here, so here I will stay. With contentment. I belong here now. And later, I will belong (Lord willing) somewhere else.
Tearing yourself from something so familiar, so comfortable, and so adored is a hard and painful thing to do. The deep nostalgia that I have for that place is so rooted in me that giving this up, officially admitting what I have known for a long time, relinquishes so much of my identity that I feel a tad lost and overwhelmed. This is not homesickness, this is redefining my entire identity and rooting it more deeply in Christ, right now. I am, and always will be a Colorado girl, because it defines how I grew up, what I know and hold dear, the things I value, the way I play... But it cannot, and will not, define my home or my life course.
This is, I suppose, just another (very different) part of dying to yourself. It is time for me to say adieu, and plant myself boldly with both feet firmly in the present, with Christ as my foundation. As hard and sad as it is to admit this to myself, it must be done. And so I say to you, great state of Colorado, a tearful farewell, knowing that the Lord withholds nothing good from me, and trusting in His sovereign grace.
Saturday, March 3
To Be Contemporary, Or Not To Be? That, Apparently, is the Question...
I recently read this article about the Anglican church and music. It's an interesting read about music choices in the Anglican Church, and I think a lot of good things are said in the article.
Two years ago, I probably would have said a heart-felt "amen" to this article, then closed the tab in my browser and continued on my day. But two years ago, I also wasn't in any church, and didn't think it was important, so take that with a grain of salt...
Today, I'm not so sure. I think there's something deeper going on here. It's true, having grown up in the Anglican church, I can attest to the fact that there aren't a lot of young people who stick around. Even in college towns or areas where there are a ton of young, single people (i.e. Washington, D.C.), the Anglican church (most of the Church) is distinctly full of older people, and sometimes just no people at all.
*As an aside: I recognize that my church is almost entirely under 50. I recognize that this, too, is a problem, and that there should be old, young, and every in-between age at churches. But this is not a post about why older folk aren't adorning our pews. That is a something for another time.*
On one hand, I understand not wanting old, "churchy", detached music to be a stumbling block to younger people. But what you create a hunger for, you have to feed. And if you create a hunger for good, fun, rockin' music that gives you that warm fuzzy feeling, well then you're distorting the gospel and creating a need for something else. The Gospel is not about a warm fuzzy feeling. Our salvation had better not be dependent on that warm, fuzzy feeling, because if it is, I'm in trouble. And sometimes, church does us the most good when we do not have that feeling.
The reason young people are leaving churches (including, and perhaps especially, the Anglican church) is that they are not being fed the Gospel. They are not being fed truth. They see too much hypocrisy, too much legalism, and not enough teaching or gospel-centered community. There isn't enough discipleship, there isn't enough solid theology, and there isn't enough vulnerability in relationships to make it distinct from anything else in the world.
There are too many sermons being preached from the pulpit that a Buddhist, Agnostic, "spiritual-but-not-religious", or Moralist could agree with, and there is too much comfort and too much condemnation. There are not enough questions being asked, and even less being answered. There is too much teaching about self, and not enough teaching about God. There is too much programming, too many nameless faces, too many drifters and church-daters,* too little evangelism, too many comfortable and glossed-over sermons, too much political commentary, and too many places that ask you to check your brain at the door.
The church is supposed to be a place of people gathered who recognize that they are not qualified to be called a church. They are not worthy of being called righteous. They are gathered because of something entirely outside of themselves - salvation through faith alone, by grace alone, in Christ alone. It has nothing - absolutely nothing - to do with them. The church should be a place of intellectual, spiritual, emotional engagement, a place of honesty and messiness. A place of joy, pleasure, and deep, abiding love for one another. It should make you uncomfortable sometimes, but always welcome. There should never be condemnation, but there should be loving reprimands and compassion. It should be a place where self disappears into thinking of others as better, into a place of natural, holistic service that is driven by the passions and the needs of the church and it's members.
Somehow, I don't think that music is the root of the issue here. I get that some people just don't like organ music - and that's fine! You're entitled to your own tastes. Some people don't like electric guitars or drums, either. But the type of music being sung is not what should draw people to a church, and I don't think its what's driving them away, either. If my church started playing organ music and singing from the old hymnals, I'd still stick around even though it's not my favorite kind of worship. Because the theology is good, because the Gospel is clear, and because the community is genuinely centered on Christ and nothing else, I'd stick around.
