Over the months I’ve had a few faithful followers inquire about when I would blog again. Going on 48 hours trapped in my small apartment due to the ice storm seems like as good a time as any!
Snow days are wonderful when you’re trapped with roommates; they’re miserably boring when you’re by yourself. My fiancé knows as well as anyone that when extroverts like me are left to their own vices we get lazy, lethargic, and apathetic. He wisely texted me last night inquiring just how many Friends episodes I’d plowed through. Perhaps to tease me and my addiction, perhaps to lovingly and gently remind me to be a wise steward of my time. Gosh I am blessed!
Luckily, and through the grace of God, I had just started my first episode (since then I’m only up to three). I’ve been praying lately that God would take my sloth and turn it into productivity. In other words, turning off the tube in favor of a good book, quiet time, listening to sermons, catching up with friends on the phone, and the like.
And true to God’s form, the second I set aside the sin of sloth, muting incessant music and/or television in my room, I could hear His voice loud and clear. This morning I was reading a book where a young girl came to this realization that to wait and to hope are the same word in Spanish – esperar. She originally thought this was coincidental, and then questioned… are waiting and to hope really the same thing? As long as you are waiting, you still have hope, right? This really got my wheels going.
I am waiting. And hoping. Waiting to marry the love of my life and hoping the 100 days left will freaking go faster!! Waiting to be a wife and hoping I’ll be good at it. Waiting to move to Chicago and hoping (and praying) that God is already preparing a church, friends, and a home for Tom and me there. Waiting to hear back from all these darn schools I’ve applied to and hoping someone likes my application enough to hire me.
Still, I can’t help but feel like the two words cannot be used interchangeably by most of us today. Or at least me. Waiting seems to imply impatience and negativity, whereas being hopeful describes more of a joyful anxiety. Even as I described the list above of things I’m waiting and hoping for, I realized that the two words may be synonymous, but when put together the only thing they mean is unfaithfulness.
That’s not to say there can’t be a healthy dose of hope, excitement, and anticipation for a marriage and new phase of life. But my waiting and hoping tends to play out in the form of anxiety and worry. Rather than delighting in my current engagement with Tom I flock to friends who will commiserate with me about the pains of wedding planning. They’re obviously other engaged women. Who but us could sympathize with each-others woes? Oh you poor women, you get to plan the most romantic day of your life with the man of your dreams. That sounds awful!
Tim Reeves, Tom and my associate pastor from High Rock Church explained to me a few weeks ago that engagement is the worst part of dating and married life combined. Ouch! Yeah, budgeting for the wedding is stressful, registering is no picnic, and cutting guest list after guest list is less than fun, but we’re getting married!!! I sometimes get so wrapped up in how excited I am to be Tom’s wife that I forget what a blessing it is to just be his fiancé. We’ll never have this phase of life again.
On top of all the other frustration that comes with being engaged, for a Christian couple there’s the added struggle of purity. Contrary to secular belief, we Christians are not a-sexual. We have desires like everyone else and particularly when you’re so close to marriage, it becomes harder and harder to draw that line in the sand. It’s easy to justify, “But we will be husband and wife soon,” “We are getting married.” A good friend of mine and accountability partner the other day was discussing similar frustrations in her life and shared with me the wise words of her fiancé, “We should be thankful for this trial and seek to embrace it. We are never in our lives going to be able to honor the Lord with this kind of a trial again; to remain faithful to the Lord despite our youthful passions. It is a gift, and we can honor the Lord so well with it if we fight.” Amen!
I think that is my favorite part about this waiting time, and the fact that Tom and I have “waited” our whole lives for each other and marriage. Our world doesn’t value waiting patiently anymore. We want instant gratification. We have e-mail, facebook, text message, instant mashed potatoes. We don’t have to wait for anything anymore, and when we are forced to wait, we act like it’s an abomination to spare 15 minutes of our lives in line or on hold.
The point is; waiting doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Maybe the good ole Spaniards had it right and waiting and hoping do mean the same thing, it’s us who has tainted their meaning. Rather than anxiously waiting and hoping that the Lord will provide for Tom and my marriage and my ability as a counselor and a wife, I want to joyfully expect that will be the case. Then all the time and energy I spend worrying about the future now can be spent loving and adoring on my wonderful fiancé. Enjoying our engagement. And if we can enjoy the worst part of dating and marriage combined?? Well then I think that means we have a pretty blessed future ahead of us.
Don’t believe me? When God uses the word “wait” I can’t help but sense more of a positive, patience in His words.
“I wait for your salvation, O Lord.” Genesis 49:19
“And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.” Romans 8:23
“But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” Isaiah 40:31
And one of my favorite memory verses:
25 “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? 26 Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? 27 And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? 28 And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, 29 yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. 30 But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? 31 Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. 33 But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. 34 “Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble. Matthew 6:25-34
So whatever you’re waiting for, whatever you’ve been waiting your whole life for. Remember that waiting is a gift. And have hope; wait for it patiently, and eagerly. The same way we wait for the salvation of the Lord and our redemptive bodies.
Esperar. I’ve been waiting/hoping my whole life for Tom. Perhaps it’s fitting we’ll begin our lives together and stop all the “waiting” in Mexico. :)
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Rebel With a Cause
I’ve been absent from the blogging world for a good while, and while multiple people have come to me lately asking why, or when I’d write again, I struggled to sift through my laundry list of reasons and excuses to give a satisfying, even Godly rationale for where I’ve been.
It’s been the most incredible and incredibly challenging semester I’ve had in years. After a tumultuous 9 days in Africa, I was ill-prepared for everything that was about to happen to me back at home.
Somewhere throughout the years of friends graduating, getting married, getting real jobs in other cities, I didn’t realize nearly every close female friend I’d made throughout college was gone. Save a precious handful. I was in a new neighborhood, a new apartment, with a new roommate, a new job, a new group of girls to lead, a new Bible study, and a new church.
And because I’m an over-analytic girl studying to be even more analytical, I have my personality down to a tee. I’m an odd combination of an independent extrovert. I love large groups and absolutely cannot stand an empty apartment. I derive energy from others and am absolutely crippled from productivity when I’m by myself. At the same time, I rarely like to be bothered. I like my door shut. I like my mouth shut. For the most part I want to keep my thoughts to myself, I just like observing and listening. That invigorates me, trying to stir up conversation with new friends, or being in new environment drains me beyond belief, and culminates in near-daily tension migraines.
So, I’ve been busy adjusting.
Busy feeling like a failure.
Busy becoming aware of my glaring sin.
Busy trying to be more like Christ.
Busy trying to understand how to give myself, and those around me, grace.
And busy falling in love.
God is so good, and despite the trying semester of newness I’ve had, he granted me one constant to help me through every twist, turn, and dark alley. In the last 2.5 years my feelings for Tom are the only thing that never changed. He’s been the most incredible stronghold for me to lean on through every headache, literal or not. He’s shown me steadfast love and has supported me through every doubt and fear, and encouraged me to believe truth over all the enemy’s lies. He loves me just the way I am and too much to stay that way. He shows me grace, and yet he isn’t afraid to push me out of my comfort zone and introduce me to more new people, experiences, and feelings. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Tom can’t be put into words, and yet as I tried, I loved that the words I used to characterize Tom quickly reminded me of words in scripture used to characterize God.
“My God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation. He is my stronghold, my refuge and my savior.” 2 Samuel 22:33
“Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; for his steadfast love endures forever!” Psalm 118:1
I love Jesus, and Tom’s the closest man I’ve found to him. Hence therefore, I love Tom. :) He’s the perfect example of confident humility. Confident enough to lead, and humble enough to get mad at me for saying he’s anywhere close to Jesus.
.......
I could chalk up my lack of blogging to any one of those excuses about how busy I’ve been. They’re all true. But if I’m being completely honest, I’ve been far busier doing other things.
I was busy rebelling.
Busy performing.
Busy acting.
Busy brushing God aside and attempting to reach perfection and lead others to perfection all by myself.
Attempting to fix all the flaws in my own life takes an incredible amount of time, energy, shame, and guilt. Quite the price to pay for something that was already bought for me. But I’ve never been good at excepting gifts.
The funny thing is, most of my seemingly innate talents seemed to fly out the window once I showed God the door. A true sign all my talents are manifested from God and a gift from the Holy Spirit. When the Spirit wasn’t present, neither were they.
