Every time I open social media, I see a stream of posts about COVID 19 or corona. Some induce anxiety, as statistics reveal the likelihood of it getting much worse before it gets better. Some attempt to find laughter in the humorous aspects of being stuck at home. Some offer hope or a suggestion for bringing positive energy, productivity, and healthy living to the situation. My husband John and I are absorbed like most people in tracking statistics, trying to gather accurate information, and finding connection and entertainment in these slow days.
As much as this is a shared experience for humanity, I'm confident that each person faces their own unique set of circumstances that lead to specific fears, hopes, disappointments, and victories. For sure, this has been true in our lives as I enter into the final few months of pregnancy and eagerly await our baby girl's arrival in June. My fears related to the corona virus have collided with fears about becoming a new mom, and these fears have been exacerbated due to other changes in John and I's work lives. It appears that change and uncertainty has come more like the impending crash of a tsunami then the gentle changing of the tides. As I scan through posts from friends and strangers, I am confident that I am not alone in this feeling and that others are experiencing a giant wave of impending change thats full impact is yet unknown.
A week ago I sat on my couch and cried, wondering how it would all work out, mostly grappling with the unknowns of my own potential emotions post-delivery and the reality that I am embarking on this chapter of life far from my family. I picture the worse-case scenario. I am alone at home, crying because of all the hormone-induced emotions, and I have no idea what to do with my baby. I told my husband, "You need to be there for me. I don't have anyone else." A day later, we got the news that schools were closing, and we would begin online learning. As the days pass and the situation does not seem to be improving, I wonder, "Will I transition from days at home working in isolation to summer days staying at home with my newborn baby? Will I survive that emotionally?" I'm trying my best to prepare to be a mom, reading excellent books recommended to me by friends, thinking through work and child care for next year, and slowly gathering the stuff we need through the generosity of friends and family who have brought things from the states or shared from what they already have. However, several events have taken place over the last couple of weeks that have thrown a wrench in my carefully laid plans to be prepared.
What do I do in these moments of being so absolutely unsure of exactly what the future holds? What do any of us do? For me, what brought immense hope was a small meeting of my church family a week ago. Cairo was in the midst of a hurricane-like rain storm, and all schools and most work places had shut down for two days (a foreshadowing of more shut downs due to the corona virus over the last week). This storm, although fairly average by Houston/Louisiana standards, left flooding, power outages, and water cuts in its wake. Since our home is near to church, we ventured out on Friday morning to meet with our church family (not aware that it would be our last meeting together for who knows how long). There was no power in the church, and only a few families showed up that morning. We lingered just outside the church doors in the cloudy daylight, as a few people started lighting candles in the church. We shared thoughts and questions about potential school closings due to the corona virus. We laughed about various adventures in the flooded streets of Cairo. We entered the church and prayed over poor communities in Cairo absolutely devastated by these two days of rain. We sang "It Is Well," and several leaders in our community stood up to share honestly about the fear we all have and the even greater fear that so many outside of our community may be feeling. I was reminded of the power of meeting together, even in simple settings with one person leading worship and windows slamming shut from the wind. As we prayed and remembered the incredible hope we have in Jesus, my spirits were restored. The anxiety I had been feeling slipped away, not forever gone but stilled by this peaceful, simple gathering. As we recalled the sacrifice of Jesus and His conquering over death, I realized anew that I truly have nothing to fear. My worst-case scenario still ends in this hope of life with Jesus.
On this day and in the days following, my eyes were opened more, not to my own unclear future and reasons to worry, but to the people around the world who are lacking hope. I feel overwhelmed to pray, yes for our safety. I want my baby girl to be okay, to arrive safely and surrounded by those who love her. But I also feel overwhelmed to pray for everyone who feels trapped in the understandable anxiety of these times. I think about Egypt, and I worry about all the people below the poverty line who have very limited access to medical care and might not even know they have COVID19. I'm praying for a miracle for Egypt and for the rest of Africa. However, even more than a miracle, I'm praying for people to experience God through this. God does not cause suffering, but he works powerfully through it. Some friends challenged me to ask, "What is God doing through this? Where is God in this?"
In my devotional times, I have been reading the book of Daniel. As I read about how God allowed his people to be taken into captivity, I'm reminded that God was there too in that time of uncertainty, loss, fear and humiliation. He made himself known to kings who had no regard for him, who demanded that their kingdom worship them like gods. Even these proud, powerful kings came to a point where they acknowledged the power of God and several humbled themselves before him. Reflecting on these stories of God at work through the hardest of circumstances, I'm challenged to ask: God, what are you doing in these days? Where are you revealing yourself? Will we see you? Will we seek you every day as Daniel did, bending our knees in prayer? Will we walk into the fiery furnace of these times unafraid because we know who our God is and that he is able to rescue?
Saturday, March 21, 2020
Friday, January 26, 2018
Life as a Foreigner
Two years ago, I uprooted my life and moved to Egypt with the plan of staying for two years. I'm now entering my third year of living in the city that truly never sleeps (I'm sorry, NYC, but I think Cairo has you beat). After two years, I can say that I'm experienced, and indeed it's true that I've been to all the famous tourist sites multiple times, I've learned a bit of Arabic, I can take a taxi, I can sleep through fireworks and cars honking through the night, I know the complexities of the visa application process, I have my favorite fruit stands and small grocery stores, and I know when the price is too high. However, all this experience does not equal belonging. I am and will continue to be a foreigner, someone whose home country is different from those around me. While I may even gain citizenship because I'm marrying an Egyptian, my identity and background is rooted elsewhere.
When one lives in a country that is largely homogenous like Egypt, it often feels as if people are looking at you like an other-worldy creature whose purposes are unknown. Their questions come through their eyes and sometimes through their mouths: Where are you from? Why do you look so different? Why would you come here to our country? Do you like it here? Why does your skin turn red in the sun? Can we take a picture with you? Why do you act different?
Sometimes, the attention makes you feel like a movie star. You're thinking "Wow, I must be gorgeous. I want to stay here forever in this place where suddenly everyone thinks I'm stunning." When you say something in Arabic, and someone responds, "You're amazing! You're so adorable when you speak Arabic," you smile and laugh because you haven't felt cute like this since you were a kid. At some point, though, we all want to be taken seriously and given a chance to blend in to the crowd. We grow weary of the attention; we want to be able to navigate daily life like normal, independent, responsible adults. The frustration of not being able to communicate what you want in a simple situation like buying vegetables or getting a taxi home can wipe away the glamor of expat life in a moment.
Being a foreigner is a bi-polar experience; there are extreme highs and lows. There are days when the adventure of being surrounded by new experiences and sights and sounds is intoxicating. You're taking it all in, enjoying the process of learning, of being absorbed into an environment where nothing is dull or rote. When you start learning, there is an intense feeling of satisfaction when you know how to do something or when you can show someone around your neighborhood with the attitude of a local. And then there are days as a foreigner when you dream of your favorite Mexican restaurant back home. Or you just want to get in your car, crank up the music, and drive to a grocery store where everything is labeled and exactly where you expect it to be. You don't want anyone to look at you, and you imagine yourself not roasting in the 101 degree weather because you're wearing shorts everywhere. You think of gathering around the dinner table with your friends from college and knowing exactly what they will say and when to laugh. Sure, it's predictable, but it's comforting to know you won't blunder through a conversation.
But then, as soon as you are actually back in this comfortable home environment, you miss the complexity of life as a foreigner. You miss discovering. You miss koshari and shawarma and walking to the grocery store. When you fall asleep, the silence has a heaviness and a strangeness you never felt before you got used to sleeping to the lullaby of car horns. When you sit and visit with your friends and family, you sometimes find yourself growing disengaged from the conversation, finding that familiar topics don't relate to you or, if you've been gone for many years, maybe you're shy to admit you have no idea what they are talking about. Something feels off. These are your people. You know you should belong here in this land of quiet streets and dinner at 6 and sparkling grocery stores with a million types of cereal, but now you seem to be looking at your home from the outside. Now, you are beginning to feel like a foreigner in your own home country as well. While I've described my experience as an American expat, I think expats from all countries can relate to these strange homecomings.
This is the true experience of an expat. It's thrilling and lonely and confusing all at the same time. Once you've taken the leap, I think it's impossible to truly feel at home in one particular geographical location again. When I personally start to feel confused by the conflicting emotions and wonder where I belong, I'm most comforted when I think of the life of the Christian and what Scripture says about our true home. Peter calls us as believers "foreigners and exiles." (1 Peter 2:11) As a literal foreigner, living outside of my home country and always being aware that I am different from those around me, this verse holds fresh meaning for me. In this verse, Peter is talking about how we should live differently from unbelievers because we are no longer living according to the desires of our flesh (our natural impulses), but we are living as followers of Christ in pursuit of what he values. As a foreigner, it feels awkward when you do things differently from the culture around you. You want to blend in, but your identity makes you stand out. As believers, we should stand out. Our home country does not exist on this earth. It's in heaven with Jesus. When we do or say something, it's good for people to stare at us and wonder why we do it that way. In the same way Egyptians stare at me for moving my fork from my right to left hand and back again when cutting and eating my food, our simplest actions as believers should incite curiosity. Sometimes, our actions will also incite a mocking laughter or even anger or violence against us, but that reaction should not change the way we live our lives.
One of my friends recently shared her family's decision not to do Santa Clause with her children because they wanted the focus and excitement of Christmas to remain centered on Jesus. I admire her choice so much. I'm not sure I could make the same choice, and I'm not saying this is the only way to honor and focus on Jesus during the Christmas season. But what a counter-cultural choice. She admitted that this decision drew her attention to just how much focus is placed on Santa Clause in the American Christmas tradition. Everywhere she went, her children were peppered with the question, "What do you want from Santa?" And she was trying to gently guide them away from that focus on what am I getting from Santa to considering the rich spiritual roots of Christmas. Here she is in her own native country, and yet her behavior and choices look strange and incite curiosity, maybe even frustration.
This does not mean that we always need to stand out in ways that surprise others or draw attention to ourselves. In the same chapter, Peter encourages us to honor and love all people and respect the government. Somehow, we are to live as respectful foreigners, knowing we are different but caring for all the people we are living amongst. Oh how I relate to these desires as an American expat living in Egypt. In some ways, I know I'm different and I can't completely blend in, but I want to be respectful and to love the people - maybe not every part of their culture - but to see them as people made in God's image just like me and more similar to me than we appear on the surface. Living as a believer on this earth is like living as a respectful expat in another country. We seek understanding; we learn the language; we develop meaningful relationships; we set ourselves at the same level as others. What we don't have to seek, what will always allude us is belonging. Belonging is found in Jesus alone. Just as he was never fully accepted here on earth, we will not be fully accepted by this world. Our beliefs may be applauded for a time; we may have a strong voice for a moment; then, the tides change, and we are on the outskirts again. If our hope is placed in feeling accepted, we will abandon our beliefs before we will allow ourselves to be shuffled into a corner of irrelevance and reproach. But if our belonging is in Jesus, we will give a sigh of understanding as we find ourselves in that corner, rest in Him for a while, pray for wisdom to enter back into the circle of the culture, and then step by step boldly engage again.
This world we are living in is becoming more globalized every day. All of my Egyptian friends are constantly talking about immigrating at some point to other countries, and so many of my American friends have contemplated or made moves abroad. So many of us will have this experience of living as a foreigner, feeling this sense of discomfort, then the slow immersion into the new culture until we have a sense of being home. And yet, the full belonging is not there. May this tension be a picture, a string on our finger, reminding us of our true heritage. May we be wise ambassadors here in our temporary home.
When one lives in a country that is largely homogenous like Egypt, it often feels as if people are looking at you like an other-worldy creature whose purposes are unknown. Their questions come through their eyes and sometimes through their mouths: Where are you from? Why do you look so different? Why would you come here to our country? Do you like it here? Why does your skin turn red in the sun? Can we take a picture with you? Why do you act different?
Sometimes, the attention makes you feel like a movie star. You're thinking "Wow, I must be gorgeous. I want to stay here forever in this place where suddenly everyone thinks I'm stunning." When you say something in Arabic, and someone responds, "You're amazing! You're so adorable when you speak Arabic," you smile and laugh because you haven't felt cute like this since you were a kid. At some point, though, we all want to be taken seriously and given a chance to blend in to the crowd. We grow weary of the attention; we want to be able to navigate daily life like normal, independent, responsible adults. The frustration of not being able to communicate what you want in a simple situation like buying vegetables or getting a taxi home can wipe away the glamor of expat life in a moment.
Being a foreigner is a bi-polar experience; there are extreme highs and lows. There are days when the adventure of being surrounded by new experiences and sights and sounds is intoxicating. You're taking it all in, enjoying the process of learning, of being absorbed into an environment where nothing is dull or rote. When you start learning, there is an intense feeling of satisfaction when you know how to do something or when you can show someone around your neighborhood with the attitude of a local. And then there are days as a foreigner when you dream of your favorite Mexican restaurant back home. Or you just want to get in your car, crank up the music, and drive to a grocery store where everything is labeled and exactly where you expect it to be. You don't want anyone to look at you, and you imagine yourself not roasting in the 101 degree weather because you're wearing shorts everywhere. You think of gathering around the dinner table with your friends from college and knowing exactly what they will say and when to laugh. Sure, it's predictable, but it's comforting to know you won't blunder through a conversation.