I think we need to re-evaluate what kind of church we want to build, not what kind of music we want to sing. When we start evaluating churches based on music, we are making music more important than the word of God, more important than the Gospel, and more important than what scripture tells us a church should be.
This is a criticism against the church as a whole, not just the Anglican community (the article that prompted this just happened to come from an Anglican group). Please do not read this as a personal or denominational attack - it is not. I think some churches do some things well, and other churches do other things well - no one church is perfect. I think there are strengths and weaknesses to hierarchy, to liturgy, and to ritual. I think every denomination has some unhealthy and dying churches, and I think the American Christian community as a whole is seeing a mass exodus of young people. This is partly the fault of parents, partly the fault of youth ministers, partly the fault of pastors, partly the fault of the youth themselves, partly the fault of the strong pull that culture has, and partly just an unhappy, unfortunate circumstance that comes from the Gospel being unpopular. Everyone bears some responsibility.
But the music is not the problem. The heart is the problem. When youth are not being fed the hard truth of the Gospel, and being asked to believe it and live it out, having other believers come alongside them and walk through life with them, they aren't going to stick around, even if we start singing Lady Gaga or Beyonce or Usher. The music does not matter. This push for contemporary music, thinking that will draw youth in, its absurd. The Gospel matters. Without the Gospel, churches die.
*as in, people who date the church instead of treating it as a type of marriage covenant with a specific people and with Christ. I don't mean people who date other people at church...
Two years ago, I probably would have said a heart-felt "amen" to this article, then closed the tab in my browser and continued on my day. But two years ago, I also wasn't in any church, and didn't think it was important, so take that with a grain of salt...
Today, I'm not so sure. I think there's something deeper going on here. It's true, having grown up in the Anglican church, I can attest to the fact that there aren't a lot of young people who stick around. Even in college towns or areas where there are a ton of young, single people (i.e. Washington, D.C.), the Anglican church (most of the Church) is distinctly full of older people, and sometimes just no people at all.
*As an aside: I recognize that my church is almost entirely under 50. I recognize that this, too, is a problem, and that there should be old, young, and every in-between age at churches. But this is not a post about why older folk aren't adorning our pews. That is a something for another time.*
On one hand, I understand not wanting old, "churchy", detached music to be a stumbling block to younger people. But what you create a hunger for, you have to feed. And if you create a hunger for good, fun, rockin' music that gives you that warm fuzzy feeling, well then you're distorting the gospel and creating a need for something else. The Gospel is not about a warm fuzzy feeling. Our salvation had better not be dependent on that warm, fuzzy feeling, because if it is, I'm in trouble. And sometimes, church does us the most good when we do not have that feeling.
The reason young people are leaving churches (including, and perhaps especially, the Anglican church) is that they are not being fed the Gospel. They are not being fed truth. They see too much hypocrisy, too much legalism, and not enough teaching or gospel-centered community. There isn't enough discipleship, there isn't enough solid theology, and there isn't enough vulnerability in relationships to make it distinct from anything else in the world.
There are too many sermons being preached from the pulpit that a Buddhist, Agnostic, "spiritual-but-not-religious", or Moralist could agree with, and there is too much comfort and too much condemnation. There are not enough questions being asked, and even less being answered. There is too much teaching about self, and not enough teaching about God. There is too much programming, too many nameless faces, too many drifters and church-daters,* too little evangelism, too many comfortable and glossed-over sermons, too much political commentary, and too many places that ask you to check your brain at the door.
The church is supposed to be a place of people gathered who recognize that they are not qualified to be called a church. They are not worthy of being called righteous. They are gathered because of something entirely outside of themselves - salvation through faith alone, by grace alone, in Christ alone. It has nothing - absolutely nothing - to do with them. The church should be a place of intellectual, spiritual, emotional engagement, a place of honesty and messiness. A place of joy, pleasure, and deep, abiding love for one another. It should make you uncomfortable sometimes, but always welcome. There should never be condemnation, but there should be loving reprimands and compassion. It should be a place where self disappears into thinking of others as better, into a place of natural, holistic service that is driven by the passions and the needs of the church and it's members.