Instead of returning to Him, this caused me to fight harder and rebel further. Throughout the semester I’ve fallen in love with this chapter from Isaiah. I couldn’t understand why. I loved the way it sounded, but couldn’t figure out how Israel’s rebellion applied to my life. I gave up writing about God in blogs so I could write my own life. I was the rebel.
“For they are a rebellious people, lying children, children unwilling to hear the instruction of the Lord; who say to the seers, “Do not see,” and to the prophets, “Do not prophesy to us what is right; speak to us smooth things, prophesy illusions, leave the way, turn aside from the path,let us hear no more about the Holy One of Israel.” Therefore thus says the Holy One of Israel, “Because you despise this word and trust in oppression and perverseness and rely on them therefore this iniquity shall be to you like a breach in a high wall, bulging out, and about to collapse, whose breaking comes suddenly, in an instant; and its breaking is like that of a potter's vessel that is smashed so ruthlessly that among its fragments not a shard is found with which to take fire from the hearth, or to dip up water out of the cistern.”
For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.” But you were unwilling, and you said, “No! We will flee upon horses”; therefore you shall flee away; and, “We will ride upon swift steeds”; therefore your pursuers shall be swift. A thousand shall flee at the threat of one; at the threat of five you shall flee, till you are left like a flagstaff on the top of a mountain, like a signal on a hill.
Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him.”Isaiah 30:9-18
I’ve been aware that God has been showing me things and teaching me things all semester. But I didn’t want to see. I wasn’t ready to deal with everything. I wanted to continue to hear “smooth” things, or loosely translated, I wanted to continue to hear what I wanted to hear.
There was a day in my kitchen I remember halfheartedly wrestling with God in all the newness of the semester, I read this part of Isaiah 30 and knew it was significant, but became too busy putting away dishes to ask God what it all meant. I dried our large glass bowl and set it on the shelf, and before I knew what was happening, it had toppled over and shattered into literally hundreds of tiny shards.
I immediately thought of the verse and was awestruck that as shattered and broken as that bowl was, God says when we rebel we will be smashed so fiercely not a shard will be found.
We are sinful by nature. As comfortable as the old is, we must be made new. We’re all cracked pots who spend our lives attempting to fill ourselves up rather than choosing to drink from the living water that never runs dry. We are broken by nature, the difference is, God sets us free by breaking us the rest of the way, and he does it in a way that leaves no messy pieces. When the devil breaks us down, he leaves broken glass everywhere, sure to injure anyone who encounters us.
And even after this eye-opening episode I didn’t return and rest in quietness. I ran. I fled on horses. Yet the faster I ran, the faster my pursuers ran (Isaiah 30:16).
So I pitied myself and complained to all those around me who would listen. I felt attacked, and victimized and wondered why God had seemed to abandon me. I failed to see my own cause.
Then I stumbled upon this verse:
“You have seen the wrong done to me, judge my cause.” Lamentations 3:59
Praise God that He waits to be gracious to us! In all my impatient rants and expectations and planning over the semester, I imagine God sitting on His thrown with a wry, loving smile, waiting to be gracious to me. No matter how rebellious I’ve been, or for how long.
In my journey to imitate Christ I focused more on attaining perfection than seeking to be like He who is already perfect, and died on the cross to grant me undeserved grace, which covers my imperfection.
At least I did have one thing right. I rebelled. Jesus was a rebel, too, but without a cause.
It’s been the most incredible and incredibly challenging semester I’ve had in years. After a tumultuous 9 days in Africa, I was ill-prepared for everything that was about to happen to me back at home.
Somewhere throughout the years of friends graduating, getting married, getting real jobs in other cities, I didn’t realize nearly every close female friend I’d made throughout college was gone. Save a precious handful. I was in a new neighborhood, a new apartment, with a new roommate, a new job, a new group of girls to lead, a new Bible study, and a new church.
And because I’m an over-analytic girl studying to be even more analytical, I have my personality down to a tee. I’m an odd combination of an independent extrovert. I love large groups and absolutely cannot stand an empty apartment. I derive energy from others and am absolutely crippled from productivity when I’m by myself. At the same time, I rarely like to be bothered. I like my door shut. I like my mouth shut. For the most part I want to keep my thoughts to myself, I just like observing and listening. That invigorates me, trying to stir up conversation with new friends, or being in new environment drains me beyond belief, and culminates in near-daily tension migraines.
So, I’ve been busy adjusting.
Busy feeling like a failure.
Busy becoming aware of my glaring sin.
Busy trying to be more like Christ.
Busy trying to understand how to give myself, and those around me, grace.
And busy falling in love.
God is so good, and despite the trying semester of newness I’ve had, he granted me one constant to help me through every twist, turn, and dark alley. In the last 2.5 years my feelings for Tom are the only thing that never changed. He’s been the most incredible stronghold for me to lean on through every headache, literal or not. He’s shown me steadfast love and has supported me through every doubt and fear, and encouraged me to believe truth over all the enemy’s lies. He loves me just the way I am and too much to stay that way. He shows me grace, and yet he isn’t afraid to push me out of my comfort zone and introduce me to more new people, experiences, and feelings. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Tom can’t be put into words, and yet as I tried, I loved that the words I used to characterize Tom quickly reminded me of words in scripture used to characterize God.
“My God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation. He is my stronghold, my refuge and my savior.” 2 Samuel 22:33
“Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; for his steadfast love endures forever!” Psalm 118:1
I love Jesus, and Tom’s the closest man I’ve found to him. Hence therefore, I love Tom. :) He’s the perfect example of confident humility. Confident enough to lead, and humble enough to get mad at me for saying he’s anywhere close to Jesus.
.......
I could chalk up my lack of blogging to any one of those excuses about how busy I’ve been. They’re all true. But if I’m being completely honest, I’ve been far busier doing other things.
I was busy rebelling.
Busy performing.
Busy acting.
Busy brushing God aside and attempting to reach perfection and lead others to perfection all by myself.
Attempting to fix all the flaws in my own life takes an incredible amount of time, energy, shame, and guilt. Quite the price to pay for something that was already bought for me. But I’ve never been good at excepting gifts.
The funny thing is, most of my seemingly innate talents seemed to fly out the window once I showed God the door. A true sign all my talents are manifested from God and a gift from the Holy Spirit. When the Spirit wasn’t present, neither were they.
Instead of returning to Him, this caused me to fight harder and rebel further. Throughout the semester I’ve fallen in love with this chapter from Isaiah. I couldn’t understand why. I loved the way it sounded, but couldn’t figure out how Israel’s rebellion applied to my life. I gave up writing about God in blogs so I could write my own life. I was the rebel.
“For they are a rebellious people, lying children, children unwilling to hear the instruction of the Lord; who say to the seers, “Do not see,” and to the prophets, “Do not prophesy to us what is right; speak to us smooth things, prophesy illusions, leave the way, turn aside from the path,let us hear no more about the Holy One of Israel.” Therefore thus says the Holy One of Israel, “Because you despise this word and trust in oppression and perverseness and rely on them therefore this iniquity shall be to you like a breach in a high wall, bulging out, and about to collapse, whose breaking comes suddenly, in an instant; and its breaking is like that of a potter's vessel that is smashed so ruthlessly that among its fragments not a shard is found with which to take fire from the hearth, or to dip up water out of the cistern.”
For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.” But you were unwilling, and you said, “No! We will flee upon horses”; therefore you shall flee away; and, “We will ride upon swift steeds”; therefore your pursuers shall be swift. A thousand shall flee at the threat of one; at the threat of five you shall flee, till you are left like a flagstaff on the top of a mountain, like a signal on a hill.
Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him.”Isaiah 30:9-18
I’ve been aware that God has been showing me things and teaching me things all semester. But I didn’t want to see. I wasn’t ready to deal with everything. I wanted to continue to hear “smooth” things, or loosely translated, I wanted to continue to hear what I wanted to hear.
There was a day in my kitchen I remember halfheartedly wrestling with God in all the newness of the semester, I read this part of Isaiah 30 and knew it was significant, but became too busy putting away dishes to ask God what it all meant. I dried our large glass bowl and set it on the shelf, and before I knew what was happening, it had toppled over and shattered into literally hundreds of tiny shards.
I immediately thought of the verse and was awestruck that as shattered and broken as that bowl was, God says when we rebel we will be smashed so fiercely not a shard will be found.
We are sinful by nature. As comfortable as the old is, we must be made new. We’re all cracked pots who spend our lives attempting to fill ourselves up rather than choosing to drink from the living water that never runs dry. We are broken by nature, the difference is, God sets us free by breaking us the rest of the way, and he does it in a way that leaves no messy pieces. When the devil breaks us down, he leaves broken glass everywhere, sure to injure anyone who encounters us.