But then, as soon as you are actually back in this comfortable home environment, you miss the complexity of life as a foreigner. You miss discovering. You miss koshari and shawarma and walking to the grocery store. When you fall asleep, the silence has a heaviness and a strangeness you never felt before you got used to sleeping to the lullaby of car horns. When you sit and visit with your friends and family, you sometimes find yourself growing disengaged from the conversation, finding that familiar topics don't relate to you or, if you've been gone for many years, maybe you're shy to admit you have no idea what they are talking about. Something feels off. These are your people. You know you should belong here in this land of quiet streets and dinner at 6 and sparkling grocery stores with a million types of cereal, but now you seem to be looking at your home from the outside. Now, you are beginning to feel like a foreigner in your own home country as well. While I've described my experience as an American expat, I think expats from all countries can relate to these strange homecomings.
This is the true experience of an expat. It's thrilling and lonely and confusing all at the same time. Once you've taken the leap, I think it's impossible to truly feel at home in one particular geographical location again. When I personally start to feel confused by the conflicting emotions and wonder where I belong, I'm most comforted when I think of the life of the Christian and what Scripture says about our true home. Peter calls us as believers "foreigners and exiles." (1 Peter 2:11) As a literal foreigner, living outside of my home country and always being aware that I am different from those around me, this verse holds fresh meaning for me. In this verse, Peter is talking about how we should live differently from unbelievers because we are no longer living according to the desires of our flesh (our natural impulses), but we are living as followers of Christ in pursuit of what he values. As a foreigner, it feels awkward when you do things differently from the culture around you. You want to blend in, but your identity makes you stand out. As believers, we should stand out. Our home country does not exist on this earth. It's in heaven with Jesus. When we do or say something, it's good for people to stare at us and wonder why we do it that way. In the same way Egyptians stare at me for moving my fork from my right to left hand and back again when cutting and eating my food, our simplest actions as believers should incite curiosity. Sometimes, our actions will also incite a mocking laughter or even anger or violence against us, but that reaction should not change the way we live our lives.
One of my friends recently shared her family's decision not to do Santa Clause with her children because they wanted the focus and excitement of Christmas to remain centered on Jesus. I admire her choice so much. I'm not sure I could make the same choice, and I'm not saying this is the only way to honor and focus on Jesus during the Christmas season. But what a counter-cultural choice. She admitted that this decision drew her attention to just how much focus is placed on Santa Clause in the American Christmas tradition. Everywhere she went, her children were peppered with the question, "What do you want from Santa?" And she was trying to gently guide them away from that focus on what am I getting from Santa to considering the rich spiritual roots of Christmas. Here she is in her own native country, and yet her behavior and choices look strange and incite curiosity, maybe even frustration.
This does not mean that we always need to stand out in ways that surprise others or draw attention to ourselves. In the same chapter, Peter encourages us to honor and love all people and respect the government. Somehow, we are to live as respectful foreigners, knowing we are different but caring for all the people we are living amongst. Oh how I relate to these desires as an American expat living in Egypt. In some ways, I know I'm different and I can't completely blend in, but I want to be respectful and to love the people - maybe not every part of their culture - but to see them as people made in God's image just like me and more similar to me than we appear on the surface. Living as a believer on this earth is like living as a respectful expat in another country. We seek understanding; we learn the language; we develop meaningful relationships; we set ourselves at the same level as others. What we don't have to seek, what will always allude us is belonging. Belonging is found in Jesus alone. Just as he was never fully accepted here on earth, we will not be fully accepted by this world. Our beliefs may be applauded for a time; we may have a strong voice for a moment; then, the tides change, and we are on the outskirts again. If our hope is placed in feeling accepted, we will abandon our beliefs before we will allow ourselves to be shuffled into a corner of irrelevance and reproach. But if our belonging is in Jesus, we will give a sigh of understanding as we find ourselves in that corner, rest in Him for a while, pray for wisdom to enter back into the circle of the culture, and then step by step boldly engage again.
This world we are living in is becoming more globalized every day. All of my Egyptian friends are constantly talking about immigrating at some point to other countries, and so many of my American friends have contemplated or made moves abroad. So many of us will have this experience of living as a foreigner, feeling this sense of discomfort, then the slow immersion into the new culture until we have a sense of being home. And yet, the full belonging is not there. May this tension be a picture, a string on our finger, reminding us of our true heritage. May we be wise ambassadors here in our temporary home.
Wednesday, June 21, 2017
Meeting Jesus in Kenya
Two months ago, I traveled to Kenya for an educational conference, some touring, and a few days with my friend’s cousin who runs a children’s ministry for street children. My friend and I had no expectations for our time with her cousin, other than learning a little about the ministry and seeing some cute kids as well as having some time with her cousin and his family. We arrived to find ourselves presented with a detailed schedule for our next three days; we would begin on the streets, then watch these children in classes, chapel times, and counseling sessions at the children’s home, and then visit the children who had completed the program back at their rural homes with their families.
This is how we found ourselves very unexpectedly walking through the slums of Kisumu Kenya with three Kenyan ministry leaders, picking up street kids. We would stop by a group of kids lying on the side of the road, or a couple of them would come up to us, recognizing one of the Kenyan workers. We would fist pump, having been warned to be careful not to shake hands for safety and health reasons. Then, the child or teenager would start walking along with us through the busy streets full of small business owners and markets. Many of the boys were carrying plastic water bottles with addictive shoe glue in the bottom of the bottle. Their eyes were glazed over and their steps unsteady. As we walked, a few wandered off, but we ended up with a group of 15 or so sitting with us in a park, listening as the Kenyan leaders began praying and sharing a Bible story with the boys. Some of the boys were nearly men. Others looked like 7 or 8, although we were told they were probably older than they looked. As we walked, I was trying to imagine what was going on in these boys' hearts and minds. Were they afraid? What did they feel when the numb feeling the glue gave them wore off, and their emotional pain and physical hunger rushed back in like a flood. They had run from pain into the deeper pain of their own poor solutions to their problems. I could sense what God must feel for these boys and how much he must hurt over every wrong done to them and how much he must long to comfort them when they scream out in fear in the night.
At one point, we were asked to share something - our testimony, a word of encouragement, a prayer. We looked at each other warily. What do you say to boys who are sleeping on the streets, who have run away from home because of bad relationships with their family? What do you say to children who you know are being abused, who are eating trash, who might currently be suffering from disease? As those privileged with warm beds, plenty of food, and safe families, what can we possibly say that would make sense to these boys? Somehow, we shared a few words about the hope in Jesus and how we all feel alone at times, but he is there with us and knows everything we are going through.
After our meager words and a powerful, genuine Bible teaching from the Kenyan staff, we closed with a prayer, and the boys began to disperse again to the streets. One of the staff drew our attention to one tiny boy who had been sitting at the back of the group with her. She quietly shared that he was new to the streets, and she wanted us to pull him aside and see if he would come with us now to receive help. With hardly any conversation between them, the staff quietly gathered around the boy. I don’t know exactly what they shared with him, but very soon we were all standing up, and he was shyly following us out of the park.
It was all I could do not to break down into tears right there. This boy was so small and quiet. The staff shared that he had come from Mombasa, a city nearly ten hours drive away. I imagined this boy hitching rides all the way across Kenya, running away from abuse possibly or simply searching for a better, easier life. And he found himself taken in by a group of boys with their own system of taking care of each other, encouraging each other in glue addiction and other forms of pleasure and forgetting. Before he was enveloped into this destructive group, he was delivered into the hands of this wise, loving ministry. As we quietly led him back to the home, I was overwhelmed by the picture of redemption. I looked down at him and smiled, and he was so clearly biting back his smile, afraid to let his feelings show or maybe not sure yet whether he should be happy. A day later, in clean clothes, playing with the other children at the home, he boldly smiled back at us.
Watching this boy get discovered and rescued reminded me of how God sees each and every one of these street children and each and every one of us. This boy was lost in the crowd, on his own, detached from those who should protect him. God saw him. God intervened through the Kenyan staff who noticed him and took him into their care. This boy is so precious to God, his heavenly father. It reminds me of Matthews 10:29-31, where Jesus says, “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.” It’s hard to understand why he would allow some of these children to exist in the circumstances they are forced to endure, but no runaway or lost child is hidden from Him. For us who are privileged in many ways, we can still sometimes feel like our own lives are impossibly difficult and frustrating, and we wonder if God cares or if he even notices. No matter how small or large our problems, no matter the doubts and worries in our hearts, all of our thoughts and circumstances are laid out before God. He sees. He knows. He comforts. He rescues.
And the most beautiful part of all is getting to watch as he brings people of vastly different life circumstances together (such as ourselves and these precious boys and the Kenyan staff) and uses them to bless each other. Jesus never stood from afar and sent gifts through other people to those in need. He stopped and touched the blind man. He sat with the woman at the well. He let the lepers approach him. If we have any privileges in him, both earthly blessings of wealth and spiritual blessings of salvation, we have been given them so that we can share, and not just share from afar, but enter into the worlds of those less fortunate then us. As we kneel down and listen to their stories, as we see their pain, as we experience incredible redemption in their lives, we are dramatically changed. Jesus says in Matthew 25:40, "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me." When I met these boys, I encountered Jesus. His presence was so apparent to me in this experience, and I pray for similar encounters with Jesus for all of my friends. May we all be willing to sit down in the mud and enter deeply into the suffering of others, looking outside of our comfort zones and not passively throwing money at a good cause. God graciously gave me this opportunity to see him face to face through the "least of these" on the streets in Kenya, and I am praying that he graciously gives me and you more of these amazing opportunities.
For more information about this ministry, check out their website: http://agapechildren.org
And the most beautiful part of all is getting to watch as he brings people of vastly different life circumstances together (such as ourselves and these precious boys and the Kenyan staff) and uses them to bless each other. Jesus never stood from afar and sent gifts through other people to those in need. He stopped and touched the blind man. He sat with the woman at the well. He let the lepers approach him. If we have any privileges in him, both earthly blessings of wealth and spiritual blessings of salvation, we have been given them so that we can share, and not just share from afar, but enter into the worlds of those less fortunate then us. As we kneel down and listen to their stories, as we see their pain, as we experience incredible redemption in their lives, we are dramatically changed. Jesus says in Matthew 25:40, "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me." When I met these boys, I encountered Jesus. His presence was so apparent to me in this experience, and I pray for similar encounters with Jesus for all of my friends. May we all be willing to sit down in the mud and enter deeply into the suffering of others, looking outside of our comfort zones and not passively throwing money at a good cause. God graciously gave me this opportunity to see him face to face through the "least of these" on the streets in Kenya, and I am praying that he graciously gives me and you more of these amazing opportunities.
For more information about this ministry, check out their website: http://agapechildren.org
Sunday, January 29, 2017
Restoring Trust
The foundation of all relationships is trust.
This is not my original idea. Actually, if you look up the definition of the word trust on google, the two contextual examples given have to do with relationships. One is "relations have to be built on trust," and the other "a relationship built on mutual trust and respect." Trust is one of those words that is associated with relationships. "Do you trust me?" "You broke my trust." "I didn't trust him." "Trust me." These are the words that pepper our conversations as we step into and out of relationships and dig deeper into them.
What is the definition of trust? According to Merriam Webster, trust means "firm belief in the character, strength, or truth of someone." When we are children, we typically learn trust first with our parents. I still remember my dad holding the back of my bike and propelling me forward as I pedaled frantically on a two-wheeled bike for the first time. Why did I let him help launch me into this seemingly impossible ride? Because I trusted that he knew how to help me and, if I fell, he would be there to help me back up. As a child, I was born into a relationship in which I depended on my parents and had every reason to believe they would take care of me and tell me the truth.
As I grew, I learned what it meant to lose trust in people, as we all do. I saw the cracks in people's characters. I was lied to. I heard stories of fathers leaving their families and revealing an alternate life they had been hiding. A healthy fear grew in my heart and warned me that, while my parents and siblings were given to me, I could choose the other people I let into my life. I learned to hold off on trusting people until I had been able to fully measure their character. Like picking out a mango or melon at the grocery store, you can smell and squeeze and survey, but you never really know what the value of the fruit is until you cut into it. You have to see to the core. At a certain point, we learn that it's very dangerous to trust until we've seen this core.
We may define ourselves as the trusting kinds - the ones who will believe anything our friends tell us; I am frequently nodding my head along with someone's story only to be laughed at a moment later over my gullibility in believing some twisted tale or outlandish fact. However, this kind of gullible trust is no indicator of how trusting we are in all aspects of life. Another test of our tendency to trust is the extent of our independence. Are we more willing to step out on our own than to join ourselves closely with another person? Is the fear of what could be exposed and crushed within a relationship more real than the fear of finding ourselves alone and left to comfort and entertain ourselves on a Friday night? The sense of control when you do not have to think about trusting someone else is addictive. You seek your personal joy every day, choosing how you would most like to spend your time (even if your choices are worthy pursuits), without the worry and fear that comes with trying to please another or wishing that they would do a better job of pleasing you. You please yourself and worry only about disappointing yourself. It's a mirage of freedom and happiness that most of us realize we must abandon at some point in favor of relationship. And yet, with relationship, comes the issue of trust.