Somehow, I don't think that music is the root of the issue here. I get that some people just don't like organ music - and that's fine! You're entitled to your own tastes. Some people don't like electric guitars or drums, either. But the type of music being sung is not what should draw people to a church, and I don't think its what's driving them away, either. If my church started playing organ music and singing from the old hymnals, I'd still stick around even though it's not my favorite kind of worship. Because the theology is good, because the Gospel is clear, and because the community is genuinely centered on Christ and nothing else, I'd stick around.
I think we need to re-evaluate what kind of church we want to build, not what kind of music we want to sing. When we start evaluating churches based on music, we are making music more important than the word of God, more important than the Gospel, and more important than what scripture tells us a church should be.
This is a criticism against the church as a whole, not just the Anglican community (the article that prompted this just happened to come from an Anglican group). Please do not read this as a personal or denominational attack - it is not. I think some churches do some things well, and other churches do other things well - no one church is perfect. I think there are strengths and weaknesses to hierarchy, to liturgy, and to ritual. I think every denomination has some unhealthy and dying churches, and I think the American Christian community as a whole is seeing a mass exodus of young people. This is partly the fault of parents, partly the fault of youth ministers, partly the fault of pastors, partly the fault of the youth themselves, partly the fault of the strong pull that culture has, and partly just an unhappy, unfortunate circumstance that comes from the Gospel being unpopular. Everyone bears some responsibility.
But the music is not the problem. The heart is the problem. When youth are not being fed the hard truth of the Gospel, and being asked to believe it and live it out, having other believers come alongside them and walk through life with them, they aren't going to stick around, even if we start singing Lady Gaga or Beyonce or Usher. The music does not matter. This push for contemporary music, thinking that will draw youth in, its absurd. The Gospel matters. Without the Gospel, churches die.
*as in, people who date the church instead of treating it as a type of marriage covenant with a specific people and with Christ. I don't mean people who date other people at church...
Monday, February 20
I'm Forever Yours, Faithfully
I have not been faithful in blogging this year. To be honest, I haven't been faithful in a lot of things this year. Which is a problem, because it's only 6 weeks in. We have 46 more left. (Lord, have mercy on me!)
Not that I put much stock in the changing of a calendar page and the seasons story of my life coinciding. I think it's blarney, hogwash, silly, and often damaging to allow myself to be defined by years, seasons, weeks, status in school, or a 5-year plan (or any semblance thereof). I am defined by God's time, by God's refining, and by God's mighty and perfect hand.
That being said, I live in this world. While I wait for the next, where eternity will be spent, I am in this. Where we have linear time, that progresses consistently - via calendars that happen to be defined by 24 hour - 7 day - 52 week increments. And this is the way the Lord has created and allowed it. And so, to a degree, I must be faithful to that.
All digressions about the nature of time aside, I truly have not been faithful in much this year. My heart is in a slump. I find no joy in the Word. I fight with myself to pray fruitfully and meaningfully. I find myself being drug along this crazy roller-coaster of emotions. Sometimes, at moments, I find I have a passion and a flare, a desire. Similar to what was a constant in my heart for the last year. My heart is closer to being in line with God's. But then, I sit alone in my room, struggling to motivate myself to do work, and I find myself procrastinating. Not just on school work, on my time with the Lord. Normally, I'd procrastinate THROUGH time in the Word. Now, I'm not doing either.
Perhaps this is the Lord's way of using the attacks of the enemy to deal with my propensity for procrastination. He is no longer being used by me as the enabler. This is ultimately a good thing for me. This is something that I can attack. That I can tackle. I can refuse to diminish God to something I do because I don't want to be doing something else.
I know that if I continue to pray, to seek, and to walk humbly (although I may be tripping every other step), the Lord will grow in me. I'm so thankful that the Lord has promised to be faithful, always, no matter what my state of being, or what state of emotional flux I'm in. Always -- that's one of the most beautiful things to me. My affections, my desires, and my love for him will have no choice but to expand, because of His faithfulness, not mine.
Lord, have mercy on my soul.
Not that I put much stock in the changing of a calendar page and the seasons story of my life coinciding. I think it's blarney, hogwash, silly, and often damaging to allow myself to be defined by years, seasons, weeks, status in school, or a 5-year plan (or any semblance thereof). I am defined by God's time, by God's refining, and by God's mighty and perfect hand.