And even after this eye-opening episode I didn’t return and rest in quietness. I ran. I fled on horses. Yet the faster I ran, the faster my pursuers ran (Isaiah 30:16).
So I pitied myself and complained to all those around me who would listen. I felt attacked, and victimized and wondered why God had seemed to abandon me. I failed to see my own cause.
Then I stumbled upon this verse:
“You have seen the wrong done to me, judge my cause.” Lamentations 3:59
Praise God that He waits to be gracious to us! In all my impatient rants and expectations and planning over the semester, I imagine God sitting on His thrown with a wry, loving smile, waiting to be gracious to me. No matter how rebellious I’ve been, or for how long.
In my journey to imitate Christ I focused more on attaining perfection than seeking to be like He who is already perfect, and died on the cross to grant me undeserved grace, which covers my imperfection.
At least I did have one thing right. I rebelled. Jesus was a rebel, too, but without a cause.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Beautiful Disaster
Africa was not at all what I expected. As a result of a national election that was rumored to end in country-wide violence my month-long trek across the globe was cut into a brief 9-day stint. However, God being God, He accomplished everything I could have hoped for and more in my short time in Kenya. After over a week of living in near constant terror as the U.S. embassy continued to urge us to leave the country, it wasn’t until I landed safely home in Indiana that the trip went from incredibly frightening to just plain incredible.
I’ve read books, watched movies, and thought I did my leg-work, but I can now confidently say that you do not know or understand Africa or third-world countries until you’ve been to one. Still, I will do my best to give you just a glimpse of what’s out there.
After 27 hours of traveling I arrived at Nairobi International Airport with no luggage (it was lost en route), and was dropped off at 3am to a house guarded by armed men and a high gate wall lined with barbed wire fence, loudly yelling to me that I was not in Kansas anymore.
In my time in Africa I watched elephant orphans play soccer and feed themselves with the world’s largest baby bottles, was kissed by a giraffe, had monkeys scurry around my shoulders, held crocodiles, and touched ostrich eggs. I also saw fellow volunteers come home from a day in the slums with nothing after being mugged at gunpoint in broad daylight. I spent the first few nights getting little sleep and eating even less as I adjusted to the brutal altitude thickly laced with cheap diesel fumes. Another volunteer threw up gasoline after her first three days.
A few days in we were told we would not be able to go to our orphanage placements until further notice as a constitutional referendum was being voted on and was threatening to start Kenya’s first civil war. The last election, in 2007, led to two months of violence that took the lives of over 1,100 people. The country, and particularly the tourists, waited with bated breath expecting a similar outcome. Thank goodness no such thing happened this time. We scraped by with only one bombing, two riots, and enough murders to scare us American volunteers home, but not enough to make headlines. It became very clear here that death and violent killings are quite common here, and three conversations with grieving Kenyans later, I understood why God brought me and my future counseling license here to Nairobi.
Kenya is so different then America. It was heart-breaking to walk the streets filled with trash, feces, wild animals, and displaced people with nothing to do but walk. Nairobi was not easy on any of your senses.
I wanted to cry when I saw that my orphanage placement was nothing but sheet metal nailed together. These children had nothing. The orphanage was just sheet metal nailed together to make tiny 8x8 light-less shacks. The rooms had 2x4’s nailed together to make desks. For food, the boys milked goats they owned and made eggs from their pen of chickens. Every day, that was it. They didn’t have water some days, and had lunch less often. All they did all day was play soccer and do chores.
The children wore clothes more dirty and tattered than I ever could have imagined. They had holes in their shoes, and multiple adolescent boys wore women’s dresses or heels because it was all they had. Three-year-old's had rotting teeth from unclean water. Still, the orphans experienced more noticeable joy by holding our hands or being picked up and spun around by us than most Americans would experience if we were given a brand new car. We spent a few days repairing and painting desks for the children’s schools, and they thought I was magical when I mixed red and blue paint to make purple, something even the orphanage owner didn’t know was possible. When I gave the girls the simple and cheap gospel beads we hand out at Christmas Conference, they treated them like precious pearls and couldn’t believe I was willing to give away such gems.
The only place in Nairobi harder on my emotions than the orphanage was the world’s second largest slum, Kiber. Here, thousands of displaced people live on top of 10-20ft piles of trash. It looked like people literally set up camp on top of a landfill. Pigs and rats roamed around their little 4x4 shacks which held countless people dying of AIDS, cast out of the city like lepers.
I was struggling to survive my accommodations, and compared to most of the rest of the country, we lived like kings and queens. In my mind, I lived for nine long and miserable days fearing for my health and sometimes life, and my lot is nothing compared to these people. I complained about not having indoor plumbing and toilet paper, I couldn’t stand not showering, and I never got used to seeing cockroaches constantly roaming around our floor and walls.
Thankfully, while I missed every worldly comfort America has to offer; hot showers, clean water, cold drinks, good food, and friends, I had the Lord, and that was all that mattered. I asked to be pruned of everything I rely on before the Lord so that He was all I had… and boy did He deliver. Verses from Isaiah and near constant prayer were the only things that gave me peace and helped me to feel safe. That and my assurance of salvation gave me hope, knowing that if it was God’s time for me I knew where I was going.
And, because my thoughts and words are failing to adequately express what I want to, I’ll leave it to another’s words. Beth Moore’s daughter wrote this upon returning home from a week in Calcutta, India.
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“Oh, what a deep imprint [the children] have made on this heart of mine. And not just them, but all the people, so deeply loved by God, in Calcutta and India at large who must fight for their survival each and every day. I could never have prepared myself for all that I saw last week. For example, during one of my visits to a devastating slum, a half-clothed, poverty-stricken crippled man with his back hunched over at a ninety-degree angle limped slowly over to me. He had purchased a coconut for me with whatever small amount of money he did have and then proceeded to slice the top open for me to drink so that I could be protected from the heat. And mind you, I was the one going back to the air-conditioned hotel. Not him. What was I supposed to do with that? And that is just one of about several hundred stories I could tell.
Because we each had experiences like this and because I’m sure our eyes were about to glaze over, the leaders of our group called for a debriefing in lieu of a corporate lobotomy. During this debriefing they gave us a safe place to talk about what some of us were feeling and thinking. It was great, but we really needed another entire week to hash it all out. I’ll never forget the [question one leader posed] before we left the debriefing.
‘Now what will you do?’ He continued by saying, ‘You’ve spend your words lavishly on sharing your stories; now it’s time to spend your lives.’ Talk about messing me up. And so it was to this tune that our reentry began.
Have you ever seen The Return of the King? Do you remember the last scene when Frodo unexpectedly boards the ship to sail to the Grey Havens? Throughout their life-threatening journey to Mordor, Frodo and Sam kept dreaming about such things like the taste of the strawberries on the Shire, but when Frodo actually does get back to the Shire, for some reason, it is like he can’t fully enjoy the normal comforts that the Shire has to offer. I’ve always speculated about why exactly Frodo has to sail to the Grey Havens. I think that Frodo has just been through too much. His scars run too deep. After years of being back at the Shire they still haven’t healed. In the movie he asks the rhetorical questions: ‘How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back?’ And then he explains, ‘There are some things time cannot mend. Some hurts go too deep… that have taken hold.’
But I’m not a hobbit. And this is real life.
I don’t get to sail off and escape from the white shores into a far green country under a swift sunrise with Gandalf.
Ironically, my life just happens to be deep in the heart of excessive American culture. And I’d be lying to you if I said I don’t enjoy it. The honest truth is that I know myself. I know that normal life will quickly pick back up and the temptation will be to forget all I have seen. To move forward without any change. While others around me may wish for me to hurry up and acclimate to normal life again, my fear is that I will too quickly move ahead. That I will forget all I have seen, heard, touched, smelled, and felt.
I know myself. I’m just an all-American twenty-six-year-old girl, consumed with comfort, security, vanity, wealth, and materialism like the ‘best’ of them. In light of who I know I am, I feel compelled to ask that the Lord would perform a miracle on my behalf—that He would keep the emotional wounds that were carved during the past few weeks from healing. Now I know you may think I’m a bit morbid, eccentric, or even just plain weird. But that’s okay, because I’ve been called for worse, I’m sure of it. So this is my prayer today: that the time won’t have its typical way with me. That the sharp edge of the sting I feel deep in my soul won’t ever be dulled or alleviated.”