I'm not just speaking of romantic relationships. Even in friendships, there is a line you cross in which you allow yourself to be exposed, to really trust that person with a story from your past or a confession about the worries or dark thoughts in your mind. You walk away from that conversation with a slight panic. Did I say too much? Will they tell someone else? Will they still like me now that they know this? And then, maybe you get that phone call or note the next day, reassuring you that they still want to see you and that they will keep checking in. Or, maybe one time or twenty times, that call never came, and you felt like you left your heart in the middle of Jason's Deli over a giant baked potato.
This moment of exposure costs more than a thousand priceless, affirmative phone calls. We harbor that betrayal of our trust, even a non-threatening silence in response to our divulging conversation, as a signpost reminding us to beware. And a few significant signposts can result in a wall, a wall of non-disclosure and independence.
So what does it look like for someone to breach the wall or for us to step outside the gates? There is an image I am always returning to when I fear the strength of my own wall. Of course its source is literary and perhaps will not speak to all as it speaks to me.
Unless you are an avid fan of Charlotte Bronte or gothic novels, it is doubtful that you have picked up Charlotte's novel Villette. A number of years ago, I became swept away by this novel of a school teacher setting out on her own in a strange foreign land (not a far cry from my own life now). Although I remember little of novel's plot, I will never forget this one quote, expressing the thoughts of the protagonist soon after her arrival.
"In the double gloom of tress and fog; I could only follow his tread. Not the least fear had I; I believe I would have followed that frank tread, through continual night, to the world's end."
The images captivated me. The darkness and gloom. The vastness of the world's end. And that frank tread.
The words "frank tread" in particular struck me because they imply an honest, determined walk. Candid and straightforward combined with action and sense of purpose. It's an unusual paring of words.
When we talk about trust, we might work up to the point of sitting and facing someone and mutually sharing sensitive information about ourselves. But, if we begin to talk about following someone, the wall of wariness that must be broken down becomes infinitely higher. To follow someone voluntarily and without fear requires an incredible amount of trust. It makes sense that the girl of Charlotte Bronte's novel had no choice but to follow since it was night and the place was unfamiliar. What is striking is that she had no fear and that she went so far as to say she would continue following past the point of requirement to the very world's end.
I think of course of human relationships and what it means to speak these words about someone. If we were able to speak such words of trust and to follow another's footsteps because we knew they were true and honest, it would be nothing short of a miracle. And that's what deep, trust-based relationships are: miracles. We diminish them if we consider them anything less than that.
And I think of God. I think of how we are most certainly living in the darkness and gloom of this life. Of course, there are rays of sunshine peaking their way through, but we are living in a shroud of finiteness. We are limited in what we see to our visible surroundings and the present time. We can predict using various logical methods and calculations and instincts, but what we know is just our own feeble bodies. Even those, we barely know. How long they will keep running like machines, taking breaths without our bidding?
We either accept what we know and seize pleasure while we can or we crouch in fear and refuse to move. Or, we hear the "frank tread" of God up ahead, and we decide to follow. And the problem is that we cannot cut God to the core like we can a melon, to see what he is made of. We cannot even truly get to the core of another human being. And God is unknowable in his entirety.
So why should we trust him for the next few steps, not to mention to the world's end? Perhaps, we could consider that he was there from the beginning even before our parents knew us. He was offering himself to us, trying to show us how much we depended on him, how much we needed this relationship with him. We can choose to trust our parents in propelling us forward for the first time on our two-wheeled bikes, but who do we trust when we are swimming through a sea of life-shaping decisions and unforeseen circumstances?
Not only was God there at the beginning, seeking to gain our trust by revealing our utter dependance on him for everything, but God has also given us these promises and pictures of what it looks like when we live in relationship with him. There is no more perfect image of trust than the picture of him walking with and leading us through the treacherous paths of life.
"But now thus says the Lord, he who created you...he who formed you, O Israel: 'Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called ou by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through the fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your savior.. Because you are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you...Fear not for I am with you." Isaiah 43:1-5
"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me" Psalm 23:1-4
If we enter into a relationship with God, he demands that we trust him. And, when we trust him, we enter into beautiful, freeing, life-giving relationship with him. Trust forms the bookends of our relationship with God, both what initiates and sustains it. Trust in him is the only safe, unbreakable trust.
To follow God is to follow a frank tread in the darkness and gloom without a hint of fear. To follow God is to trust him that, along this often scary road, we will find green pastures and still waters. Instead of the chipping away of our souls that broken trust imparts, he will lead us into the restoration of our souls. To trust him is to invite the miracle of relationships with others. With such deep security in him, we can afford to risk our hearts in relationships with a few well-chosen people. We can see a glimpse of his faithfulness in the way those chosen ones walk, and we choose to trust them, all the while keeping our eyes on him, our perfect guide.
This is not my original idea. Actually, if you look up the definition of the word trust on google, the two contextual examples given have to do with relationships. One is "relations have to be built on trust," and the other "a relationship built on mutual trust and respect." Trust is one of those words that is associated with relationships. "Do you trust me?" "You broke my trust." "I didn't trust him." "Trust me." These are the words that pepper our conversations as we step into and out of relationships and dig deeper into them.
What is the definition of trust? According to Merriam Webster, trust means "firm belief in the character, strength, or truth of someone." When we are children, we typically learn trust first with our parents. I still remember my dad holding the back of my bike and propelling me forward as I pedaled frantically on a two-wheeled bike for the first time. Why did I let him help launch me into this seemingly impossible ride? Because I trusted that he knew how to help me and, if I fell, he would be there to help me back up. As a child, I was born into a relationship in which I depended on my parents and had every reason to believe they would take care of me and tell me the truth.
As I grew, I learned what it meant to lose trust in people, as we all do. I saw the cracks in people's characters. I was lied to. I heard stories of fathers leaving their families and revealing an alternate life they had been hiding. A healthy fear grew in my heart and warned me that, while my parents and siblings were given to me, I could choose the other people I let into my life. I learned to hold off on trusting people until I had been able to fully measure their character. Like picking out a mango or melon at the grocery store, you can smell and squeeze and survey, but you never really know what the value of the fruit is until you cut into it. You have to see to the core. At a certain point, we learn that it's very dangerous to trust until we've seen this core.
We may define ourselves as the trusting kinds - the ones who will believe anything our friends tell us; I am frequently nodding my head along with someone's story only to be laughed at a moment later over my gullibility in believing some twisted tale or outlandish fact. However, this kind of gullible trust is no indicator of how trusting we are in all aspects of life. Another test of our tendency to trust is the extent of our independence. Are we more willing to step out on our own than to join ourselves closely with another person? Is the fear of what could be exposed and crushed within a relationship more real than the fear of finding ourselves alone and left to comfort and entertain ourselves on a Friday night? The sense of control when you do not have to think about trusting someone else is addictive. You seek your personal joy every day, choosing how you would most like to spend your time (even if your choices are worthy pursuits), without the worry and fear that comes with trying to please another or wishing that they would do a better job of pleasing you. You please yourself and worry only about disappointing yourself. It's a mirage of freedom and happiness that most of us realize we must abandon at some point in favor of relationship. And yet, with relationship, comes the issue of trust.
I'm not just speaking of romantic relationships. Even in friendships, there is a line you cross in which you allow yourself to be exposed, to really trust that person with a story from your past or a confession about the worries or dark thoughts in your mind. You walk away from that conversation with a slight panic. Did I say too much? Will they tell someone else? Will they still like me now that they know this? And then, maybe you get that phone call or note the next day, reassuring you that they still want to see you and that they will keep checking in. Or, maybe one time or twenty times, that call never came, and you felt like you left your heart in the middle of Jason's Deli over a giant baked potato.
This moment of exposure costs more than a thousand priceless, affirmative phone calls. We harbor that betrayal of our trust, even a non-threatening silence in response to our divulging conversation, as a signpost reminding us to beware. And a few significant signposts can result in a wall, a wall of non-disclosure and independence.
So what does it look like for someone to breach the wall or for us to step outside the gates? There is an image I am always returning to when I fear the strength of my own wall. Of course its source is literary and perhaps will not speak to all as it speaks to me.
Unless you are an avid fan of Charlotte Bronte or gothic novels, it is doubtful that you have picked up Charlotte's novel Villette. A number of years ago, I became swept away by this novel of a school teacher setting out on her own in a strange foreign land (not a far cry from my own life now). Although I remember little of novel's plot, I will never forget this one quote, expressing the thoughts of the protagonist soon after her arrival.
"In the double gloom of tress and fog; I could only follow his tread. Not the least fear had I; I believe I would have followed that frank tread, through continual night, to the world's end."
The images captivated me. The darkness and gloom. The vastness of the world's end. And that frank tread.
The words "frank tread" in particular struck me because they imply an honest, determined walk. Candid and straightforward combined with action and sense of purpose. It's an unusual paring of words.
When we talk about trust, we might work up to the point of sitting and facing someone and mutually sharing sensitive information about ourselves. But, if we begin to talk about following someone, the wall of wariness that must be broken down becomes infinitely higher. To follow someone voluntarily and without fear requires an incredible amount of trust. It makes sense that the girl of Charlotte Bronte's novel had no choice but to follow since it was night and the place was unfamiliar. What is striking is that she had no fear and that she went so far as to say she would continue following past the point of requirement to the very world's end.
I think of course of human relationships and what it means to speak these words about someone. If we were able to speak such words of trust and to follow another's footsteps because we knew they were true and honest, it would be nothing short of a miracle. And that's what deep, trust-based relationships are: miracles. We diminish them if we consider them anything less than that.
And I think of God. I think of how we are most certainly living in the darkness and gloom of this life. Of course, there are rays of sunshine peaking their way through, but we are living in a shroud of finiteness. We are limited in what we see to our visible surroundings and the present time. We can predict using various logical methods and calculations and instincts, but what we know is just our own feeble bodies. Even those, we barely know. How long they will keep running like machines, taking breaths without our bidding?
We either accept what we know and seize pleasure while we can or we crouch in fear and refuse to move. Or, we hear the "frank tread" of God up ahead, and we decide to follow. And the problem is that we cannot cut God to the core like we can a melon, to see what he is made of. We cannot even truly get to the core of another human being. And God is unknowable in his entirety.
So why should we trust him for the next few steps, not to mention to the world's end? Perhaps, we could consider that he was there from the beginning even before our parents knew us. He was offering himself to us, trying to show us how much we depended on him, how much we needed this relationship with him. We can choose to trust our parents in propelling us forward for the first time on our two-wheeled bikes, but who do we trust when we are swimming through a sea of life-shaping decisions and unforeseen circumstances?
Not only was God there at the beginning, seeking to gain our trust by revealing our utter dependance on him for everything, but God has also given us these promises and pictures of what it looks like when we live in relationship with him. There is no more perfect image of trust than the picture of him walking with and leading us through the treacherous paths of life.
"But now thus says the Lord, he who created you...he who formed you, O Israel: 'Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called ou by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through the fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your savior.. Because you are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you...Fear not for I am with you." Isaiah 43:1-5
"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me" Psalm 23:1-4
If we enter into a relationship with God, he demands that we trust him. And, when we trust him, we enter into beautiful, freeing, life-giving relationship with him. Trust forms the bookends of our relationship with God, both what initiates and sustains it. Trust in him is the only safe, unbreakable trust.
To follow God is to follow a frank tread in the darkness and gloom without a hint of fear. To follow God is to trust him that, along this often scary road, we will find green pastures and still waters. Instead of the chipping away of our souls that broken trust imparts, he will lead us into the restoration of our souls. To trust him is to invite the miracle of relationships with others. With such deep security in him, we can afford to risk our hearts in relationships with a few well-chosen people. We can see a glimpse of his faithfulness in the way those chosen ones walk, and we choose to trust them, all the while keeping our eyes on him, our perfect guide.
Monday, January 16, 2017
Mentorship: A Turning Toward God
Who are your mentors? Especially spiritually? Who are those people that you look to the most for advice and who teach you the most? Maybe a pastor, your parents, an older friend, a youth leader, a teacher, or a professor? Keep that person in mind.
And, if no one came to mind, you might relate to me about four years ago. I've always walked to the beat of my own drum as they say. Usually, I'm confident in my beliefs and decisions, and I do not go seeking out the help of others in making those decisions or strengthening those beliefs. I have my Bible and my prayer life. That's enough. The problem is that it is not enough, at least if you believe Scripture. We were created to live in relationships with others. In the act of creating the first woman, God was designing people to help one another, to protect one another, to listen to one another, to teach one another. 1 Peter 5:1-5 talks about "the elders...shepherding the flock of god that is among you...and likewise you who are younger, be subject to the elders. Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble." This relationship of receiving advice and guiding those who are younger is not optional. It is commanded in Scripture.