That being said, I live in this world. While I wait for the next, where eternity will be spent, I am in this. Where we have linear time, that progresses consistently - via calendars that happen to be defined by 24 hour - 7 day - 52 week increments. And this is the way the Lord has created and allowed it. And so, to a degree, I must be faithful to that.
All digressions about the nature of time aside, I truly have not been faithful in much this year. My heart is in a slump. I find no joy in the Word. I fight with myself to pray fruitfully and meaningfully. I find myself being drug along this crazy roller-coaster of emotions. Sometimes, at moments, I find I have a passion and a flare, a desire. Similar to what was a constant in my heart for the last year. My heart is closer to being in line with God's. But then, I sit alone in my room, struggling to motivate myself to do work, and I find myself procrastinating. Not just on school work, on my time with the Lord. Normally, I'd procrastinate THROUGH time in the Word. Now, I'm not doing either.
Perhaps this is the Lord's way of using the attacks of the enemy to deal with my propensity for procrastination. He is no longer being used by me as the enabler. This is ultimately a good thing for me. This is something that I can attack. That I can tackle. I can refuse to diminish God to something I do because I don't want to be doing something else.
I know that if I continue to pray, to seek, and to walk humbly (although I may be tripping every other step), the Lord will grow in me. I'm so thankful that the Lord has promised to be faithful, always, no matter what my state of being, or what state of emotional flux I'm in. Always -- that's one of the most beautiful things to me. My affections, my desires, and my love for him will have no choice but to expand, because of His faithfulness, not mine.
Lord, have mercy on my soul.
Thursday, February 2
***!!!!WE'RE GOING BACK!!!!***
Hello Friends! It is my privilege and joy to
tell you that I will be returning to Haiti in a little less than 6 weeks (my
spring break)! My heart is
just overflowing with joy as I write this, but also with confidence and
hopefulness that the Lord will provide health, finances, opportunity, people,
and resources for us to take this trip – it is going to cost $1100 per person,
but it is worth the time and effort to see God’s Kingdom proclaimed and
advanced.
I am going again
with a team of 8 from my church (another team of 8 will go down in early June),
in our partnership with HaitiLove The trip itself, however, will look a bit
different than last year. As
circumstances, the political environment, and our knowledge of the situation in
Haiti have changed, there have been some shifts in the way that HaitiLove, and
thus Restoration Church, are interacting with and caring for the people of
Haiti. Also, because of the instability
and constantly changing circumstances in Haiti, our itinerary is not yet
solidified. But the flights are
booked (Praise God!), so regardless of what we end up doing, or where we are, we will be
going to serve the Lord and build His Kingdom!
The plan is to leave
Washington, DC early the morning of March 10th, and fly to Santo
Domingo, Dominican Republic. From
there we will hopefully be going to Puerto Plata, DR. This is a beach resort town (but we won’t be doing any lounging…)
in the DR, where Haitians often migrate to in an attempt to find work, if they
can cross the border. The problem
is that the Haitian-Dominican relations are not good, and so the Haitians at
this resort are not paid fairly, are discriminated against, and often find that
they are not even recognized by the government. We will be working with this group of people, and a
local church there to help build a community center that will serve as a
church, clinic, shelter, and anything else.
We will then go to
Phaeton, Haiti, where we will attempt to build a church in this small
town. This community has no
healthy churches in or around the area, but there are a few Haitians who have
been connected with HaitiLove, and through this partnership we now have the
opportunity to help get a healthy church off the ground in an area that
desperately needs it. We
will then return to the United States on Saturday the 17th.
Although this trip
looks much different, I am blessed by the opportunity to go and share the
Gospel. The Haitian community in
general is severely lacking in leadership and spiritual maturity, and this trip
is an opportunity to help build on this.
We have, as a church, been building a children’s curriculum, a pastor’s
curriculum, and a women’s curriculum for HaitiLove, in hopes that they can
consistently teach Scripture and truth to those they interact with. The goal is to build consistently
across the various teams that are able to take short-term trips, that the
ministry might be more effective.
We need your help
to do this. Please spend some time
in prayer with us for this trip.