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And, scripture, because God says it better than both of us:
Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?
Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.
They you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I. If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.
The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail. -Isaiah 58:6-11
I’ve read books, watched movies, and thought I did my leg-work, but I can now confidently say that you do not know or understand Africa or third-world countries until you’ve been to one. Still, I will do my best to give you just a glimpse of what’s out there.
After 27 hours of traveling I arrived at Nairobi International Airport with no luggage (it was lost en route), and was dropped off at 3am to a house guarded by armed men and a high gate wall lined with barbed wire fence, loudly yelling to me that I was not in Kansas anymore.
In my time in Africa I watched elephant orphans play soccer and feed themselves with the world’s largest baby bottles, was kissed by a giraffe, had monkeys scurry around my shoulders, held crocodiles, and touched ostrich eggs. I also saw fellow volunteers come home from a day in the slums with nothing after being mugged at gunpoint in broad daylight. I spent the first few nights getting little sleep and eating even less as I adjusted to the brutal altitude thickly laced with cheap diesel fumes. Another volunteer threw up gasoline after her first three days.
A few days in we were told we would not be able to go to our orphanage placements until further notice as a constitutional referendum was being voted on and was threatening to start Kenya’s first civil war. The last election, in 2007, led to two months of violence that took the lives of over 1,100 people. The country, and particularly the tourists, waited with bated breath expecting a similar outcome. Thank goodness no such thing happened this time. We scraped by with only one bombing, two riots, and enough murders to scare us American volunteers home, but not enough to make headlines. It became very clear here that death and violent killings are quite common here, and three conversations with grieving Kenyans later, I understood why God brought me and my future counseling license here to Nairobi.
Kenya is so different then America. It was heart-breaking to walk the streets filled with trash, feces, wild animals, and displaced people with nothing to do but walk. Nairobi was not easy on any of your senses.
I wanted to cry when I saw that my orphanage placement was nothing but sheet metal nailed together. These children had nothing. The orphanage was just sheet metal nailed together to make tiny 8x8 light-less shacks. The rooms had 2x4’s nailed together to make desks. For food, the boys milked goats they owned and made eggs from their pen of chickens. Every day, that was it. They didn’t have water some days, and had lunch less often. All they did all day was play soccer and do chores.
The children wore clothes more dirty and tattered than I ever could have imagined. They had holes in their shoes, and multiple adolescent boys wore women’s dresses or heels because it was all they had. Three-year-old's had rotting teeth from unclean water. Still, the orphans experienced more noticeable joy by holding our hands or being picked up and spun around by us than most Americans would experience if we were given a brand new car. We spent a few days repairing and painting desks for the children’s schools, and they thought I was magical when I mixed red and blue paint to make purple, something even the orphanage owner didn’t know was possible. When I gave the girls the simple and cheap gospel beads we hand out at Christmas Conference, they treated them like precious pearls and couldn’t believe I was willing to give away such gems.
The only place in Nairobi harder on my emotions than the orphanage was the world’s second largest slum, Kiber. Here, thousands of displaced people live on top of 10-20ft piles of trash. It looked like people literally set up camp on top of a landfill. Pigs and rats roamed around their little 4x4 shacks which held countless people dying of AIDS, cast out of the city like lepers.
I was struggling to survive my accommodations, and compared to most of the rest of the country, we lived like kings and queens. In my mind, I lived for nine long and miserable days fearing for my health and sometimes life, and my lot is nothing compared to these people. I complained about not having indoor plumbing and toilet paper, I couldn’t stand not showering, and I never got used to seeing cockroaches constantly roaming around our floor and walls.
Thankfully, while I missed every worldly comfort America has to offer; hot showers, clean water, cold drinks, good food, and friends, I had the Lord, and that was all that mattered. I asked to be pruned of everything I rely on before the Lord so that He was all I had… and boy did He deliver. Verses from Isaiah and near constant prayer were the only things that gave me peace and helped me to feel safe. That and my assurance of salvation gave me hope, knowing that if it was God’s time for me I knew where I was going.
And, because my thoughts and words are failing to adequately express what I want to, I’ll leave it to another’s words. Beth Moore’s daughter wrote this upon returning home from a week in Calcutta, India.
-----
“Oh, what a deep imprint [the children] have made on this heart of mine. And not just them, but all the people, so deeply loved by God, in Calcutta and India at large who must fight for their survival each and every day. I could never have prepared myself for all that I saw last week. For example, during one of my visits to a devastating slum, a half-clothed, poverty-stricken crippled man with his back hunched over at a ninety-degree angle limped slowly over to me. He had purchased a coconut for me with whatever small amount of money he did have and then proceeded to slice the top open for me to drink so that I could be protected from the heat. And mind you, I was the one going back to the air-conditioned hotel. Not him. What was I supposed to do with that? And that is just one of about several hundred stories I could tell.
Because we each had experiences like this and because I’m sure our eyes were about to glaze over, the leaders of our group called for a debriefing in lieu of a corporate lobotomy. During this debriefing they gave us a safe place to talk about what some of us were feeling and thinking. It was great, but we really needed another entire week to hash it all out. I’ll never forget the [question one leader posed] before we left the debriefing.
‘Now what will you do?’ He continued by saying, ‘You’ve spend your words lavishly on sharing your stories; now it’s time to spend your lives.’ Talk about messing me up. And so it was to this tune that our reentry began.
Have you ever seen The Return of the King? Do you remember the last scene when Frodo unexpectedly boards the ship to sail to the Grey Havens? Throughout their life-threatening journey to Mordor, Frodo and Sam kept dreaming about such things like the taste of the strawberries on the Shire, but when Frodo actually does get back to the Shire, for some reason, it is like he can’t fully enjoy the normal comforts that the Shire has to offer. I’ve always speculated about why exactly Frodo has to sail to the Grey Havens. I think that Frodo has just been through too much. His scars run too deep. After years of being back at the Shire they still haven’t healed. In the movie he asks the rhetorical questions: ‘How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back?’ And then he explains, ‘There are some things time cannot mend. Some hurts go too deep… that have taken hold.’
But I’m not a hobbit. And this is real life.
I don’t get to sail off and escape from the white shores into a far green country under a swift sunrise with Gandalf.
Ironically, my life just happens to be deep in the heart of excessive American culture. And I’d be lying to you if I said I don’t enjoy it. The honest truth is that I know myself. I know that normal life will quickly pick back up and the temptation will be to forget all I have seen. To move forward without any change. While others around me may wish for me to hurry up and acclimate to normal life again, my fear is that I will too quickly move ahead. That I will forget all I have seen, heard, touched, smelled, and felt.
I know myself. I’m just an all-American twenty-six-year-old girl, consumed with comfort, security, vanity, wealth, and materialism like the ‘best’ of them. In light of who I know I am, I feel compelled to ask that the Lord would perform a miracle on my behalf—that He would keep the emotional wounds that were carved during the past few weeks from healing. Now I know you may think I’m a bit morbid, eccentric, or even just plain weird. But that’s okay, because I’ve been called for worse, I’m sure of it. So this is my prayer today: that the time won’t have its typical way with me. That the sharp edge of the sting I feel deep in my soul won’t ever be dulled or alleviated.”
-----
And, scripture, because God says it better than both of us:
Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?
Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.
They you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I. If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.
The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail. -Isaiah 58:6-11
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Jambo!
Ever since I can remember I've dreamed of going to Africa. It's where my heart has always been. I love preaching the gospel through words and just the way I live my life, but there is perhaps no greater way I enjoy showing God's love than serving. I love getting my hands dirty, doing manual labor for those who need it.
In a little over a day, my dream comes true. Friday at 3:30pm I'll be boarding a plane (well, one of many) that will eventually take me to Nairobi, Kenya. There I will spend a little over three weeks working at an orphanage, loving on Africa's unlovable. We work at the orphanage Monday-Friday, 8-4, cooking and cleaning, but you can stay until 6 to spend quality time with the kids. Weekends are the volunteers time off to travel or do as they please, however you are able to come in Saturdays and do Bible studies in the slums.
A lot of people have asked if I'll visit Tanzania and see Mt. Kilimanjaro, or if I'll go on any safaris. It's not that these aren't great opportunities, but they're not why I'm going. My main ministry and focus is the children. If I can stay late and come in Saturdays to see them, I will. At the same time, I do have great opportunities with fellow volunteers and my host family. It is my prayer to call upon the Spirit and seek the Lord in how to wisely spend my short time overseas.
My heart for this particular trip can not be better described than anyone but my old brother James, "Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit the orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world." 1:27
Can I get an amen!?