Of course, for me, it was not as simple as reading this passage and feeling immediately convicted. Instead, while serving in a leadership role, I found myself fumbling about in many ways. I had arrived at one of those familiar crossroads. Confused about where to go next in my career and filled with agonizing questions about what the future held (in some ways I have yet to leave this crossroads), I was crying on the phone with my mom. To give myself some credit, I had sense enough to call a parent and at least express some of the fears and questions running through my mind. But, I was not in a posture to listen. I still believed the solution lay somewhere in my swirling mind. My beautiful, wise momma graciously challenged me to consider meeting with someone older than me and talking about life. A name immediately popped in my head, as if it had been waiting there in case I ever humbled myself enough to consider the idea.
Thus began a precious season of meeting a friend and mentor regularly just to chat about life over Starbucks coffee. She had many words of advice and sometimes just a nod of understanding. I found myself anxiously awaiting those Saturday mornings, looking forward to asking for input about some complicated relationship or situation in my life. And, also I relished the stories we would share and the laughs over her adventures as a new parent. Oh how I would have missed out if I had ignored this prompting from my mom, who has also been a "slightly" more long-term mentor of mine.
Now, let's return to those of you who already had a mentor in mind. Maybe, as I was describing one of my mentors, nostalgia overwhelmed you as you recalled your own sweet memories with your mentor. For some of you, though, I have a feeling that there is pain associated with a mentor in your life. The truth is that, while we must have these sharpening, encouraging people in our lives, they often hurt us. Or sometimes, they just leave, and their absence hurts us.
What do we do when this happens? Especially if that person wounded us or failed us in some way, it becomes easy to throw our hands in the air and decide to do whatever we want. We feel released from responsibility because they are gone. We lose our bearings because they did not live up to our expectations. We were following them, but now we are not so sure of the path or if we want to be on it anymore.
There is a terribly sad story in the Bible that gives a picture of this progression from firmly grounded mentee to loose cannon. (You can find the whole story, which I will not have time to fully summarize here, in 2 Chronicles 22-24.) To set the stage for this tragedy, there was once a young prince named Joash who was rescued from his murderous royal family and adopted into the family of a priest named Jehoiada. Jehoiada raised Joash and taught him in all the ways of the Lord and then, when the time came, he fought to place Joash on the throne that was rightfully his. Under the leadership of Joash, who was still following the counsel of Jehoiada, the people of Judah returned to the Lord and worshiped him with their whole hearts. He had incredible influence spiritually over the people, and he decided to devote himself to restoring the house of the Lord. Sounds like a happy, victorious story so far...
Well, at the incredible age of 130, Jehoiada dies (not shockingly!). Immediately after the death of his mentor, Joash is visited by a group of princes who praise him and so distract him from the Lord (perhaps with thoughts of his own glory and goodness), that together they lead their people completely away from God and renew the worship of other pagan gods and idols. Even though God sends prophets to draw Joash back, he never repents, and his story ends in complete tragedy.
When I read this story a few months ago, what came into clear focus for me was the importance of mentors and how, like any relationship or tool established for good, they can end up being our downfall. Jehoiada as a mentor to Joash was clearly a blessing and, without him, Joash might not have ever come to love God or lead his people in such pure devotion to God. But clearly, Joash must have completely relied on Jehoiada for the heart of his belief and motivation to follow Christ. The very moment he was gone, Joash lacked all resolve to resist the temptation of other gods. Maybe Jehoiada and the security Joash felt in him was a type of idol for Joash.
My question is what would happen if your mentor disappeared and people of opposing beliefs surrounded you, praising you and counseling you to go a different way? Would you immediately feel lost and blindly follow? Or what if a mentor in your life suddenly made a grievous mistake or revealed a side of themselves you had never seen before? Would you question the values they had imparted to you? Would you abandon those values, feeling that they were futile now that the person who taught them to you had failed to measure up?
The burden on my heart in sharing this story and these thoughts about mentorship is that more people would value relationships with mentors, counselors, godly parents and teachers, but that they would value them realistically and graciously. The reality is that people, even those most essential to your growth, will leave you or you will leave them at some point. It is also very likely that they will disappoint you. But the point of these relationships is not to provide you with a perfect example but to lead you closer to Jesus and to his will for your life. Often these relationships will build into you for many years until you are a strong tower for the Lord. But, at some point, even the breaking off of these relationships or the realization that these leaders in your life are in fact just broken human beings can lead you closer to Jesus, if you let it. Joash is an example of someone not prepared for this break. He did not run to God in that moment of fear, grief, and disillusionment. He looked away.
In Isaiah, however, we see a man who allowed the death of his mentor and leader King Uzziah (I'm drawing on context from previous Bible lessons and do not have citations for this information) to drive him to his most profound vision of the Lord yet! Isaiah 6:1 says, "In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple."
This is my prayer for myself and for anyone reading, that in that moment of greatest disappointment or loss, we would be given the grace to turn toward the Lord and not away. I pray that, when faced with human weakness and the limitations of human relationships, we would see more fully the beauty of God and the perfection of his wisdom, counsel, and revelation. May we see him more every day until that beautiful day when we see him clearly without veil or mist.
And, if no one came to mind, you might relate to me about four years ago. I've always walked to the beat of my own drum as they say. Usually, I'm confident in my beliefs and decisions, and I do not go seeking out the help of others in making those decisions or strengthening those beliefs. I have my Bible and my prayer life. That's enough. The problem is that it is not enough, at least if you believe Scripture. We were created to live in relationships with others. In the act of creating the first woman, God was designing people to help one another, to protect one another, to listen to one another, to teach one another. 1 Peter 5:1-5 talks about "the elders...shepherding the flock of god that is among you...and likewise you who are younger, be subject to the elders. Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble." This relationship of receiving advice and guiding those who are younger is not optional. It is commanded in Scripture.
Of course, for me, it was not as simple as reading this passage and feeling immediately convicted. Instead, while serving in a leadership role, I found myself fumbling about in many ways. I had arrived at one of those familiar crossroads. Confused about where to go next in my career and filled with agonizing questions about what the future held (in some ways I have yet to leave this crossroads), I was crying on the phone with my mom. To give myself some credit, I had sense enough to call a parent and at least express some of the fears and questions running through my mind. But, I was not in a posture to listen. I still believed the solution lay somewhere in my swirling mind. My beautiful, wise momma graciously challenged me to consider meeting with someone older than me and talking about life. A name immediately popped in my head, as if it had been waiting there in case I ever humbled myself enough to consider the idea.
Thus began a precious season of meeting a friend and mentor regularly just to chat about life over Starbucks coffee. She had many words of advice and sometimes just a nod of understanding. I found myself anxiously awaiting those Saturday mornings, looking forward to asking for input about some complicated relationship or situation in my life. And, also I relished the stories we would share and the laughs over her adventures as a new parent. Oh how I would have missed out if I had ignored this prompting from my mom, who has also been a "slightly" more long-term mentor of mine.
Now, let's return to those of you who already had a mentor in mind. Maybe, as I was describing one of my mentors, nostalgia overwhelmed you as you recalled your own sweet memories with your mentor. For some of you, though, I have a feeling that there is pain associated with a mentor in your life. The truth is that, while we must have these sharpening, encouraging people in our lives, they often hurt us. Or sometimes, they just leave, and their absence hurts us.
What do we do when this happens? Especially if that person wounded us or failed us in some way, it becomes easy to throw our hands in the air and decide to do whatever we want. We feel released from responsibility because they are gone. We lose our bearings because they did not live up to our expectations. We were following them, but now we are not so sure of the path or if we want to be on it anymore.
There is a terribly sad story in the Bible that gives a picture of this progression from firmly grounded mentee to loose cannon. (You can find the whole story, which I will not have time to fully summarize here, in 2 Chronicles 22-24.) To set the stage for this tragedy, there was once a young prince named Joash who was rescued from his murderous royal family and adopted into the family of a priest named Jehoiada. Jehoiada raised Joash and taught him in all the ways of the Lord and then, when the time came, he fought to place Joash on the throne that was rightfully his. Under the leadership of Joash, who was still following the counsel of Jehoiada, the people of Judah returned to the Lord and worshiped him with their whole hearts. He had incredible influence spiritually over the people, and he decided to devote himself to restoring the house of the Lord. Sounds like a happy, victorious story so far...
Well, at the incredible age of 130, Jehoiada dies (not shockingly!). Immediately after the death of his mentor, Joash is visited by a group of princes who praise him and so distract him from the Lord (perhaps with thoughts of his own glory and goodness), that together they lead their people completely away from God and renew the worship of other pagan gods and idols. Even though God sends prophets to draw Joash back, he never repents, and his story ends in complete tragedy.
When I read this story a few months ago, what came into clear focus for me was the importance of mentors and how, like any relationship or tool established for good, they can end up being our downfall. Jehoiada as a mentor to Joash was clearly a blessing and, without him, Joash might not have ever come to love God or lead his people in such pure devotion to God. But clearly, Joash must have completely relied on Jehoiada for the heart of his belief and motivation to follow Christ. The very moment he was gone, Joash lacked all resolve to resist the temptation of other gods. Maybe Jehoiada and the security Joash felt in him was a type of idol for Joash.
My question is what would happen if your mentor disappeared and people of opposing beliefs surrounded you, praising you and counseling you to go a different way? Would you immediately feel lost and blindly follow? Or what if a mentor in your life suddenly made a grievous mistake or revealed a side of themselves you had never seen before? Would you question the values they had imparted to you? Would you abandon those values, feeling that they were futile now that the person who taught them to you had failed to measure up?
The burden on my heart in sharing this story and these thoughts about mentorship is that more people would value relationships with mentors, counselors, godly parents and teachers, but that they would value them realistically and graciously. The reality is that people, even those most essential to your growth, will leave you or you will leave them at some point. It is also very likely that they will disappoint you. But the point of these relationships is not to provide you with a perfect example but to lead you closer to Jesus and to his will for your life. Often these relationships will build into you for many years until you are a strong tower for the Lord. But, at some point, even the breaking off of these relationships or the realization that these leaders in your life are in fact just broken human beings can lead you closer to Jesus, if you let it. Joash is an example of someone not prepared for this break. He did not run to God in that moment of fear, grief, and disillusionment. He looked away.
In Isaiah, however, we see a man who allowed the death of his mentor and leader King Uzziah (I'm drawing on context from previous Bible lessons and do not have citations for this information) to drive him to his most profound vision of the Lord yet! Isaiah 6:1 says, "In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple."
This is my prayer for myself and for anyone reading, that in that moment of greatest disappointment or loss, we would be given the grace to turn toward the Lord and not away. I pray that, when faced with human weakness and the limitations of human relationships, we would see more fully the beauty of God and the perfection of his wisdom, counsel, and revelation. May we see him more every day until that beautiful day when we see him clearly without veil or mist.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
The Kingdom
"Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom." Luke 12:32
The kingdom sounds like a mighty fine gift, but Scripture says that the majority of people do not care to possess it. What do you picture when you picture the kingdom? A glittering palace, a dress like Elsa's in Frozen, servants who bring you breakfast in bed, an invisible aura of peace. Why not seek a kingdom like this? Because this is not the type of kingdom that the Father is giving.
This year, God has had me once again at a fork in the road. The fork is actually more like a city where I have made my home for a year. I sleep and work and discover little nooks and crannies I love here, but it's become pretty clear that this comfortable abode is just a stopping place along the journey. I feel a bit like Christian in Pilgrim's Progress at one of his many stops along the road to the Celestial City. Perhaps I am leaving the Palace Beautiful and on my way to the Valley of Despair. It's impossible to know exactly what lies ahead, but I have a choice to make. I can settle here in this comfortable in-between. I can try to find that glamorous kingdom of wealth and ease. Or I can take the road that leads to the Father's kingdom. How do I find it? Where do I start?
"Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail." Luke 12:33
Something about this command makes me wonder if I will have pretty clothes to wear on this journey. Surely, Jesus did not mean to sell everything. My books are noble treasures. My curling iron is really a necessity. I have a healthy love for guacamole and french fries. Don't question what I have chosen to purchase and treasure. I'm no diva. I look out for the people I love.
So, God, if you could just give me the kingdom and let me keep this little hoard of treasures, no one will get hurt. I'll be very agreeable on this pleasant journey.
But, Jesus has found me packing, and the truth is becoming clear. Not everything is fitting like I thought it would. He says it's time to go. The kingdom is waiting not far from here. But I can't lift my suitcase, and there's still a box of movies and snacks in case I get bored in this kingdom. I gaze at the box and back at Jesus. I stall. Let's have a cup of coffee before we go. "So tell me more about this kingdom," I say to Jesus over my coffee.