Haiti is a dark place, and we need many people praying for us now, and
as we are gone. This will be the
first trip HaitiLove takes in 2012, and will be the first trip since
relationships have changed with some of the Haitian organizations and people we
will be working with. Please pray
that we can build solid and scriptural groundwork for this organization and for
the Gospel in this country. Please
pray for the health of all our team members, and that we might be consistently
and earnestly praying for and preparing for this trip, even this far in advance. Please pray for the hearts of those
that we meet and interact with, that the Spirit might open their eyes to the
truth of the Gospel. Pray we might
find the financial resources to make this trip happen, and for the resources
for it to be fruitful. Please take some
time and pray, and if you would like to donate, please email me, call me, or otherwise track me down (in the virtual or physical realm!). Regardless, please pray with
us. Our church is young and small,
but we desperately desire to see the kingdom of God advanced, and we need your
prayer to make this happen. My heart just aches for these people, but I cannot do this alone. Please, please pray with us.
I cannot wait to
tell you all about our preparation for this trip as it continues, and all of
the mighty things God does during this time. Know that I love you all, and pray for you regularly.
In Christ’s
abundant blessings,
K
Sunday, January 15
The Finals Week from Hell: Fall Semester in Retrospect
So here we are, on the brink of a new semester, and all the blogging I had planned for christmas break didn't get done at all. Oops. I guess I was too busy having fun. :)
There are lots of things I had planned on blogging about. Tim Tebow and the Broncos. Skiing. Fun times with the family. The meaning of Christmas. Sin. Joy. Beautiful baby boys and girls who giggle and make me (momentarily) rethink my "plan" that I don't want children. But the one thing that I can't shake, the one thing that I think I just HAVE to share, is finals. Not because it was glorious, but because it was extraordinarily ugly. And so, so magnificent.
There's some basic background you need to this story: I'm not great at school. I'm about average on intelligence, but my stubborn level (and thus, when I want it to be, my work ethic) is probably in the 99th percentile. (Seriously, ask my mom. She'll tell you the same thing). I don't get great grades, I really struggle with testing, but high school taught me how to B.S. just about anything, so I manage. I'm not outstandingly organized - I only color-code things because I like for things to look like rainbows, not because it's actually something helpful. I know where all my crap is, but it's chaos to anyone else. I know how to plan ahead, but just because I know how, doesn't mean I always do it.
In high school (before I was a Christian), I found my justification, my purpose, and my identity to a large degree in my grades. Not entirely, some of it was found in my athletic ability, my rebellious phase, my "cool factor", my friendships, and other things. But a lot of it, probably the majority of it, was in my performance at school, and how much I can be involved in. Since I've become a Christian, I recognize that this is neither healthy or productive, and I've sought to define my identity in one thing only - Christ. But this has not always been an easy transition. And I have come a long way, but there is still a long road in front of me.
And then, this semester, finals came back to bite me, in a big way. A really big way. Ask a couple of the girls from my church, they'll tell you what a mess I was. I think they probably thought someone kidnapped me and replaced me with a crazed, schitzo, manic-depressive clone who was about to burst into tears and/or throw something through a window at any moment. I feel bad I imposed my very presence on them, that's how much of a nut-job I was.
In thinking about it in retrospect (always 20/20, right?), I never really got myself together after Haiti. I jumped straight into traveling and working and family reunions and new bosses and graduations and friends and family... phew! And then I moved back to DC, and jumped into classes and reading and new work stuff, and friends and a new living situation, and getting behind in classes through something that truly wasn't any fault of my own. And then 18 credit-hours (mostly upper-level) and church and working 20 hours and crazy professors.... goodness! So I'm already 6 months exhausted.
And then finals hit. I'm not sure when this became acceptable, but I took 6 classes. And I had 9 finals. Yes, you read that correctly, it's not a type-o. 9 finals. In one class in particular, I earned 70% of my grade, through 3 COMPLETELY DIFFERENT assignments in the last WEEK (singular) of classes.... (Ridiculous!) My finals accumulated to 3 comprehensive exams plus 6 research papers which ended up totaling somewhere between 85-100 pages of papers on 6 completely different topics. And in 3 of those classes, I needed good (B or higher) grades on the finals, or I'd lose my scholarship. 2 of those tests came from crazy-psycho professor who expected way too much out of us (and that's coming from someone who never says that). Talk about the finals week from hell.