Most of the children I'll be working with (babies up through age 17) who have lost their parents as a result of AIDS. They are orphans by African standards, but they do have a loving Father I plan to tell them about daily.
When I was writing my first support letters I focused on only the beginning of this verse, completely over-looking what is now one of my favorite commands, "to keep oneself unstained from the world."
I am going to Africa to serve, but I have quickly realized that God may do more work in me than I do in the hearts and minds of the orphans I'll be spending time with.
I'm using this month in Africa as an incredible season to seek the Lord with as few worldly distractions as possible. Where I'm going there is no electricity and no running water. I could not be more excited! The best week of my life was spent without either.
Everything I have here that I choose to rely on before God I will not have there. So often I hide behind make-up, hair-care products, cute clothes, food, music, my cell phone, facebook, running, and yes, even ministry. I will have none of those things. While I'm excited to stand openly before the Lord, I know it will be difficult (to say the least). And, I would not be surprised if I find other things to still place before Him.
Beyond all of that, I'm also excited in how God will use this trip in preparing me to one day be a wife and mother. I was reading a book a few months back that had one of the best explanations for how to live as a single Christian I've ever read. In this author's view, singleness is not a time to sit and wallow and wait, feeling like a second-class citizen. Being single is the time you prepare for marriage. Why not work to get the sin issues in your life under control now? Why not learn to cook and clean and teach children? Or, as a man, why not spend that time learning how to be a Godly man, to lead others, to be financially independent? Being single is a time to prepare.
Which reminds me of Christ’s birth. It was the preparation of nerve endings for nails. It was the preparation of a brow for a crown of thorns. Jesus needed a broad back so the whip could tear His flesh. He needed feet so that there was a place for spikes. He needed a side so that there was a place for the spear. He needed a brain and a spinal column, so that the fullness of the pain could be fully felt. Preparation is a beautiful, necessary thing.
While it may be years and years in the future, I want to have prepared well for my future husband so when we do finally meet (God-willing), I can spend my time working with Him for the Kingdom, rather than scrambling to try and balance all of my new duties while still dealing with sins I could have confronted years before. Besides, marriage will bring out plenty more to encounter. I can almost see my time at the orphanage as a sort of short, intensive future wife/mother boot camp. So awesome!
That is my excitement for going, but there is also fear. I've never traveled alone overseas. Particularly to a relatively unstable central African nation. Nairobi is one of the most violent cities in the world, and the fact that I am both American and white make me an even larger target. Between that, infectious diseases, and over twenty hours of plane travel, I have moments of weakness and doubt. And for these doubts and worries I ask for your prayers.
Tutaonana. (so long).
In a little over a day, my dream comes true. Friday at 3:30pm I'll be boarding a plane (well, one of many) that will eventually take me to Nairobi, Kenya. There I will spend a little over three weeks working at an orphanage, loving on Africa's unlovable. We work at the orphanage Monday-Friday, 8-4, cooking and cleaning, but you can stay until 6 to spend quality time with the kids. Weekends are the volunteers time off to travel or do as they please, however you are able to come in Saturdays and do Bible studies in the slums.
A lot of people have asked if I'll visit Tanzania and see Mt. Kilimanjaro, or if I'll go on any safaris. It's not that these aren't great opportunities, but they're not why I'm going. My main ministry and focus is the children. If I can stay late and come in Saturdays to see them, I will. At the same time, I do have great opportunities with fellow volunteers and my host family. It is my prayer to call upon the Spirit and seek the Lord in how to wisely spend my short time overseas.
My heart for this particular trip can not be better described than anyone but my old brother James, "Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit the orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world." 1:27
Can I get an amen!?
Most of the children I'll be working with (babies up through age 17) who have lost their parents as a result of AIDS. They are orphans by African standards, but they do have a loving Father I plan to tell them about daily.
When I was writing my first support letters I focused on only the beginning of this verse, completely over-looking what is now one of my favorite commands, "to keep oneself unstained from the world."
I am going to Africa to serve, but I have quickly realized that God may do more work in me than I do in the hearts and minds of the orphans I'll be spending time with.
I'm using this month in Africa as an incredible season to seek the Lord with as few worldly distractions as possible. Where I'm going there is no electricity and no running water. I could not be more excited! The best week of my life was spent without either.
Everything I have here that I choose to rely on before God I will not have there. So often I hide behind make-up, hair-care products, cute clothes, food, music, my cell phone, facebook, running, and yes, even ministry. I will have none of those things. While I'm excited to stand openly before the Lord, I know it will be difficult (to say the least). And, I would not be surprised if I find other things to still place before Him.
Beyond all of that, I'm also excited in how God will use this trip in preparing me to one day be a wife and mother. I was reading a book a few months back that had one of the best explanations for how to live as a single Christian I've ever read. In this author's view, singleness is not a time to sit and wallow and wait, feeling like a second-class citizen. Being single is the time you prepare for marriage. Why not work to get the sin issues in your life under control now? Why not learn to cook and clean and teach children? Or, as a man, why not spend that time learning how to be a Godly man, to lead others, to be financially independent? Being single is a time to prepare.
Which reminds me of Christ’s birth. It was the preparation of nerve endings for nails. It was the preparation of a brow for a crown of thorns. Jesus needed a broad back so the whip could tear His flesh. He needed feet so that there was a place for spikes. He needed a side so that there was a place for the spear. He needed a brain and a spinal column, so that the fullness of the pain could be fully felt. Preparation is a beautiful, necessary thing.
While it may be years and years in the future, I want to have prepared well for my future husband so when we do finally meet (God-willing), I can spend my time working with Him for the Kingdom, rather than scrambling to try and balance all of my new duties while still dealing with sins I could have confronted years before. Besides, marriage will bring out plenty more to encounter. I can almost see my time at the orphanage as a sort of short, intensive future wife/mother boot camp. So awesome!
That is my excitement for going, but there is also fear. I've never traveled alone overseas. Particularly to a relatively unstable central African nation. Nairobi is one of the most violent cities in the world, and the fact that I am both American and white make me an even larger target. Between that, infectious diseases, and over twenty hours of plane travel, I have moments of weakness and doubt. And for these doubts and worries I ask for your prayers.
Tutaonana. (so long).
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Men Like Trees
My relationship with Christian brothers and how I see them, interact with them, and love them has changed drastically over the years.
I spent most of my life as the athletic tom-boy who is just "one of the guys." I would hang out with any guy, or group of guys, that asked, at any hour of the day or night. But things began to radically change the more I asked the Holy Spirit into my life.
For the most part, I believe my heart in re-defining and refining my male friendships was pure. But this spring I was challenged on that point.
I remember like it was last night, one of my beloved Bible study leaders stood outside with me after a study where I had shared an abundance about my past. She lovingly hugged me and affirmed that I'd been through a lot. I remember her telling me how some people are just called to suffer so many injustices and that it just never seemed to make sense. She encouraged me by pointing out that I took blame for my own sin in my story, never down-playing the consequences that were justified by my disobedience, but so much of the pain in my life was unjustified. So, she sat and prayed with me that I would experience greener pastures.
I over-analyze everything, so in pride I'm often shocked when someone points out something in my life I hadn't already thought about. So thank the Lord Deb is such a wise woman. She pointed out that my deepest wounds and pain all came from men, and out of loving concern she told me to be careful to not grow embittered towards men, as she'd seen it happen from other women with stories like mine.
I was dumb-founded by her observation. I had always loved being around men, it never occurred to me that I could grow to dislike or distrust even Godly men. Because of this I wanted to brush off what she said, but I so respect her wisdom that I spent the night chewing on what she said.
And boy, was she right. This last spring semester I had thrown myself head-first into ministry with the women I led in Bible study and discipled. I thought this was a great thing. It was their last semester here after leading them for years, so I convinced myself that I was making them a priority and justified my semester-long shunning of anything with a Y-chromosome.
Surrounding yourself with same-sex friends is one thing, a good thing. But getting angry when men are around is a whole other thing. For months I put absolutely no effort into sustaining my friendships with any of them. And I was in complete denial. I wasn't doing this for the benefit of their hearts or mine, I was acting in fear. Men to me represented pain, and if there were no men in my life, I couldn't get hurt.
I immediately took this realization to the Lord, repenting of my anger and mistrust of His sons, but not entirely ready to give it up.