And he tells a story, a few actually, because Jesus is patient. He tells me of people who have seen visions of Him, but believing in him could mean their death. They open their arms to the reality of persecution because they have experienced an intimate, freeing relationship unlike any before. He tells me of children, abandoned at birth, who are drawn into the arms of a selfless people who see beauty and value even through the defects. He tells me of sick, soul-wounded people who have found a reason to smile again, although their body will always bear scars and the pain may never leave. He tells me of children grateful for one shoebox full of small Christmas presents, so overwhelmed you might think that gold coins had showered down on them from the sky. He tells me of my own helpless, lonely soul that found such comfort in him as a little girl.
And he also tells me of the Pharisees who cleaned the outside of the cup; they always looked good to the watching world. No one could criticize them. And yet they knew nothing of the kingdom. They have neglected the inner person and the unseen acts. And he tells me of the times when I too was a pharisee, concerned with looking good and feeling all too deserving of attention and blessings.
And he points to my baggage, the heap of things that are slowing me down, and he asks if this is my treasure. I'm not sure. There are more than just possessions in these bags; there are a lot of people's opinions of me and dreams I have that don't involve abandoned children or sick people. Whatever greater treasure I'm supposed to find in the kingdom, I'm not sure the messy crowd he describes, including my childhood self, are my crowd anymore. They don't have a lot to give. They don't sound like they know much about art or literature. Do they like eating chips and salsa? I like the people I like, and I'm kind to them (at least most of the time). Isn't that enough?
His patience does not prevent him from saying some tough things.
"The land of a rich man produced plentifully, and he thought to himself, 'What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?' And he said, 'I will do this: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my good. And I will say to my soul, 'Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.' But God said to him, 'Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?' So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God." Luke 12:16-21
I immediately leave my coffee cup (even though there is a half a cup left) and my pile of treasures and walk with Jesus down the road to His unusual kingdom.
Or at least that is the route I take in this blog. The truth is that I'm still dwelling in this quaint little inn at the side of the road, and Jesus hasn't come to pick me up yet. My friends say I shouldn't feel guilty for loving what I love, but I know how much I have stored in these barns. I pray that when he comes I'm already half-way out the door with a map to the kingdom and not a lick of baggage.
The kingdom sounds like a mighty fine gift, but Scripture says that the majority of people do not care to possess it. What do you picture when you picture the kingdom? A glittering palace, a dress like Elsa's in Frozen, servants who bring you breakfast in bed, an invisible aura of peace. Why not seek a kingdom like this? Because this is not the type of kingdom that the Father is giving.
This year, God has had me once again at a fork in the road. The fork is actually more like a city where I have made my home for a year. I sleep and work and discover little nooks and crannies I love here, but it's become pretty clear that this comfortable abode is just a stopping place along the journey. I feel a bit like Christian in Pilgrim's Progress at one of his many stops along the road to the Celestial City. Perhaps I am leaving the Palace Beautiful and on my way to the Valley of Despair. It's impossible to know exactly what lies ahead, but I have a choice to make. I can settle here in this comfortable in-between. I can try to find that glamorous kingdom of wealth and ease. Or I can take the road that leads to the Father's kingdom. How do I find it? Where do I start?
"Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail." Luke 12:33
Something about this command makes me wonder if I will have pretty clothes to wear on this journey. Surely, Jesus did not mean to sell everything. My books are noble treasures. My curling iron is really a necessity. I have a healthy love for guacamole and french fries. Don't question what I have chosen to purchase and treasure. I'm no diva. I look out for the people I love.
So, God, if you could just give me the kingdom and let me keep this little hoard of treasures, no one will get hurt. I'll be very agreeable on this pleasant journey.
But, Jesus has found me packing, and the truth is becoming clear. Not everything is fitting like I thought it would. He says it's time to go. The kingdom is waiting not far from here. But I can't lift my suitcase, and there's still a box of movies and snacks in case I get bored in this kingdom. I gaze at the box and back at Jesus. I stall. Let's have a cup of coffee before we go. "So tell me more about this kingdom," I say to Jesus over my coffee.
And he tells a story, a few actually, because Jesus is patient. He tells me of people who have seen visions of Him, but believing in him could mean their death. They open their arms to the reality of persecution because they have experienced an intimate, freeing relationship unlike any before. He tells me of children, abandoned at birth, who are drawn into the arms of a selfless people who see beauty and value even through the defects. He tells me of sick, soul-wounded people who have found a reason to smile again, although their body will always bear scars and the pain may never leave. He tells me of children grateful for one shoebox full of small Christmas presents, so overwhelmed you might think that gold coins had showered down on them from the sky. He tells me of my own helpless, lonely soul that found such comfort in him as a little girl.
And he also tells me of the Pharisees who cleaned the outside of the cup; they always looked good to the watching world. No one could criticize them. And yet they knew nothing of the kingdom. They have neglected the inner person and the unseen acts. And he tells me of the times when I too was a pharisee, concerned with looking good and feeling all too deserving of attention and blessings.
And he points to my baggage, the heap of things that are slowing me down, and he asks if this is my treasure. I'm not sure. There are more than just possessions in these bags; there are a lot of people's opinions of me and dreams I have that don't involve abandoned children or sick people. Whatever greater treasure I'm supposed to find in the kingdom, I'm not sure the messy crowd he describes, including my childhood self, are my crowd anymore. They don't have a lot to give. They don't sound like they know much about art or literature. Do they like eating chips and salsa? I like the people I like, and I'm kind to them (at least most of the time). Isn't that enough?
His patience does not prevent him from saying some tough things.
"The land of a rich man produced plentifully, and he thought to himself, 'What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?' And he said, 'I will do this: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my good. And I will say to my soul, 'Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.' But God said to him, 'Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?' So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God." Luke 12:16-21
I immediately leave my coffee cup (even though there is a half a cup left) and my pile of treasures and walk with Jesus down the road to His unusual kingdom.
Or at least that is the route I take in this blog. The truth is that I'm still dwelling in this quaint little inn at the side of the road, and Jesus hasn't come to pick me up yet. My friends say I shouldn't feel guilty for loving what I love, but I know how much I have stored in these barns. I pray that when he comes I'm already half-way out the door with a map to the kingdom and not a lick of baggage.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Waiting
Waiting. Almost every season of life is marked by some type of waiting. There is the day to day waiting in traffic, in the drive-through line, for your friend to call you back. These moments in which the seconds tic by slowly and loudly can feel agonizing. Yet what are they compared to the days, weeks and years of waiting for a job, a spouse, a baby, graduation from college; the list of monumental periods of waiting goes on
Our human hearts grow faint, torn between the drive to race out of this slow spell or lie down and sleep until the long-awaited answer comes. And while I anxiously watch my morning coffee brewing, feeling my need for my daily dose if caffeine, one friend waits for reprieve from physical pain and another waits for a positive pregnancy and another waits for that wedding date that feels so far away.
I want one of my three genie wishes to be an end to waiting. Let's have have it all now - all the answers, all the blessings. The tragedies too? Maybe. Better firm earth beneath my feet on which I can fall faint than a net in which I lie tangled and held captive.
God, who of course us not anything akin to a genie, does not share my distaste for waiting. He draws me to find purpose and meaning in the wait. As I read through the Psalms this summer, I am constantly faced with this word I hate - wait.
"Indeed, none who wait for you shall be put to shame." v.3
"Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation, for you I wait all te day long." v. 5
"May integrity and uprightness preserve me, for I wait for you." v. 21
All of these references come from Psalm 25 alone. I was struck by this emphasis, as I long to know what is coming next and rush through this season of temporary jobs to get to the "real stuff" that I've been dreaming of. All of these "waits," however, are in reference to waiting for Jesus. There is an ultimate, overarching wait that will last my entire life. This is the wait to be in the presence of Jesus.
I think of how I wait for the things of this life - my cheeseburger, my internet to start working again, a spouse, my opportunity to travel the world. Do my thoughts regarding the return of Jesus come as consistently and fervently as my impatient thoughts for my next meal or the end of the work day?
Disheartened, I gaze at my own humanity and smallness. Inspired, I dream of what wonders should overwhelm all other visions for my future. For a moment, I can catch the splendor of this particular wait - knowing exactly what I will be gaining and yet having so hazy a view of what such intimacy with Jesus would look like. Surely, if lesser dreams can occupy my thoughts for days and years on end, the mystery and assurance of this future should capture my imagination and fill me with giddy anticipation and impatience at all times.
Surely.
But sadly, they do not.
Not only do I dismiss dreams for this future. I even ignore time with Jesus here in this body, while He is absent physically but very much ready to communicate with me at any moment.
Like a scorned admirer, I forget that he called. I forget to thank him for the many splendid gifts he gives each day. I refuse his invitation to dinner as I pine away for everything else - people, jobs, significance in my work, answers, money, things, places.
It's absurd. I'm absurd. Thankfully, God does not respond like a human lover would.
He continues to plan extravagantly for our bright future and takes delight in each moment I choose to forget all other waiting as I wait for Him.
Our human hearts grow faint, torn between the drive to race out of this slow spell or lie down and sleep until the long-awaited answer comes. And while I anxiously watch my morning coffee brewing, feeling my need for my daily dose if caffeine, one friend waits for reprieve from physical pain and another waits for a positive pregnancy and another waits for that wedding date that feels so far away.
I want one of my three genie wishes to be an end to waiting. Let's have have it all now - all the answers, all the blessings. The tragedies too? Maybe. Better firm earth beneath my feet on which I can fall faint than a net in which I lie tangled and held captive.
God, who of course us not anything akin to a genie, does not share my distaste for waiting. He draws me to find purpose and meaning in the wait. As I read through the Psalms this summer, I am constantly faced with this word I hate - wait.
"Indeed, none who wait for you shall be put to shame." v.3
"Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation, for you I wait all te day long." v. 5
"May integrity and uprightness preserve me, for I wait for you." v. 21
All of these references come from Psalm 25 alone. I was struck by this emphasis, as I long to know what is coming next and rush through this season of temporary jobs to get to the "real stuff" that I've been dreaming of. All of these "waits," however, are in reference to waiting for Jesus. There is an ultimate, overarching wait that will last my entire life. This is the wait to be in the presence of Jesus.
I think of how I wait for the things of this life - my cheeseburger, my internet to start working again, a spouse, my opportunity to travel the world. Do my thoughts regarding the return of Jesus come as consistently and fervently as my impatient thoughts for my next meal or the end of the work day?
Disheartened, I gaze at my own humanity and smallness. Inspired, I dream of what wonders should overwhelm all other visions for my future. For a moment, I can catch the splendor of this particular wait - knowing exactly what I will be gaining and yet having so hazy a view of what such intimacy with Jesus would look like. Surely, if lesser dreams can occupy my thoughts for days and years on end, the mystery and assurance of this future should capture my imagination and fill me with giddy anticipation and impatience at all times.
Surely.
But sadly, they do not.
Not only do I dismiss dreams for this future. I even ignore time with Jesus here in this body, while He is absent physically but very much ready to communicate with me at any moment.
Like a scorned admirer, I forget that he called. I forget to thank him for the many splendid gifts he gives each day. I refuse his invitation to dinner as I pine away for everything else - people, jobs, significance in my work, answers, money, things, places.
It's absurd. I'm absurd. Thankfully, God does not respond like a human lover would.
He continues to plan extravagantly for our bright future and takes delight in each moment I choose to forget all other waiting as I wait for Him.
Monday, June 9, 2014
New Beginnings
I have called Dallas home for just about one week now, but it does not feel like home yet. I have nothing against Dallas. In fact, it has felt like I am on a lovely little vacation, traipsing around town discovering quaint coffee shops and trying an exorbitant number of new restaurants, so many that I began to crave a solid home-cooked meal - just like vacation, except it's not. And I wake up and realize that I better start home-cooking those meals because I am home, and there will not be a natural transition back to normal, routine life. The routine starts whenever I create it, and I think a part of me does not want to create it.
Maybe the transition will be smoother if I imagine this to be a form of long-term study abroad. For my own study abroad in Paris a few years ago, I drifted into la la land for a month and lived life to the fullest, paying little attention to my budget because this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Unfortunately, if I approached this season with the same attitude, I think it would end badly with me in that cardboard box we English majors are destined to inhabit. We are the wanderers, dreamers, learners, and chasers of stories, but we live in a world of deadlines, budgets, and bills. How have I made it thus far, I often wonder. Either I'm a strong survivor or I have a God who likes to shine through my faults and failures.
Of course, I believe it's the latter. I've been there in the meltdown moments that no one else sees, and I know I do not have it in me to muscle through this life. Throughout these months of transition, I have kept returning to this Oswald Chambers devotion:
"Certainty is the mark of the commonsense life - gracious uncertainty is the mark of the spiritual life. To be certain of God means we are uncertain in all our ways, not knowing what tomorrow may bring. This is generally expressed with a sigh of sadness, but it should be an expression of breathless expectation. We are uncertain of the next step, but we are certain of God. As soon as we abandon ourselves to God and do the task He has placed closes to us, He begins to fill our lives with surprises...Leave everything to Him and it will be gloriously and graciously uncertain how He will come in - but you can be certain that He will come."
I have been craving some certainty as of late. Just tell me where I am going to work. Assure me that I will have this certain house. Tell me exactly how I will pay the bills. Will my school and work schedule align? Show me what I will do when I graduate and that this education plan is the best course for me to take. None of these answers came when I wanted them. I'm still waiting on some of them.