And to top it all off - AU cut off my internet with 2 1/2 weeks left in the semester, for no apparent reason. And the nearest 24-hour place with internet to me is a 1 mile walk and then a 3 mile bus ride. What a delightful icing on an already intimidating cake. *Thank you, AU OIT, you have no idea how much I appreciate you...* I spent about 12 hours being mad. And then I realized my being mad wasn't going to fix it. So I just had to dive in and figure it out. And nearly all of figuring it out involved relying on the Lord. In a way I've never done before.
***Disclaimer: I'm not saying this for your sympathy, or to point out how much I can juggle successfully. I'm pointing this out first so that you understand the obstacles I had in my way to remaining faithful to the Lord's plan. Because He has made it abundantly clear that I am to remain in school right now. And that plan, unless God provides a giant bag of money from the sky, is going to require my scholarship. And second, in order that you might understand how desperate I was for any help from the Lord. Through circumstances almost entirely out of my control, I ended up in this situation, and I had to fight through the victimization mentality, and through the stubborn "I'm a big girl and I can handle anything" mentality and really, really humble myself.***
I hit a point about a week and a half into it, writing papers, where all I could muster was 10 minutes of writing. Then I'd go read the Bible and pray for 5. Then write for ten. Pray for five. Repeat. Over and over. All. Night. Long. And I just kept saying, "Lord, this is all I've got left. This is it. I'm giving it everything, and this is just going to have to be enough. Because even though it's not much, I really truly don't have anything more than this." I'm sure the other people at the 24-hour Starbucks thought I was completely crazy looking, frantically writing for ten minutes, spread out over 2 chairs and an entire coffee table, and then pulling out my Bible and my journal at various intervals, fighting off tears.
I was desperate. For anything. For any sense of relief. The enemy sent so many discouraging thoughts, discouraging people, and discouraging emotions my way, I could hardly bat them off before the next one hit me. One of my friends, M., kept encouraging me (so well, so wonderfully - what a blessing she was!!). She kept saying, "You're going to make it! I promise!" And on a rational level, I knew that was true. I knew that even an entire week with not a single second of sleep would not actually kill me. That I was not in any way in danger. But so often, I didn't believe it - really. I didn't know if I was going to make it through without being institutionalized. I thought "Oh, Lord, I'm not sure! I'm not sure I can! I don't have it in me!" I didn't see people, I skipped meals and nights of sleep, the only thing I did was work on school. Without reprieve. I was so, so very tired. All I wanted to do was just sit and cry. But I knew if I let myself do that I wouldn't be able to pick myself up again, and keep going, so I just fought it. I knew if one tear fell, it would be over. And so I read the Psalms. Over and over. Especially Psalm 25 and Psalm 103. I just prayed through them over and over, and over and over. Never have I ever read one chapter of the Bible so many times in such a short span of time.
I honestly can't recall ever being that desperate for the hand and presence of God. And you know what? That saying that says, "God won't ever give you more than you can handle"? I'm here to tell you that's CRAP. Blarney. Hogwash. Hooey. Absolute bullshit. God OFTEN gives us more than we can handle. But you know what? He NEVER gives us more than HE can handle (I mean, He is the God of the Universe. There's nothing He can't handle!). And that was where I was. I could not do what I needed to do alone. I needed God. Truly needed Him. For me and for my grades. Not for my glory, for His.
I had to fight through the pride that wanted to ask for good grades so that I could build myself up. But I fought through, to a place where I could honestly say, "Lord, I don't care what grades I get. I really don't. But if you want me to stay in school, you're going to have to get me through this, because I don't see a way out. I can't do this. Any of it. If this is where you want me, you're going to have to do the heavy lifting. And I'll give you the credit you deserve. But this is ALL you."
And you know what? God was GOOD! SO, ABUNDANTLY GOOD TO ME!!!!!!! I ended up with MUCH better grades than I expected, and I hung on to my scholarship by more than the skin of my teeth like I was expecting. I saw the grace and provision of God in his Body (oh, praise the Lord for His community!!!), in his protection of me, in his great and abiding peace. In his sovereign provision of internet when I really needed it, and closing time when what I really needed was sleep. With friends who helped me, both in class and out of it, with coffee that actually helped me, with professors who were graciously understanding of my situation. Grace beyond my wildest imagination.