But, boy did my ever-faithful Papa deliver. Within days He brought more amazing men into my life than I could ever ask for. Thankfully, these weren't romantic suitors either, as that wasn't what I needed, they were completely and 100% friends. They brought me cookies and cupcakes and polar pops after my car accident, they encouraged me to be a better woman of God, they trusted me and asked my counsel on things. They loved me in a way I'd never been loved by men and they did it through the context of completely and wonderfully pure friendships.
I fell in love with men this summer. Not romantically, but I spent the last two years loving women and female fellowship (which I still adore). But, this summer, God gave me a heart for men. He helped me to understand them, to love them in our differences, and most importantly, to respect them.
Then, as I so often do, I took an amazing gift from God and turned it into an idol. Today God used some scripture, and a few great words from Beth Moore to open my eyes and allow me to see men as He wants me to. As just that, men.
Now, this is a confusing verse, and I'm not sure Beth's interpretation is how most would take it, but it worked for me today. Which I suppose is one of the great mysteries of God's Word, that He reserves the right to retain His mystery. (And, if you have a different interpretation, please share! I love hearing others thoughts).
"Jesus came to Bethsaida; and they brought a blind man to Him, and begged Him to touch him. So He took the blind man by the hand and led him out of the town. And when He had spit on his eyes and put His hands on him, He asked him if he saw anything. And he looked up and said, "I see men like trees, walking." Then He put His hands on his eyes again and made him look up. And he was restored and saw everyone clearly." Mark 8:22-25
What struck Beth odd, and now strikes me odd as well, is that there was a partial healing here. In every other Gospel story, and really in almost all of scripture I'd argue, when there was a physical healing it was a full healing. The person, blind, paralytic, dead, demon-possessed, whatever the case, they came out from Jesus' healing hand completely restored.
Not here.
"I see men like trees, walking."
His sight wasn't fully restored, he could make out men, but not clearly. His vision wasn't fully healed.
"He put his hands on his eyes again and made him look up. And he was restored and saw everyone clearly."
Now, I tend to believe Jesus could have healed this man the first time, which means God was showing us something else here.
Here's Beth's interpretation. This man's first view of the world is the way we can sometimes see the world. Our view is distorted, and as a result of our flesh and emotions, we "see men like trees, walking." They're not peers, not fellow humans. Our female eyes build tall pillars to place most men on top of. This is not to say that our brothers are not amazing men, who are fearfully and wonderfully made. Nor is it to say they don't deserve love or respect.
The problem comes when we as women stop seeing them as fellow sinners with imperfections. The problem is when we see them as infallible gods who can do no wrong, and then we place all our hopes and dreams on them instead of the Lord. When we do this, we kill our beloved brothers with unfair expectations, and we run to the Lord with broken hearts wondering why these men couldn't save us. Amazing men, who are already wrought with their own insecurities, self-doubts, weaknesses, and fears of failure, feel this weight even stronger when we see them as nothing more than strong, towering, mighty, muscular trees.
If women hang their hopes on women, or vice-versa, they're not seeing clearly.
I love what Beth's daughter says about her husband. "I am so blessed. He only gains my respect as time goes on. I've seen him grow like crazy, but it also occurs to me that the devil doesn't want to trip up any man on earth more than a man like him. He's a great guy, but he's just flesh and blood just like the rest of us. God has taught me not to put any confidence in the flesh." Here, she's not speaking ill of her husband, she sees him as a wonderful man, worthy of respect, but she refuses to see him as an invincible tree, walking.
Luckily, when our vision is blurry and we fail to see things through God's eyes, He fully restores us by having us look up.
Perhaps I am the blind man (woman) in Mark's gospel. "He asked [her] if [she] saw anything. And [she] looked up and said, 'I see men like trees, walking.' Then He put His hands on [her] eyes again and made [her] look up."
It is my prayer that when my vision is blurry and selfish, that I will not fight God's hand, gently lifting my chin heavenward, to gaze upon Him and His glory. I pray to see men as men, no longer like trees. I pray I will not minimize them, feminize them, or idolize them, but rather I will pray for them, walk next to them, respect them, and intercede for them as brothers who need the Lord as desperately as I do. I've seen men as both gods and devils, but now I pray I see them as men with God-given wisdom, and feet of clay. And I pray for restored vision, and that God will continue to prune me and remind me that, ironically, we see things more clearly when we're looking up.
I spent most of my life as the athletic tom-boy who is just "one of the guys." I would hang out with any guy, or group of guys, that asked, at any hour of the day or night. But things began to radically change the more I asked the Holy Spirit into my life.
For the most part, I believe my heart in re-defining and refining my male friendships was pure. But this spring I was challenged on that point.
I remember like it was last night, one of my beloved Bible study leaders stood outside with me after a study where I had shared an abundance about my past. She lovingly hugged me and affirmed that I'd been through a lot. I remember her telling me how some people are just called to suffer so many injustices and that it just never seemed to make sense. She encouraged me by pointing out that I took blame for my own sin in my story, never down-playing the consequences that were justified by my disobedience, but so much of the pain in my life was unjustified. So, she sat and prayed with me that I would experience greener pastures.
I over-analyze everything, so in pride I'm often shocked when someone points out something in my life I hadn't already thought about. So thank the Lord Deb is such a wise woman. She pointed out that my deepest wounds and pain all came from men, and out of loving concern she told me to be careful to not grow embittered towards men, as she'd seen it happen from other women with stories like mine.
I was dumb-founded by her observation. I had always loved being around men, it never occurred to me that I could grow to dislike or distrust even Godly men. Because of this I wanted to brush off what she said, but I so respect her wisdom that I spent the night chewing on what she said.
And boy, was she right. This last spring semester I had thrown myself head-first into ministry with the women I led in Bible study and discipled. I thought this was a great thing. It was their last semester here after leading them for years, so I convinced myself that I was making them a priority and justified my semester-long shunning of anything with a Y-chromosome.
Surrounding yourself with same-sex friends is one thing, a good thing. But getting angry when men are around is a whole other thing. For months I put absolutely no effort into sustaining my friendships with any of them. And I was in complete denial. I wasn't doing this for the benefit of their hearts or mine, I was acting in fear. Men to me represented pain, and if there were no men in my life, I couldn't get hurt.
I immediately took this realization to the Lord, repenting of my anger and mistrust of His sons, but not entirely ready to give it up.
But, boy did my ever-faithful Papa deliver. Within days He brought more amazing men into my life than I could ever ask for. Thankfully, these weren't romantic suitors either, as that wasn't what I needed, they were completely and 100% friends. They brought me cookies and cupcakes and polar pops after my car accident, they encouraged me to be a better woman of God, they trusted me and asked my counsel on things. They loved me in a way I'd never been loved by men and they did it through the context of completely and wonderfully pure friendships.
I fell in love with men this summer. Not romantically, but I spent the last two years loving women and female fellowship (which I still adore). But, this summer, God gave me a heart for men. He helped me to understand them, to love them in our differences, and most importantly, to respect them.
Then, as I so often do, I took an amazing gift from God and turned it into an idol. Today God used some scripture, and a few great words from Beth Moore to open my eyes and allow me to see men as He wants me to. As just that, men.
Now, this is a confusing verse, and I'm not sure Beth's interpretation is how most would take it, but it worked for me today. Which I suppose is one of the great mysteries of God's Word, that He reserves the right to retain His mystery. (And, if you have a different interpretation, please share! I love hearing others thoughts).
"Jesus came to Bethsaida; and they brought a blind man to Him, and begged Him to touch him. So He took the blind man by the hand and led him out of the town. And when He had spit on his eyes and put His hands on him, He asked him if he saw anything. And he looked up and said, "I see men like trees, walking." Then He put His hands on his eyes again and made him look up. And he was restored and saw everyone clearly." Mark 8:22-25
What struck Beth odd, and now strikes me odd as well, is that there was a partial healing here. In every other Gospel story, and really in almost all of scripture I'd argue, when there was a physical healing it was a full healing. The person, blind, paralytic, dead, demon-possessed, whatever the case, they came out from Jesus' healing hand completely restored.
Not here.
"I see men like trees, walking."
His sight wasn't fully restored, he could make out men, but not clearly. His vision wasn't fully healed.
"He put his hands on his eyes again and made him look up. And he was restored and saw everyone clearly."
Now, I tend to believe Jesus could have healed this man the first time, which means God was showing us something else here.
Here's Beth's interpretation. This man's first view of the world is the way we can sometimes see the world. Our view is distorted, and as a result of our flesh and emotions, we "see men like trees, walking." They're not peers, not fellow humans. Our female eyes build tall pillars to place most men on top of. This is not to say that our brothers are not amazing men, who are fearfully and wonderfully made. Nor is it to say they don't deserve love or respect.