"In peace I both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety." (Psalm 4:8)
"I lay down and slept; I woke again, for The Lord sustained me." (Psalm 3:5)
These are the promises I am given. Nothing specific, only the rhythms of my life and the reminder that The Lord is the steady one guiding these rhythms. Will I have more than His presence? I do not know. Will my bed be in a box? No answer. Only, that The Lord is safety and The Lord is sustenance.
So this is the routine. The surprises are coming, the shaping of a new home life that is still so foreign to me. For now, I lie down and sleep. I wake up. The Lord is there and that's all I know. And that is enough.
Maybe the transition will be smoother if I imagine this to be a form of long-term study abroad. For my own study abroad in Paris a few years ago, I drifted into la la land for a month and lived life to the fullest, paying little attention to my budget because this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Unfortunately, if I approached this season with the same attitude, I think it would end badly with me in that cardboard box we English majors are destined to inhabit. We are the wanderers, dreamers, learners, and chasers of stories, but we live in a world of deadlines, budgets, and bills. How have I made it thus far, I often wonder. Either I'm a strong survivor or I have a God who likes to shine through my faults and failures.
Of course, I believe it's the latter. I've been there in the meltdown moments that no one else sees, and I know I do not have it in me to muscle through this life. Throughout these months of transition, I have kept returning to this Oswald Chambers devotion:
"Certainty is the mark of the commonsense life - gracious uncertainty is the mark of the spiritual life. To be certain of God means we are uncertain in all our ways, not knowing what tomorrow may bring. This is generally expressed with a sigh of sadness, but it should be an expression of breathless expectation. We are uncertain of the next step, but we are certain of God. As soon as we abandon ourselves to God and do the task He has placed closes to us, He begins to fill our lives with surprises...Leave everything to Him and it will be gloriously and graciously uncertain how He will come in - but you can be certain that He will come."
I have been craving some certainty as of late. Just tell me where I am going to work. Assure me that I will have this certain house. Tell me exactly how I will pay the bills. Will my school and work schedule align? Show me what I will do when I graduate and that this education plan is the best course for me to take. None of these answers came when I wanted them. I'm still waiting on some of them.
"In peace I both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety." (Psalm 4:8)
"I lay down and slept; I woke again, for The Lord sustained me." (Psalm 3:5)
These are the promises I am given. Nothing specific, only the rhythms of my life and the reminder that The Lord is the steady one guiding these rhythms. Will I have more than His presence? I do not know. Will my bed be in a box? No answer. Only, that The Lord is safety and The Lord is sustenance.
So this is the routine. The surprises are coming, the shaping of a new home life that is still so foreign to me. For now, I lie down and sleep. I wake up. The Lord is there and that's all I know. And that is enough.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Sunlight
This morning, I took a stroll through Downtown Bryan. Wooed by the sunlight after weeks of unusually cold weather for Texas, I wandered past trees such as this one. I traced a trail on one stretch of grass and paced back and forth for some time. The sun beat down, no cloud threatening to shroud its rays. The birds chirped, and an ever so slight breeze blew through my hair.
My thoughts went to "adoration," an approach towards God that I have been challenged to practice lately. The adoration of nature comes to me like breathing, especially on a morning like this. And I began to think of how God is like the sun, and He is far more beautiful than this "blossom-less" tree. Lately, the winter weather has tried me. And not just the winter weather, but the darkness. A sudden anxiousness will seize me in the twilight. As the day comes to a close, I sense that I have failed, that the hopes I held in the morning light have withered. I doubt tomorrow's ability to produce joy. The unpredictable, unknown nature of dreams looms before me. The darkness of the night makes the sunlight ever brighter.
And I began to think about how God is both light and life. This picture I snapped reflects him so clearly. The tree speaks of life and the blue sky reflects the light of the sun. I long for light and life because I am made to long for God.
Lately, I have been meditating on how suffering and disappointment point us more clearly to our need for God. We should see suffering as a gift from God because it draws us deeper to the only true source of light and life. But that is the catch. He IS the light and life. When we are in the midst of darkness, facing death, depression, or addiction, He is not those things. He is present in these places but they have no mastery over Him. In places of darkness, we as human beings quickly become overwhelmed, but He cannot be overwhelmed. He remains just as bright - just as good, holy, loving, powerful, compassionate, faithful, life-giving. The darkness casts shadows on me because I am part of this earth. But, there is something true of me because I am God's child. The core of me is also light. The darkness can only cast shadows; it cannot seize control of me again. It cannot consume me because it has been consumed once and for all by God, in the same way that the rising sun on a clear day consumes darkness.
"Even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you." Psalm 139: 12
I must adore a God who is eternal sunshine! Sometimes, as I adore God for being my Redeemer, I forget to adore Him for those characteristics that make Him ABLE to be my Redeemer. As much as I need to understand His work of redemption, I need to understand His work of creation. In the beginning, He created, and everything He created was good. His nature is orderly and beautiful. His nature has not changed. And because of that unchangeably perfect nature, He has the power to change me.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
My Blundering Foray into Gardening
I have made a recent discovery - I am a dreadful gardener.
Reasons why this is true:
- This summer I have killed five plants entrusted to me, all of which were advertised as low maintenance.
- I can look at a dying plant and consciously choose not to water it in that moment or any moment after.
- If a plant is beautiful, I admire it profusely, but a dying one is nearly invisible to me.
- The plants which survived my care in the past were undeniable miracles and products of grace.
- I cannot blame the Texas heat. There are plants growing vigorously in my neighbor's yard and in my own backyard, under the care of my roommate.
The trouble is that I want to be a gardener. I think flowers are the most beautiful part of creation, second only to the ocean. I do not mind getting dirty and sweaty and pulling weeds. When I feel like it, gardening is a wonderful way to release stress and join in the creation process.
But my follow through is flawed. Gardens need consistent care, and my schedule seems to be anything but consistent. Is my failure truly a problem of scheduling, though, or is it more a problem of commitment? I am not committed to ensuring that these plants live, and not just live - thrive, bloom, flourish. Why?
Because I like instant gratification. I like to work hard, see a product, and reap all the benefits in that moment and for all the days after that without further work. Why can we not clean our house once and reap the benefits of a spotless house for years to come? Why can we not get our hands dirty once planting a rose bush and see it bloom in glory every year after?
Which leads to the more serious question - Why must we continue to invest in relationships? Why can we not be vulnerable and unselfish once, earn a person's trust, and enjoy the relationship in perfect harmony forever after? Why do couples say you must continue to date even after marriage? Why must a woman work at raising her children even after she has done the excruciatingly painful work of delivering them?
Because the world is hot. People need water too. And relationships do not grow more beautiful the more you avoid them. They just become more wilted and dead. And then - poof! They might disappear back into the soil from which they grew.
Based on my gardening skills, I am thankful I have not been entrusted with marriage or children yet. My hope lies in a rose bush and a
single zinnia flower and one crop of tomatoes and strawberries. These were products of grace, not my green thumb. Despite my weak efforts and forgetfulness about watering and tendency to avoid them when they looked like they were struggling, they survived. And the rose bush even survived for years and continued to produce gorgeous blooms.
My prayer tonight is this - may I be less enamored with romance and the beauty of lavish gardens and more committed to watering the plants I've been given and deeply knowing the real people (flaws and all) who cross my path. And maybe someday I will be blessed with a husband, a home filled with kids, and a lush garden. They will only survive (and hopefully more than survive - flourish, bloom, thrive) if I am willing to work with commitment and surrender my weak efforts to the hurricane of grace which washes over me continuously.
Reasons why this is true:
- This summer I have killed five plants entrusted to me, all of which were advertised as low maintenance.
- I can look at a dying plant and consciously choose not to water it in that moment or any moment after.
- If a plant is beautiful, I admire it profusely, but a dying one is nearly invisible to me.
- The plants which survived my care in the past were undeniable miracles and products of grace.
- I cannot blame the Texas heat. There are plants growing vigorously in my neighbor's yard and in my own backyard, under the care of my roommate.
The trouble is that I want to be a gardener. I think flowers are the most beautiful part of creation, second only to the ocean. I do not mind getting dirty and sweaty and pulling weeds. When I feel like it, gardening is a wonderful way to release stress and join in the creation process.
But my follow through is flawed. Gardens need consistent care, and my schedule seems to be anything but consistent. Is my failure truly a problem of scheduling, though, or is it more a problem of commitment? I am not committed to ensuring that these plants live, and not just live - thrive, bloom, flourish. Why?
Because I like instant gratification. I like to work hard, see a product, and reap all the benefits in that moment and for all the days after that without further work. Why can we not clean our house once and reap the benefits of a spotless house for years to come? Why can we not get our hands dirty once planting a rose bush and see it bloom in glory every year after?
Which leads to the more serious question - Why must we continue to invest in relationships? Why can we not be vulnerable and unselfish once, earn a person's trust, and enjoy the relationship in perfect harmony forever after? Why do couples say you must continue to date even after marriage? Why must a woman work at raising her children even after she has done the excruciatingly painful work of delivering them?
Because the world is hot. People need water too. And relationships do not grow more beautiful the more you avoid them. They just become more wilted and dead. And then - poof! They might disappear back into the soil from which they grew.
Based on my gardening skills, I am thankful I have not been entrusted with marriage or children yet. My hope lies in a rose bush and a
single zinnia flower and one crop of tomatoes and strawberries. These were products of grace, not my green thumb. Despite my weak efforts and forgetfulness about watering and tendency to avoid them when they looked like they were struggling, they survived. And the rose bush even survived for years and continued to produce gorgeous blooms.
My prayer tonight is this - may I be less enamored with romance and the beauty of lavish gardens and more committed to watering the plants I've been given and deeply knowing the real people (flaws and all) who cross my path. And maybe someday I will be blessed with a husband, a home filled with kids, and a lush garden. They will only survive (and hopefully more than survive - flourish, bloom, thrive) if I am willing to work with commitment and surrender my weak efforts to the hurricane of grace which washes over me continuously.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Mon Mon
Reposting this from two years ago. Still miss her all the time...
Just a week before she died, my mom got off the phone with me after hearing about my new job and was going to share with my Mon Mon to cheer her up. After a painful fall, hip surgery, and a rough recovery, her spirits were low. I’m so thankful that she knew about my new job before she died. She even had the chance to come to College Station and get a small glimpse of my life here just last spring. And yet, I’m still sad that there are so many parts of my life that she will miss. I think one thing that I will miss the most is her letters. She was the most beautiful letter writer. I am thankful that I have a letter she wrote to me on December 11 to congratulate me on my upcoming graduation. Her letter, written in her old-fashioned cursive handwriting (which I have adopted), is such a treasure, and I want to share all of it with you in hopes that you can see what a special lady she was right up to the end of her life.
Dear Lydia,
Mom and Dave are here and we’re enjoying a wonderful visit. We miss seeing all of you but are grateful for a catch up on your news and happenings, pictures, etc…
They went with Sue and Randy to see Grant at Appleby’s tonight.
Your graduation is just a week away. We’re excited for you and wish we could be there with the family.
We’re very proud of all you’ve done and are praying for God’s help with your future. Always be assured of His love for you and confident of His plan for your life. Your faith is a great blessing!
We love you dearly,
Mon Mon
I am tearing up as a type this. That’s just one of many letters that she wrote, reminding me of her love and assuring me of God’s love. There are few women who are as precious as my Mon Mon. She bore all things. She was a picture of patience. In her eulogy, my Uncle Paul described how she always believed the best of everyone. And he clarified that he did not think that she thought this way out of naivety. I agree that she understood the true nature of the human heart, but she chose to love and cherish what she saw as God’s handiwork in people’s lives.
This past week, there are a few things I have wanted to do in order to remember my Mon Mon and the times I had with her. One is watch The Sound of Music. She loved music and was the one who introduced me to musicals and classical music. My cousin and I grew up as little girls watching The Sound of Music at her house. I also wanted to go to TCBY and order a waffle cone with white chocolate mousse yogurt. She would take me there all the time, having a sweet tooth herself and loving to give her grandchildren a little “treat” (one of her favorite words). I also just happened to be reading The Weight of Glory by C.S. Lewis, one of her very favorite authors. Through reading his book and thinking back on the quiet, faithful life my Mon Mon lived, my desire the last few days has been to seek Jesus Christ all the more. My Mon Mon truly lived in light of eternity. I think she loved C.S. Lewis as I do because of how he was able to paint this picture of heaven that was truly irresistable. She lived much of her life in some amount pain, having lost her father at a young age and having numerous health problems in her old age, but she always had her eyes fixed on the peace and perfection of heaven. I know that she is happier than she ever was on earth up in heaven worshipping her Savior. The One whom she talked to every day in her special chair in her living room, she now stands before face to face.
