If only...

If only it were easier.  

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Haiti: Jaqueline

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

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

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

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

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

She never showed up. 

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

We missed you at the Bible study, I say.

Yea, I had things to do, she replies. 

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

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

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

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

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

So we say we will.  And we leave. 

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

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

That was my prayer.   Unexpectant.  Unloving. 

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

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

I don't make the connection.  

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

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

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

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

God is abundantly good.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do you think differently about God?  Noah probes.

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

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

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

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

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


Trust me.


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

Trust me.

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

How to Stop Loving the Nations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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