The problem comes when we as women stop seeing them as fellow sinners with imperfections. The problem is when we see them as infallible gods who can do no wrong, and then we place all our hopes and dreams on them instead of the Lord. When we do this, we kill our beloved brothers with unfair expectations, and we run to the Lord with broken hearts wondering why these men couldn't save us. Amazing men, who are already wrought with their own insecurities, self-doubts, weaknesses, and fears of failure, feel this weight even stronger when we see them as nothing more than strong, towering, mighty, muscular trees.
If women hang their hopes on women, or vice-versa, they're not seeing clearly.
I love what Beth's daughter says about her husband. "I am so blessed. He only gains my respect as time goes on. I've seen him grow like crazy, but it also occurs to me that the devil doesn't want to trip up any man on earth more than a man like him. He's a great guy, but he's just flesh and blood just like the rest of us. God has taught me not to put any confidence in the flesh." Here, she's not speaking ill of her husband, she sees him as a wonderful man, worthy of respect, but she refuses to see him as an invincible tree, walking.
Luckily, when our vision is blurry and we fail to see things through God's eyes, He fully restores us by having us look up.
Perhaps I am the blind man (woman) in Mark's gospel. "He asked [her] if [she] saw anything. And [she] looked up and said, 'I see men like trees, walking.' Then He put His hands on [her] eyes again and made [her] look up."
It is my prayer that when my vision is blurry and selfish, that I will not fight God's hand, gently lifting my chin heavenward, to gaze upon Him and His glory. I pray to see men as men, no longer like trees. I pray I will not minimize them, feminize them, or idolize them, but rather I will pray for them, walk next to them, respect them, and intercede for them as brothers who need the Lord as desperately as I do. I've seen men as both gods and devils, but now I pray I see them as men with God-given wisdom, and feet of clay. And I pray for restored vision, and that God will continue to prune me and remind me that, ironically, we see things more clearly when we're looking up.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
The Hook and the Bait
A few days ago I went running on one of my favorite paths in Bloomington. I adore it. It's so close to another more well-known path that this little trail seems almost forgotten. I love forgotten things, and taking the road less traveled. I greatly enjoy trying to bring the dead back to life, and to create paths where there wasn't one before. The ground on this trail is exceedingly narrow, overgrown with plants, and devoid of runners to trample the path back into submission. There are also a few exceedingly old bridges (probably my favorite part) that seem to barely hold your weight as you trek across them. Aesthetically, the path is absolutely breath-taking.
The problem is, this path is dangerous. On my first run here I fell in love with this quaint trail. Less than a few hundred feet in I looked down and saw a snake literally slithering alongside my feet. Rather than jumping in fear, I was surprisingly mesmerized by the snake and found it rather incredible that I could be so think in the brush and backwoods of Bloomington that I could run with snakes. I immediately was sold in coming back here for future runs.
The second time I ran down this path, I can't even explain on this blog the sad sight my eyes stumbled upon. It was sketchy and disturbing, and still I went back.
The third time I ran there I was chased down and attacked by a ferocious dog. And I'm not referring to a barking dog just warning me away from his home. I'm talking about a wild beast biting at my legs and feet, as we both dead-sprinted for at least 200 meters before he retreated and I nearly fell over in exhaustion. It took a while to get over this fear, but in the end, I went back in stubborn disobedience, even when loved one's encouraged me not to.
A few days ago I ran down this path again and I was attacked before I even made it to the trails entrance. I was chased down by a duck. Yes, you read that right, a duck... Before you laugh too hard, they get a little scary when they flap their wings at you, squawk, bite at your legs. Still, I ran on, heart racing, nervously laughing at the absurdity of what had just happened.
As I ran down the trail to it's end and back I ran past more than one sketchy-looking men, just sauntering around back there. Why in the world these men (who were not in running clothes) were back here I have no idea, but it was enough to make a girl's heart jump through her chest, and cause her to check behind herself while running multiple times to confirm no one was following her.
Upon exiting the path and taking off on safer roads for home, I realized that as beautiful as this path was, it always left me wrought with fear. A fear that held me captive and had become so strong that it robbed the beauty of this path from it's formerly serene landscape. And I couldn't help but imagine how similarly sin poisons are lives.
Some of the sin we engage in does open our eyes to beautiful things, but sin is still dangerous and not without consequence or fear. Satan tempts us through beauty and reals us in by literally slithering at our feet, charming us with his own beauty and mystery. And the problem is, once we are deceived and experience sin we often find ourselves wanting more.
Despite all the tell-tale warning signs we run on. For a while we press on in in naive ignorance. Then, we're so drawn to sin that nothing can stop us. Not spiritual attacks, not Godly counsel. We become stubborn, self-sufficient, and disobedient. It takes a while before fear sets in, but eventually, it takes over.
"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear." 1 John 4:18
The only fear we should have is fear of the Lord.
I have decided that I will never run down that path again. No matter how much I try to justify it. It's not worth the risk. I realized this last night as I sat with a dear friend for three hours talking over and crying through the sin in her life. Sometimes we have to take radical steps to avoid sin.
Pastor Mark Driscoll gave a sermon on this very idea that completely changed the way I look at temptation.
----
"Most of you don’t believe this: escape is always possible. What happens is, for some of us, the hook has been there so long that it’s like, “I can’t ever get free of it. I used to eat all the bait. Now, I eat some of the bait. I used to eat the bait every week, now I only eat the bait once a month.”
Or, “I eat the bait, but it’s my dad’s fault, he ate the bait too and it’s a habitual family issue. My counselor says it’s a genetic issue. I come from a long line of people who are addicted to this particular bait. I can’t really stop.” So, I need to blame someone else, manage it, and hide it. “Oh, I’ll just go over here in the dark all by myself and I’ll eat my bait and I’ll put the hook in my mouth. But, if I do it privately, it won’t count.” God’s there too.
See, some of you would take the bait and you’ll put it, you’ll walk so close to it. Like, “Oh my goodness, look at that. That’s amazing. I would like to eat that, smoke that, drink that, get my hands on that, do that twice.” God would say, “Hey, there’s a door over here that’s open and you could walk out it and be free.” “I don’t see any door.” “Really? Well, there is one right over there.” “Yeah, this is so big and so real and so awesome and so close.” God would say, “Do you see the hook?” “No, I don’t see the hook. I see some pretty amazing bait.”
The truth is you have two choices: the hook or the door. You either bite the hook or run out the door. Those are your only options. I’ll give you a verse, so that I can win: 1 Corinthians 10:13–14, “No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it. Therefore, my beloved, flee from idolatry.” Don’t worship anything or anyone other than God.
What he’s saying is this. When temptation comes, keep your senses. Look for the way out. There is a door of escape somewhere. There’s a way out of it. Some of you have said for so long, “Well, I’m already dating them. I’m already at the club. I’ve already logged onto the internet. I already started this conversation, you know. I’m already halfway there.” Run. Run out the door of opportunity that God gives.
You have two choices, friends, the hook or the door. You bite the hook or run out the door. Your whole life, it utterly depends on the decisions you make in those moments. There’s always a way out. You and I, we love to always be the victim. “I couldn’t help it. It was not my fault, my friends blank, my life blank, this blank, God that.” No way. The door was open and your eyes were closed. Repentance is believing that. Some of you need to go back over your life history and some of the major traumatic decisions you made and say, “Holy Spirit, show me where the door was open so that I can repent of having my eyes closed. And please help me to keep my eyes open. And please help me to keep my feet moving.”
----
Sometimes we can't step foot inside a room because we'll lose sight of the door of escape God provides us. I now understand the weight of temptation and sin, and would rather avoid the path, then fearfully hope I'll make it out unscathed.
God has another path for me that is just as beautiful as the first path, but will be even more beautiful because I will run down it free from fear.
"It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery." Galatians 5:1
The problem is, this path is dangerous. On my first run here I fell in love with this quaint trail. Less than a few hundred feet in I looked down and saw a snake literally slithering alongside my feet. Rather than jumping in fear, I was surprisingly mesmerized by the snake and found it rather incredible that I could be so think in the brush and backwoods of Bloomington that I could run with snakes. I immediately was sold in coming back here for future runs.
The second time I ran down this path, I can't even explain on this blog the sad sight my eyes stumbled upon. It was sketchy and disturbing, and still I went back.