C.S. Lewis writes an incredible chapter about heaven entitled “The Weight of Glory.” This is an excerpt:
“I can imagine someone saying that he dislikes my idea of heaven as a place where we are patted on the back. But proud misunderstanding is behind that dislike…I read in a periodical the other day that the fundamental thing is how we think of God. By God Himself, it is not! How God thinks of us is not only more important, but infinitely more important. Indeed, how we think of Him is of no importance except insofar as it is related to how He thinks of us. It is written that we shall ‘stand before’ Him, shall appear, shall be inspected. The promise of glory is the promise, almost incredible and only possible by the work of Christ, that some of us, that any of us who really chooses, shall actually survive that examination, shall find approval, shall please God. To please God…to be a real ingredient in the divine happiness…to be loved by God, not merely pitied, but delighted in as an artist delights in his work or a father in a son – it seems impossible, a weight or burden of glory which our thoughts can hardly sustain…But we pine. The sense that in this universe we are treated as strangers, the longing to be acknowledged, to meet with some response, to bridge some chasm that yawns between us and reality, is part of our inconsolable secret. And surely, from this point of view, the promise of glory, in the sense described, becomes highly relevant to our deep desire. For glory means good report with God, acceptance by God, response, acknowledgement, and welcome into the heart of things. The door on which we have been knocking all of our lives will be open at last.”
That door has been opened at last for Mon Mon, and I can’t imagine how she feels as God welcomes her into the heart of things. She is complete at last, no longer pining away for the true reality that was alluded to in the things she loved like music, art, books, and traveling. C.S. Lewis writes, “The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing…They are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard , news from a country we have never yet visited.”
If only you could know how much these quotes from Lewis remind me of my Mon Mon and the way she viewed God, the world, and heaven. I hope that these words comfort those who knew her well. As a kindred spirit of Mon Mon, with many of her same passions and personality traits, I find comfort in these words and the hope that I will one day experience the fullness of what I have been longing for my whole life.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Your Burden Carried
Have you ever prayed that God would remind you of your need for Jesus and all that He has saved you from? I will warn you before you do because you might end up like I did today, on the verge of tears, wondering why I am sad when I have nothing to be sad about and in fact am more grateful than usual. Now, I might be a little tired so my tears may not be entirely the result of a prayer. But I'm certain that this emotion - feeling the depth of God's love and remembering the weight of sin and the strength of its grip - is a gift that only God can bestow.
Earlier this week, I was challenged from multiple sources to meditate on the Passion Week, to think about the historical events we celebrate at Easter, and consider the reason for the cross. I sat thinking about how long it has been since I have been overwhelmed by the love of God. I can look back and remember moments when I felt incredibly free because I was so sure of the love of God and so aware of how little I deserved it. My circumstances seemed all a product of His grace, even though they were far from perfect. No biting remark or sense of another person's disapproval could hurt me because I knew so poignantly that I had been rescued and that the love and acceptance of God was sweeter and more satisfying than any human love or sign of man's approval.
Once your eyes have experienced such sharp vision, it's not hard to realize when your glasses have fogged up and the beauty of God's work on the cross has somehow become a point in your Sunday sermon notes instead of something that moves you to tears every moment that you have breath. Perhaps it would be impractical for us to always be on the verge of tears thinking about the cross, but I think it is good for us to pray periodically that we know the depths of sin and despair from which we have been saved. It is from this place that our love for Jesus grows and only from that place can we love people as He loves them.
For me, what drew me back to the foot of the cross was remembering the weight of what I once lived under. Some of it came from watching others drowning in some of the struggles that once gripped my life. My hope for them comes from what I saw God do in my life. But, the second I lose sight of how deeply I struggled, the second I lose grace for them and pass on to judgement. Honestly, though, I sometimes guard myself from remembering what I once was. It's embarrassing. It makes certain years of my life feel like a waste. But, only in remembering, do I know that it was only Jesus taking my burden upon Himself that could have freed me from the burdens that were weighing me down. And, only in remembering my pain and how fruitlessly I tried to fix my problems myself, do I develop a heart that longs for others to be free.
I do not feel the need to be specific in naming the sins and burdens Jesus has saved me from. I promise you that they are not much different from your own because Jesus looks at us all the same. Our sins all weighed on Him the same while He was on the cross, and the price He paid He paid for all sins without distinction. There wasn't a heavier price for some. Every sin grieved Him. Every sin was enough to separate us from Him forever. But He conquered sin and death and rose, offering the only hope for life and freedom from this crushing weight of sin.
As my vision of the cross has come into clearer focus this week, this song has been on repeat:
"Come to Me" - The Village Church
Weary, burdened wanderer
There is rest for thee
At the feet of Jesus
In His love so free
Listen to His message
Words of life, forever blest
Oh, thou heavy-laden
Come to me, come and rest
There is freedom, taste and see
Here the call, come to me
Run into His arms of grace
Your burdened carried, He will take
He will take...
Bring Him all thy burdens
All thy guilt and sin
Mercy's door is open
Rise up and enter in
Jesus, there is waiting
Patiently for thee
Here him gently calling
Come, Oh, Come to me
Won't you come?
Won't you come?
I pray that you will come. Give him your burden for the first time. Remember your burden that He has already carried and taken away. Praise him with tears of gratitude that you are free. Sit at his feet this Easter. Rest in His love.
Earlier this week, I was challenged from multiple sources to meditate on the Passion Week, to think about the historical events we celebrate at Easter, and consider the reason for the cross. I sat thinking about how long it has been since I have been overwhelmed by the love of God. I can look back and remember moments when I felt incredibly free because I was so sure of the love of God and so aware of how little I deserved it. My circumstances seemed all a product of His grace, even though they were far from perfect. No biting remark or sense of another person's disapproval could hurt me because I knew so poignantly that I had been rescued and that the love and acceptance of God was sweeter and more satisfying than any human love or sign of man's approval.
Once your eyes have experienced such sharp vision, it's not hard to realize when your glasses have fogged up and the beauty of God's work on the cross has somehow become a point in your Sunday sermon notes instead of something that moves you to tears every moment that you have breath. Perhaps it would be impractical for us to always be on the verge of tears thinking about the cross, but I think it is good for us to pray periodically that we know the depths of sin and despair from which we have been saved. It is from this place that our love for Jesus grows and only from that place can we love people as He loves them.
For me, what drew me back to the foot of the cross was remembering the weight of what I once lived under. Some of it came from watching others drowning in some of the struggles that once gripped my life. My hope for them comes from what I saw God do in my life. But, the second I lose sight of how deeply I struggled, the second I lose grace for them and pass on to judgement. Honestly, though, I sometimes guard myself from remembering what I once was. It's embarrassing. It makes certain years of my life feel like a waste. But, only in remembering, do I know that it was only Jesus taking my burden upon Himself that could have freed me from the burdens that were weighing me down. And, only in remembering my pain and how fruitlessly I tried to fix my problems myself, do I develop a heart that longs for others to be free.
I do not feel the need to be specific in naming the sins and burdens Jesus has saved me from. I promise you that they are not much different from your own because Jesus looks at us all the same. Our sins all weighed on Him the same while He was on the cross, and the price He paid He paid for all sins without distinction. There wasn't a heavier price for some. Every sin grieved Him. Every sin was enough to separate us from Him forever. But He conquered sin and death and rose, offering the only hope for life and freedom from this crushing weight of sin.
As my vision of the cross has come into clearer focus this week, this song has been on repeat:
"Come to Me" - The Village Church
Weary, burdened wanderer
There is rest for thee
At the feet of Jesus
In His love so free
Listen to His message
Words of life, forever blest
Oh, thou heavy-laden
Come to me, come and rest
There is freedom, taste and see
Here the call, come to me
Run into His arms of grace
Your burdened carried, He will take
He will take...
Bring Him all thy burdens
All thy guilt and sin
Mercy's door is open
Rise up and enter in
There is freedom, taste and see
Here the call, come to me
Run into His arms of grace
Your burdened carried, He will take
He wil take...
Jesus, there is waiting
Patiently for thee
Here him gently calling
Come, Oh, Come to me
There is freedom, taste and see
Here the call, come to me
Run into His arms of grace
Your burdened carried, He will take
He wil take...
Won't you come?
Won't you come?
I pray that you will come. Give him your burden for the first time. Remember your burden that He has already carried and taken away. Praise him with tears of gratitude that you are free. Sit at his feet this Easter. Rest in His love.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Sought Out
Within the last few days, I have been reading out of Isaiah 62-64. Reading through these passages, I am overcome with awe at God's mercy. The following is one selection that stood out to me:
"You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord, and a royal diadem in the hand of your God. You shall no more be termed Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate, but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her and your land Married; for the Lord delights in you, and your land shall be married. For as a young man marries a young woman, so shall your sons marry you, and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you." 62:3-5
I love this image of God claiming us as a jewel in His crown, a precious diadem in His very hand. And I love the idea that He delights in us. He actually comes to us as a young man on his wedding day, thrilled to be with us, to make us his own, to unite with us. And the opposing image of one Forsaken and Desolate - to this one who feels rejected and alone, He says that she has a new name - "You shall be called The Holy People, the Redeemed of the Lord...You shall be called Sought Out, A City Not Forsaken." (62:12)
Sought Out is the name I most identify with, the name I most want to own. I think it is what I feel the lack of most. Being sought out is such an incredible feeling. As a woman, it is what you most desire from a man. You do not want to have to chase him down and remind him you are there. You want to be chased, Sought Out. And yet, so often in our broken world, we are more accustomed to Abandonment. We are Discarded. We are Forgotten.
And here Jesus comes saying, "My people, I have given you a new name. By your very identity, you are Sought Out. And this doesn't end when I marry you. You are always going to be Sought Out by me. When all your other lovers have lost interest, I will always find you in the dark places you try to hide. You will forever be Sought Out because that is the definition of our relationship. I saw you when all you could see was your own sin and your cheap loves toying with your affections. I delighted in you even before you knew even a fraction of my nature, of who I AM."
And yet, in contrast to this beautiful chase of God after His people, throughout these passages there rises a plea for mercy from the people of God. Why this plea for mercy? Because the people of God - the ones called Sought Out - have continuously turned away from Him. And now they beg for mercy. And I see myself all through these passages, pitiful and pleading for help when I was the one who ran away and got myself into this mess.
"He became their Savior. In all their affliction, he was afflicted, and the angel of His presence saved them; in His love and in His pity he redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old." (63:8-9)
"But they rebelled and grieved his Holy Spirit; therefore he turned to be their enemy, and himself fought against them." (63:10)
I love their prayer in 63:15-64:12. They recount the goodness of God and His past mercy, and they continue to ask where He has gone, how He could keep silent, why He is angry. I think if I were God, I would have responded with, "I gave everything for you once. And not just once. We've been through this a few times, and frankly I'm tired of you calling on me to be gracious to you for my name's sake. You are the one who has disgraced my name, and I do not need you in order for my glory to be known among the nations. You act as if I'm the hard-hearted one when you're the one who was so quick to rebel and leave a God "who put in the midst of you His Holy Spirit, who caused his glorious arm to go at the right hand of Moses, who divided the waters before you to make for himself an everlasting name, who led you through the depths...and gave you rest." (63:11-14) You're wondering how I can restrain myself and keep silent as you suffer in the pit you dug for yourself? I'm wondering why on earth I would have any desire to rescue and even listen to such a faithless, stupid people."
Thankfully, this is not God's response. Instead He says, "As the new wine is found in the cluster, and they say, 'Do not destroy it, for there is blessing in it,' so I will do for my servants' sake, and not destroy them all" (65:8).
Do we grasp how unfathomable is the mercy of God? How unreasonable? Who is this God who we frequently abandon or squeeze into a small portion of our day? - A God who "did awesome things that we did not look for; you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence. From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides you who acts for those who wait for him" (64:3-4).
A God who responds to our prayer of "You were angry, and we sinned; in our sins we have been a long time, and shall we be saved?" with "Yes, yes you shall be saved," who says to the Discarded, "Wait, save it. There is a blessing in it. I can make something new out of this trash."
We are all the work of His merciful hands (64:8). We are all Sought Out. And not just once. Not only when we are radiant from being in His presence. We are also Sought Out when we are dressed in polluted garments, melting in the clutch of sin, (64:6-7) and stretching out our hands to those who do not want us.
"You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord, and a royal diadem in the hand of your God. You shall no more be termed Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate, but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her and your land Married; for the Lord delights in you, and your land shall be married. For as a young man marries a young woman, so shall your sons marry you, and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you." 62:3-5
I love this image of God claiming us as a jewel in His crown, a precious diadem in His very hand. And I love the idea that He delights in us. He actually comes to us as a young man on his wedding day, thrilled to be with us, to make us his own, to unite with us. And the opposing image of one Forsaken and Desolate - to this one who feels rejected and alone, He says that she has a new name - "You shall be called The Holy People, the Redeemed of the Lord...You shall be called Sought Out, A City Not Forsaken." (62:12)
Sought Out is the name I most identify with, the name I most want to own. I think it is what I feel the lack of most. Being sought out is such an incredible feeling. As a woman, it is what you most desire from a man. You do not want to have to chase him down and remind him you are there. You want to be chased, Sought Out. And yet, so often in our broken world, we are more accustomed to Abandonment. We are Discarded. We are Forgotten.