It wasn't at all pretty. Or fun. Or an experience I would want to repeat. Ever. But the Lord taught me so much - I had to cling so desperately to Him, I had to not just lean on Him, but throw myself at His feet and beg for him to carry me, and through it, I saw and experienced the sanctification of the Spirit in new ways, the continued destruction of idols, the faithfulness of the Father, treasured the propitiation, justification, and redemption of the Son in new and more meaningful ways, and experienced the rest and peace of the Lord. And I learned that sometimes the best, most wonderful moments are experienced when there is absolutely nothing else left.
And there's nobody I'd rather walk through that week with than my Abba.
There are lots of things I had planned on blogging about. Tim Tebow and the Broncos. Skiing. Fun times with the family. The meaning of Christmas. Sin. Joy. Beautiful baby boys and girls who giggle and make me (momentarily) rethink my "plan" that I don't want children. But the one thing that I can't shake, the one thing that I think I just HAVE to share, is finals. Not because it was glorious, but because it was extraordinarily ugly. And so, so magnificent.
There's some basic background you need to this story: I'm not great at school. I'm about average on intelligence, but my stubborn level (and thus, when I want it to be, my work ethic) is probably in the 99th percentile. (Seriously, ask my mom. She'll tell you the same thing). I don't get great grades, I really struggle with testing, but high school taught me how to B.S. just about anything, so I manage. I'm not outstandingly organized - I only color-code things because I like for things to look like rainbows, not because it's actually something helpful. I know where all my crap is, but it's chaos to anyone else. I know how to plan ahead, but just because I know how, doesn't mean I always do it.
In high school (before I was a Christian), I found my justification, my purpose, and my identity to a large degree in my grades. Not entirely, some of it was found in my athletic ability, my rebellious phase, my "cool factor", my friendships, and other things. But a lot of it, probably the majority of it, was in my performance at school, and how much I can be involved in. Since I've become a Christian, I recognize that this is neither healthy or productive, and I've sought to define my identity in one thing only - Christ. But this has not always been an easy transition. And I have come a long way, but there is still a long road in front of me.
And then, this semester, finals came back to bite me, in a big way. A really big way. Ask a couple of the girls from my church, they'll tell you what a mess I was. I think they probably thought someone kidnapped me and replaced me with a crazed, schitzo, manic-depressive clone who was about to burst into tears and/or throw something through a window at any moment. I feel bad I imposed my very presence on them, that's how much of a nut-job I was.
In thinking about it in retrospect (always 20/20, right?), I never really got myself together after Haiti. I jumped straight into traveling and working and family reunions and new bosses and graduations and friends and family... phew! And then I moved back to DC, and jumped into classes and reading and new work stuff, and friends and a new living situation, and getting behind in classes through something that truly wasn't any fault of my own. And then 18 credit-hours (mostly upper-level) and church and working 20 hours and crazy professors.... goodness! So I'm already 6 months exhausted.
And then finals hit. I'm not sure when this became acceptable, but I took 6 classes. And I had 9 finals. Yes, you read that correctly, it's not a type-o. 9 finals. In one class in particular, I earned 70% of my grade, through 3 COMPLETELY DIFFERENT assignments in the last WEEK (singular) of classes.... (Ridiculous!) My finals accumulated to 3 comprehensive exams plus 6 research papers which ended up totaling somewhere between 85-100 pages of papers on 6 completely different topics. And in 3 of those classes, I needed good (B or higher) grades on the finals, or I'd lose my scholarship. 2 of those tests came from crazy-psycho professor who expected way too much out of us (and that's coming from someone who never says that). Talk about the finals week from hell.
And to top it all off - AU cut off my internet with 2 1/2 weeks left in the semester, for no apparent reason. And the nearest 24-hour place with internet to me is a 1 mile walk and then a 3 mile bus ride. What a delightful icing on an already intimidating cake. *Thank you, AU OIT, you have no idea how much I appreciate you...* I spent about 12 hours being mad. And then I realized my being mad wasn't going to fix it. So I just had to dive in and figure it out. And nearly all of figuring it out involved relying on the Lord. In a way I've never done before.