The third time I ran there I was chased down and attacked by a ferocious dog. And I'm not referring to a barking dog just warning me away from his home. I'm talking about a wild beast biting at my legs and feet, as we both dead-sprinted for at least 200 meters before he retreated and I nearly fell over in exhaustion. It took a while to get over this fear, but in the end, I went back in stubborn disobedience, even when loved one's encouraged me not to.
A few days ago I ran down this path again and I was attacked before I even made it to the trails entrance. I was chased down by a duck. Yes, you read that right, a duck... Before you laugh too hard, they get a little scary when they flap their wings at you, squawk, bite at your legs. Still, I ran on, heart racing, nervously laughing at the absurdity of what had just happened.
As I ran down the trail to it's end and back I ran past more than one sketchy-looking men, just sauntering around back there. Why in the world these men (who were not in running clothes) were back here I have no idea, but it was enough to make a girl's heart jump through her chest, and cause her to check behind herself while running multiple times to confirm no one was following her.
Upon exiting the path and taking off on safer roads for home, I realized that as beautiful as this path was, it always left me wrought with fear. A fear that held me captive and had become so strong that it robbed the beauty of this path from it's formerly serene landscape. And I couldn't help but imagine how similarly sin poisons are lives.
Some of the sin we engage in does open our eyes to beautiful things, but sin is still dangerous and not without consequence or fear. Satan tempts us through beauty and reals us in by literally slithering at our feet, charming us with his own beauty and mystery. And the problem is, once we are deceived and experience sin we often find ourselves wanting more.
Despite all the tell-tale warning signs we run on. For a while we press on in in naive ignorance. Then, we're so drawn to sin that nothing can stop us. Not spiritual attacks, not Godly counsel. We become stubborn, self-sufficient, and disobedient. It takes a while before fear sets in, but eventually, it takes over.
"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear." 1 John 4:18
The only fear we should have is fear of the Lord.
I have decided that I will never run down that path again. No matter how much I try to justify it. It's not worth the risk. I realized this last night as I sat with a dear friend for three hours talking over and crying through the sin in her life. Sometimes we have to take radical steps to avoid sin.
Pastor Mark Driscoll gave a sermon on this very idea that completely changed the way I look at temptation.
----
"Most of you don’t believe this: escape is always possible. What happens is, for some of us, the hook has been there so long that it’s like, “I can’t ever get free of it. I used to eat all the bait. Now, I eat some of the bait. I used to eat the bait every week, now I only eat the bait once a month.”
Or, “I eat the bait, but it’s my dad’s fault, he ate the bait too and it’s a habitual family issue. My counselor says it’s a genetic issue. I come from a long line of people who are addicted to this particular bait. I can’t really stop.” So, I need to blame someone else, manage it, and hide it. “Oh, I’ll just go over here in the dark all by myself and I’ll eat my bait and I’ll put the hook in my mouth. But, if I do it privately, it won’t count.” God’s there too.
See, some of you would take the bait and you’ll put it, you’ll walk so close to it. Like, “Oh my goodness, look at that. That’s amazing. I would like to eat that, smoke that, drink that, get my hands on that, do that twice.” God would say, “Hey, there’s a door over here that’s open and you could walk out it and be free.” “I don’t see any door.” “Really? Well, there is one right over there.” “Yeah, this is so big and so real and so awesome and so close.” God would say, “Do you see the hook?” “No, I don’t see the hook. I see some pretty amazing bait.”
The truth is you have two choices: the hook or the door. You either bite the hook or run out the door. Those are your only options. I’ll give you a verse, so that I can win: 1 Corinthians 10:13–14, “No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it. Therefore, my beloved, flee from idolatry.” Don’t worship anything or anyone other than God.
What he’s saying is this. When temptation comes, keep your senses. Look for the way out. There is a door of escape somewhere. There’s a way out of it. Some of you have said for so long, “Well, I’m already dating them. I’m already at the club. I’ve already logged onto the internet. I already started this conversation, you know. I’m already halfway there.” Run. Run out the door of opportunity that God gives.
You have two choices, friends, the hook or the door. You bite the hook or run out the door. Your whole life, it utterly depends on the decisions you make in those moments. There’s always a way out. You and I, we love to always be the victim. “I couldn’t help it. It was not my fault, my friends blank, my life blank, this blank, God that.” No way. The door was open and your eyes were closed. Repentance is believing that. Some of you need to go back over your life history and some of the major traumatic decisions you made and say, “Holy Spirit, show me where the door was open so that I can repent of having my eyes closed. And please help me to keep my eyes open. And please help me to keep my feet moving.”
----
Sometimes we can't step foot inside a room because we'll lose sight of the door of escape God provides us. I now understand the weight of temptation and sin, and would rather avoid the path, then fearfully hope I'll make it out unscathed.
God has another path for me that is just as beautiful as the first path, but will be even more beautiful because I will run down it free from fear.
"It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery." Galatians 5:1
Thursday, July 1, 2010
More Like Falling in Love
"Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord, O my soul! I will praise the Lord as long as I live; I will sing praises to my God while I have my being. Put not your trust in princes, in a son of man, in whom there is no salvation... The Lord will reign forever, your God, O Zion, to all generations. Praise the Lord!" Psalm 146:1-3, 10
I love that the first and last phrase of this psalm of David is the same. "Praise the Lord!" Great chapter to read!
If you're an avid reader of my blog (which may just be God), you know that this summer has been one of incredible fruit in my life. Never have I grown in this way, felt so blessed, and praised God so much. It feels like I'm falling in love. It's a summer of love for sure.
Anyway, despite my own growth, I've found perhaps deeper satisfaction in joy in seeing the women around me grow. God is working miracles in a few women close to me and it's been the greatest blessing ever to get to be one small instrument in God's plan for their lives.
This week in particular I've come home after a few conversations with various girls and I've literally walked into my room absolutely beaming, shut the door, and just tilted my head back, hands in the air, shouting, "Praise God! Praise God!"
The same thing, literally, happened tonight, for maybe the third time this week, when it hit me. Why am I saying, "Praise God" and not "praise You?" I'm all alone. I'm not talking to anyone else. I'm treating God as if He's an omniscient being that I can't talk to. I just have to talk about Him, in the third person.
The beautiful thing is that I have a relationship with the Lord and I can talk to Him. When I am literally overcome with praise I can personally offer that praise to the creator of the universe.
It's nothing big, just a simple conviction I had tonight that I've been up too late thinking about. Through an outreach this weekend I spent 2 hours sharing with one woman what it meant to have a personal relationship with Jesus, making parallels and answering questions about this concept and our relationships with people... and then I don't apply it to my own life.
Why talk about God to an empty room, when I can talk to God in His presence?
And, to share. This song has been on the radio lately and I just love it. It's a little cheesier than I usually like, but the message is good and reminds me of some of what I've been learning about lately in what a relationship with God really looks like. Enjoy.
I love that the first and last phrase of this psalm of David is the same. "Praise the Lord!" Great chapter to read!
If you're an avid reader of my blog (which may just be God), you know that this summer has been one of incredible fruit in my life. Never have I grown in this way, felt so blessed, and praised God so much. It feels like I'm falling in love. It's a summer of love for sure.
Anyway, despite my own growth, I've found perhaps deeper satisfaction in joy in seeing the women around me grow. God is working miracles in a few women close to me and it's been the greatest blessing ever to get to be one small instrument in God's plan for their lives.
This week in particular I've come home after a few conversations with various girls and I've literally walked into my room absolutely beaming, shut the door, and just tilted my head back, hands in the air, shouting, "Praise God! Praise God!"
The same thing, literally, happened tonight, for maybe the third time this week, when it hit me. Why am I saying, "Praise God" and not "praise You?" I'm all alone. I'm not talking to anyone else. I'm treating God as if He's an omniscient being that I can't talk to. I just have to talk about Him, in the third person.
The beautiful thing is that I have a relationship with the Lord and I can talk to Him. When I am literally overcome with praise I can personally offer that praise to the creator of the universe.
It's nothing big, just a simple conviction I had tonight that I've been up too late thinking about. Through an outreach this weekend I spent 2 hours sharing with one woman what it meant to have a personal relationship with Jesus, making parallels and answering questions about this concept and our relationships with people... and then I don't apply it to my own life.
Why talk about God to an empty room, when I can talk to God in His presence?
And, to share. This song has been on the radio lately and I just love it. It's a little cheesier than I usually like, but the message is good and reminds me of some of what I've been learning about lately in what a relationship with God really looks like. Enjoy.
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