And here Jesus comes saying, "My people, I have given you a new name. By your very identity, you are Sought Out. And this doesn't end when I marry you. You are always going to be Sought Out by me. When all your other lovers have lost interest, I will always find you in the dark places you try to hide. You will forever be Sought Out because that is the definition of our relationship. I saw you when all you could see was your own sin and your cheap loves toying with your affections. I delighted in you even before you knew even a fraction of my nature, of who I AM."
And yet, in contrast to this beautiful chase of God after His people, throughout these passages there rises a plea for mercy from the people of God. Why this plea for mercy? Because the people of God - the ones called Sought Out - have continuously turned away from Him. And now they beg for mercy. And I see myself all through these passages, pitiful and pleading for help when I was the one who ran away and got myself into this mess.
"He became their Savior. In all their affliction, he was afflicted, and the angel of His presence saved them; in His love and in His pity he redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old." (63:8-9)
"But they rebelled and grieved his Holy Spirit; therefore he turned to be their enemy, and himself fought against them." (63:10)
I love their prayer in 63:15-64:12. They recount the goodness of God and His past mercy, and they continue to ask where He has gone, how He could keep silent, why He is angry. I think if I were God, I would have responded with, "I gave everything for you once. And not just once. We've been through this a few times, and frankly I'm tired of you calling on me to be gracious to you for my name's sake. You are the one who has disgraced my name, and I do not need you in order for my glory to be known among the nations. You act as if I'm the hard-hearted one when you're the one who was so quick to rebel and leave a God "who put in the midst of you His Holy Spirit, who caused his glorious arm to go at the right hand of Moses, who divided the waters before you to make for himself an everlasting name, who led you through the depths...and gave you rest." (63:11-14) You're wondering how I can restrain myself and keep silent as you suffer in the pit you dug for yourself? I'm wondering why on earth I would have any desire to rescue and even listen to such a faithless, stupid people."
Thankfully, this is not God's response. Instead He says, "As the new wine is found in the cluster, and they say, 'Do not destroy it, for there is blessing in it,' so I will do for my servants' sake, and not destroy them all" (65:8).
Do we grasp how unfathomable is the mercy of God? How unreasonable? Who is this God who we frequently abandon or squeeze into a small portion of our day? - A God who "did awesome things that we did not look for; you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence. From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides you who acts for those who wait for him" (64:3-4).
A God who responds to our prayer of "You were angry, and we sinned; in our sins we have been a long time, and shall we be saved?" with "Yes, yes you shall be saved," who says to the Discarded, "Wait, save it. There is a blessing in it. I can make something new out of this trash."
We are all the work of His merciful hands (64:8). We are all Sought Out. And not just once. Not only when we are radiant from being in His presence. We are also Sought Out when we are dressed in polluted garments, melting in the clutch of sin, (64:6-7) and stretching out our hands to those who do not want us.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
The Modern-Day Fantine: A Tribute to Les Miserables
A number of images are flashing through my mind as I sit in a "common" coffee shop in Waco, TX this afternoon (my fellow Texans and coffee addicts can guess to which eclectic couch-filled cafe I refer).
If anyone has spoken with me or followed me on any sort of social media in the last month, they will not be surprised that one of the images in my mind is Fantine, played by Anne Hathaway, singing "I Dreamed A Dream" in Les Miserables. I will post some of the lyrics here for those that have missed out on this film or have forgotten the words of this song sung by a woman hopeless, abused, and ashamed of her new life as a prostitute.
//
There was a time when men were kind
When their voices were soft
And their words inviting
There was a time when love was blind
And the world was a song
And the song was exciting
There was a time
Then it all went wrong
I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted
But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dream to shame
//
The beauty of the theater is that we as the audience are not limited by words in our comprehension of the depth of the emotion expressed. Thus, this scene, showing emotion through both physical and vocal expression, has an incredible power.
What strikes me now, though, is that so many who sat in theaters moved to tears by this scene have never shed a tear for a modern-day prostitute, either enslaved or there by choice. Fantine is a voice in a musical, a piece of history, a woman uniquely arrived at a most unfortunate situation. The problem with this mindset is that our tears are left in movie theaters, and we turn our backs on women today who are daily driven to the sex industry for reasons often similar to Fantine's. We weep for Fantine, but we shrink at the thought of approaching women in our clean, "free" American cities who we see living in the shadows of a shameful industry. We do not question why they are there. We do not pause to listen for their stories, which they might softly cry as Fantine does when no one is near. They once had dreams as well.
Last night I had the privilege of praying for modern-day Fantine's and for the women who, in Jesus' name, actually enter into the dark places where these women live. I don't share this to say "Look at me. I am responding and engaging when others are not." I share this because the images that filled my mind through the night last night and into today are all uncomfortable and some of them truly horrific. They are not letting go of me. While I was sitting there imaging women trapped in this industry and praying for freedom for them, I kept thinking, "This is right. This is good." Why do we spend so much time as a church arguing over who's following the rules correctly and whispering shocking stories over coffee, promising to pray for so and so lost person? If they are truly lost, why are we not out there trying to find them? Why are we not beckoning them to safety? Why are we not Jean Valjean who repented of having previously overlooked Fantine's plight by swiftly taking her in his arms, rushing her to a hospital and promising to care for her child for the rest of his life? And why did he show compassion on Fantine? Because he had once been destitute himself. Desperate need and a love for his starving nephew had driven him to commit a crime and, as a result, he spent years of his life in prison. He knew what it felt like to be crushed by the world, to be fighting for mere survival, to lose all belief that a higher being was up above watching his plight and caring about his life. He and Fantine finally believe in God and His love for them because they experience love from another person. In their own words, "To love another person is to see the face of God."
The other image that came to my mind this afternoon was that of a building burning down. As believers in Jesus, we ought to see ourselves as those who have been rescued from a burning building. We were surrounded by the flames, suffocating from the smoke, near death....and someone chose to rescue us. Now, we stand outside, breathing clean air, standing next to our rescuer. And then our rescuer tells us that there are more people left inside. We hear their screams. Some have already fallen silent, but there is still hope for them to be revived. He is going back in to search them out and carry them from the building that will only stand so long before it collapses. We agree with him. "Yes, you must rescue them. Please rescue them. Once they are out here with us, we will gladly enjoy a meal together, a meal we thought we might never eat." And then he says that he wants our help. There is only so much time before the building collapses, and he needs all the extra hands he can get. We will have a fire suit, offering full protection. We will be with him, and he promises that there is no danger of us getting trapped again. We may suffer a little from the smoke fumes. Of course we will have to leave the bright sunlight and clean air for a brief time, but he promises to never leave our side. Will we go? How could we refuse to run back in?
Les Miserables ends with a chorus of those who have died and are now standing at the barricade, calling the people who are left to join in the crusade and to fight. As those who are left, our hope in joining the fight is that, no matter what transpires each day in our dealings with people, there will one day be an end to this sadness and injustice. The only way people will believe us when we tell them of this hope is if we show them the love we have been shown. We who are in the light call out to those who do not believe in the light. The flame must burn brightest, we must shower our love most freely, we must run without hesitation into the darkest rooms where Fantine's sit weeping over lost dreams and Jean Valjean's growl in chains at the injustice dealt to them.
To end with some perspective from Scripture:
"Whoever says 'I know him' but does not keep his commandments is a liar, and the truth is not in him, but whoever keeps his word, in him truly the love of God is perfected. By this we may know that we are in him: whoever says he abides in him ought to walk in the same way in which he walked."
- 1 John 2:4-6
You only have to read a little bit of any of the Gospels to see that Jesus walked with the sinner, the tax collector, the adulteress, and the terminally ill. And His greatest commandment is to love God and to love others. So if you are still uncertain as to whether you are really supposed to talk to a Fantine or run back into the burning building, just spend some time reading the words of Jesus and the way in which He walked. He was not afraid to keep these uncomfortable, horrific images in his mind because He knew the solution to every pain and sorrow. And we carry that solution, the treasure and blessing that is the Gospel, within us as His redeemed people. Let us not be afraid to walk as he walked.
If anyone has spoken with me or followed me on any sort of social media in the last month, they will not be surprised that one of the images in my mind is Fantine, played by Anne Hathaway, singing "I Dreamed A Dream" in Les Miserables. I will post some of the lyrics here for those that have missed out on this film or have forgotten the words of this song sung by a woman hopeless, abused, and ashamed of her new life as a prostitute.
//
There was a time when men were kind
When their voices were soft
And their words inviting
There was a time when love was blind
And the world was a song
And the song was exciting
There was a time
Then it all went wrong
I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted
But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dream to shame
//
The beauty of the theater is that we as the audience are not limited by words in our comprehension of the depth of the emotion expressed. Thus, this scene, showing emotion through both physical and vocal expression, has an incredible power.
What strikes me now, though, is that so many who sat in theaters moved to tears by this scene have never shed a tear for a modern-day prostitute, either enslaved or there by choice. Fantine is a voice in a musical, a piece of history, a woman uniquely arrived at a most unfortunate situation. The problem with this mindset is that our tears are left in movie theaters, and we turn our backs on women today who are daily driven to the sex industry for reasons often similar to Fantine's. We weep for Fantine, but we shrink at the thought of approaching women in our clean, "free" American cities who we see living in the shadows of a shameful industry. We do not question why they are there. We do not pause to listen for their stories, which they might softly cry as Fantine does when no one is near. They once had dreams as well.
Last night I had the privilege of praying for modern-day Fantine's and for the women who, in Jesus' name, actually enter into the dark places where these women live. I don't share this to say "Look at me. I am responding and engaging when others are not." I share this because the images that filled my mind through the night last night and into today are all uncomfortable and some of them truly horrific. They are not letting go of me. While I was sitting there imaging women trapped in this industry and praying for freedom for them, I kept thinking, "This is right. This is good." Why do we spend so much time as a church arguing over who's following the rules correctly and whispering shocking stories over coffee, promising to pray for so and so lost person? If they are truly lost, why are we not out there trying to find them? Why are we not beckoning them to safety? Why are we not Jean Valjean who repented of having previously overlooked Fantine's plight by swiftly taking her in his arms, rushing her to a hospital and promising to care for her child for the rest of his life? And why did he show compassion on Fantine? Because he had once been destitute himself. Desperate need and a love for his starving nephew had driven him to commit a crime and, as a result, he spent years of his life in prison. He knew what it felt like to be crushed by the world, to be fighting for mere survival, to lose all belief that a higher being was up above watching his plight and caring about his life. He and Fantine finally believe in God and His love for them because they experience love from another person. In their own words, "To love another person is to see the face of God."
The other image that came to my mind this afternoon was that of a building burning down. As believers in Jesus, we ought to see ourselves as those who have been rescued from a burning building. We were surrounded by the flames, suffocating from the smoke, near death....and someone chose to rescue us. Now, we stand outside, breathing clean air, standing next to our rescuer. And then our rescuer tells us that there are more people left inside. We hear their screams. Some have already fallen silent, but there is still hope for them to be revived. He is going back in to search them out and carry them from the building that will only stand so long before it collapses. We agree with him. "Yes, you must rescue them. Please rescue them. Once they are out here with us, we will gladly enjoy a meal together, a meal we thought we might never eat." And then he says that he wants our help. There is only so much time before the building collapses, and he needs all the extra hands he can get. We will have a fire suit, offering full protection. We will be with him, and he promises that there is no danger of us getting trapped again. We may suffer a little from the smoke fumes. Of course we will have to leave the bright sunlight and clean air for a brief time, but he promises to never leave our side. Will we go? How could we refuse to run back in?
Les Miserables ends with a chorus of those who have died and are now standing at the barricade, calling the people who are left to join in the crusade and to fight. As those who are left, our hope in joining the fight is that, no matter what transpires each day in our dealings with people, there will one day be an end to this sadness and injustice. The only way people will believe us when we tell them of this hope is if we show them the love we have been shown. We who are in the light call out to those who do not believe in the light. The flame must burn brightest, we must shower our love most freely, we must run without hesitation into the darkest rooms where Fantine's sit weeping over lost dreams and Jean Valjean's growl in chains at the injustice dealt to them.
To end with some perspective from Scripture:
"Whoever says 'I know him' but does not keep his commandments is a liar, and the truth is not in him, but whoever keeps his word, in him truly the love of God is perfected. By this we may know that we are in him: whoever says he abides in him ought to walk in the same way in which he walked."
- 1 John 2:4-6
You only have to read a little bit of any of the Gospels to see that Jesus walked with the sinner, the tax collector, the adulteress, and the terminally ill. And His greatest commandment is to love God and to love others. So if you are still uncertain as to whether you are really supposed to talk to a Fantine or run back into the burning building, just spend some time reading the words of Jesus and the way in which He walked. He was not afraid to keep these uncomfortable, horrific images in his mind because He knew the solution to every pain and sorrow. And we carry that solution, the treasure and blessing that is the Gospel, within us as His redeemed people. Let us not be afraid to walk as he walked.
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