***Disclaimer: I'm not saying this for your sympathy, or to point out how much I can juggle successfully. I'm pointing this out first so that you understand the obstacles I had in my way to remaining faithful to the Lord's plan. Because He has made it abundantly clear that I am to remain in school right now. And that plan, unless God provides a giant bag of money from the sky, is going to require my scholarship. And second, in order that you might understand how desperate I was for any help from the Lord. Through circumstances almost entirely out of my control, I ended up in this situation, and I had to fight through the victimization mentality, and through the stubborn "I'm a big girl and I can handle anything" mentality and really, really humble myself.***
I hit a point about a week and a half into it, writing papers, where all I could muster was 10 minutes of writing. Then I'd go read the Bible and pray for 5. Then write for ten. Pray for five. Repeat. Over and over. All. Night. Long. And I just kept saying, "Lord, this is all I've got left. This is it. I'm giving it everything, and this is just going to have to be enough. Because even though it's not much, I really truly don't have anything more than this." I'm sure the other people at the 24-hour Starbucks thought I was completely crazy looking, frantically writing for ten minutes, spread out over 2 chairs and an entire coffee table, and then pulling out my Bible and my journal at various intervals, fighting off tears.
I was desperate. For anything. For any sense of relief. The enemy sent so many discouraging thoughts, discouraging people, and discouraging emotions my way, I could hardly bat them off before the next one hit me. One of my friends, M., kept encouraging me (so well, so wonderfully - what a blessing she was!!). She kept saying, "You're going to make it! I promise!" And on a rational level, I knew that was true. I knew that even an entire week with not a single second of sleep would not actually kill me. That I was not in any way in danger. But so often, I didn't believe it - really. I didn't know if I was going to make it through without being institutionalized. I thought "Oh, Lord, I'm not sure! I'm not sure I can! I don't have it in me!" I didn't see people, I skipped meals and nights of sleep, the only thing I did was work on school. Without reprieve. I was so, so very tired. All I wanted to do was just sit and cry. But I knew if I let myself do that I wouldn't be able to pick myself up again, and keep going, so I just fought it. I knew if one tear fell, it would be over. And so I read the Psalms. Over and over. Especially Psalm 25 and Psalm 103. I just prayed through them over and over, and over and over. Never have I ever read one chapter of the Bible so many times in such a short span of time.
I honestly can't recall ever being that desperate for the hand and presence of God. And you know what? That saying that says, "God won't ever give you more than you can handle"? I'm here to tell you that's CRAP. Blarney. Hogwash. Hooey. Absolute bullshit. God OFTEN gives us more than we can handle. But you know what? He NEVER gives us more than HE can handle (I mean, He is the God of the Universe. There's nothing He can't handle!). And that was where I was. I could not do what I needed to do alone. I needed God. Truly needed Him. For me and for my grades. Not for my glory, for His.
I had to fight through the pride that wanted to ask for good grades so that I could build myself up. But I fought through, to a place where I could honestly say, "Lord, I don't care what grades I get. I really don't. But if you want me to stay in school, you're going to have to get me through this, because I don't see a way out. I can't do this. Any of it. If this is where you want me, you're going to have to do the heavy lifting. And I'll give you the credit you deserve. But this is ALL you."
And you know what? God was GOOD! SO, ABUNDANTLY GOOD TO ME!!!!!!! I ended up with MUCH better grades than I expected, and I hung on to my scholarship by more than the skin of my teeth like I was expecting. I saw the grace and provision of God in his Body (oh, praise the Lord for His community!!!), in his protection of me, in his great and abiding peace. In his sovereign provision of internet when I really needed it, and closing time when what I really needed was sleep. With friends who helped me, both in class and out of it, with coffee that actually helped me, with professors who were graciously understanding of my situation. Grace beyond my wildest imagination.
It wasn't at all pretty. Or fun. Or an experience I would want to repeat. Ever. But the Lord taught me so much - I had to cling so desperately to Him, I had to not just lean on Him, but throw myself at His feet and beg for him to carry me, and through it, I saw and experienced the sanctification of the Spirit in new ways, the continued destruction of idols, the faithfulness of the Father, treasured the propitiation, justification, and redemption of the Son in new and more meaningful ways, and experienced the rest and peace of the Lord. And I learned that sometimes the best, most wonderful moments are experienced when there is absolutely nothing else left.
And there's nobody I'd rather walk through that week with than my Abba.
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