Draw near

Once, a perfect snowflake caught on mittened hands. Breath held to stop its melting. Wonder. Marvel. Joy.

I find myself caught off guard by  beauty this time of year- my town transformed by twinkling lights, the smell of cloves and ginger, the words to a carol, ringing truer than ever.

And the wonder invites me to be still.  To come close and look carefully. To let awe and joy sink into my soul until I've memorized the moment.





And in a time where faith and hope can be buried under the grey contradictions life brings, I'm glad for these little moments of beauty, reminding me that this heart, this quiet, awestruck, admiration of beauty, is the heart I should bring to the center of Christmas, the heart that Mary had.

"But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart." Luke 2:19

So this Christmas, I'm letting cookies and lights and snowflakes remind me what faith can feel like.  I want to draw near to the one in the manger, wonder at the Word become flesh, marvel at the beauty of God with us.

The Year of Two Easters

Joy: Panajachel Guatemala

8 am Easter morning.

The church is transformed; white banners, edged in gold, cascading from the ceiling and down the wall, the somber Lenten purple disappearing over night. In the quiet hush, we choose a seat near the back, hoping that our lack of familiarity with the Catholic service goes unnoticed there. We're not there long, however. To our confusion, the priest starts recruiting women to carry the statue of the risen Christ, and everyone starts filing out the door. 

We join the group, wondering over the lack of service and ceremony, and cross the plaza in front of the church to the street.  Realization sets in: "Easter mass and parade" is what the sign said when I stopped in to find the service time.  Apparently the parade is first. The women, representative of those to whom Jesus first appeared, lift the statue of the risen Christ and lead us down the street.  Next comes a dusty pickup truck, crowded with an entire band in the back. The music starts, joyful, celebratory. He is risen! We are saved! Chains are broken!

I'm beaming as I join in the songs, simple choruses that are easy to pick up on the spot. We parade down the street where all the bars and clubs are, dead at this hour on a Sunday morning, passing underneath pineapples, flowers, and other fruit swinging above us, decorating the street for Easter.  We reach the main intersection in town and swing back up toward the church, early morning shoppers stopping to watch, or join in. After our joyful procession through town, we file back into the church for a more traditional service, but I'm brimming with joy.  Can there be a better way to celebrate Easter than singing all through town my joy that my Lord lives?

Reverence: Ramnicu Valcea, Romania

11 pm Easter Saturday

The lawn around the church is already overflowing with people, but we push towards the door, Cristian assuring me there will still be some room inside.  We crowd in the back, standing together.  The lights are off, it's dark, solemn, we're all waiting in expectation, remembering the death of Christ, and anticipating the moment we celebrate His resurrection.

At midnight, the bells start pealing and a single candle is lit.  The light of the world has conquered the darkness.  The priest lights the candles of the other priests and they begin slowly processing out of the church, waving incense, and stopping to sing "Hristos a înviat din morți"- Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and to those in the tombs bestowing life!

I join in the first phrase, since Cristian taught it to me before we came, but my tongue gets lost in the unfamiliar sounds of the next phrases. As the priests get closer, Cristian's mother's caution to be before we left suddenly makes sense. Putting my hair up seemed unnecessary- I'm an adult, I thought- I won't catch my hair on fire with my candle. But now, with everyone pressing in around me, trying to light their candle directly from the priest, I realize it wasn't my own candle I should worry about, but everyone else's. My protestant Christmas Silent Night with candles mental image shatters, as instead we're crammed tight as sardines and lighting candles over one another's heads. I abandon any idea of lighting my candle from the priest- I'll just light it from Cristian instead.

The priests, long robes and beards flowing, leave the church and cross to a platform set up facing the church doors. We all stand on the lawn, candles glowing in the dark, as the priest speaks and Cristian occasionally whispers translations in my ear. Outside there are even more people than were crowded into the church. I'm filled with a sense of reverence and awe. This ceremony seems ancient to me, and I'm sure it is- the Orthodox Church has been around for a millennium.

There's something deeply rewarding about joining in both of these Easter traditions, so different than my own, but both so symbolic of the joy and reverence that the death and resurrection of our Savior should invoke. My faith is bigger than me, than the way I have lived it out, and I feel joined to something larger- the universal Church of all believers. It's another moment where I can almost envision heaven and the beauty of people of every tribe, nation, and tongue coming together to sing praise to the Lamb who is worthy.

Who is my neighbor?

Image used under Open Government License from Wikimedia

Now, hundreds in Paris are mourning the loss of a loved one. Now, thousands of Syrians flee from terror in their homeland. And while profiles on facebook supportively turn white, red, and blue in solidarity with our neighbors in France, thirty-one US governors symbolically slam the door on these other neighbors from Syria in need.

And my heart breaks. It breaks for those in France. It breaks for refugees who faced horrors we can't even imagine, only to be told they aren't welcome. It breaks because of the fear that wants to keep out those with nowhere else to go. And it breaks that some who call themselves followers of Christ seem to so completely forget his words.

“Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life? He said to him, “What is written in the Law? . . ,” And he answered, “You shall love. . . your neighbor as yourself.” And he said to him, “You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live.” But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

Fear speaks loudly. But love can speak louder. And sometimes a story can break down walls.

They welcomed me into their living room, this family who'd arrived as refugees years ago.  "Have you eaten yet?", the mother asked. "No, but I will eat when I get home".  "No, no. Look, we have food left from dinner.  Do you eat chicken? Let me heat it up for you."  Passionately, she told me about her dreams for her two daughters, her love evident in every word. She lit up as she told me how wonderful it felt to see her daughter learn to read. She told me how she narrated stories to her children in her first language so they would grow up multilingual, even though the language she most wanted them to become fluent in was the one of the country they were now living in. 

This was a story of love, of family, a story any mother can relate to.

Jesus replied, “A man . . . fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was. . .

Their mother went on to tell me how she wanted her children to know where they came from and be proud of who they are. "Your identity is made up of foundation posts- your culture, your personality, your language and your religion" She continued, faith radiating from her as she spoke, of her Muslim beliefs, the way her heart responds in faith, and how she hopes to pass her beliefs on to her children.

Now this story, like that of the Good Samaritan, takes a turn that isn't quite as easy to relate to. The Jews, listening to Jesus' story, would have been suspicious when the Samaritan arrived on the scene. After all, their faith was not to be trusted.  And too often, we can have the same uncomfortable, suspicious knee jerk reaction to the Muslim faith. 

. . . and when [the Samaritan] saw him, he had compassion. He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him. And the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.’ Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” And Jesus said to him, “You go, and do likewise.”

But just as the Samaritan proved to be a neighbor, this lovely woman and her family I met showed this same ability to be neighbors, to show compassion, to love. The boundaries of religion do not mark who is or isn't our neighbor.

We cannot beat hate with more hate. Only love conquers hate.

This is the America I want to be part of:

"Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome. . ." 

(excerpt from The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus)

(Writing a blog post seemed an insufficient response to a crisis of these proportions, so I hopped over to Ann Voskamp's blog A Holy Experience and followed one of her suggestions. If you'd like to know a way you can respond, she has a list of practical suggestions and trustworthy organizations you can contribute to here)

vulnerable and messy

This Christmas, there was a paradox I couldn't quite wrap my mind around- The God of the universe as a baby. Tiny, dependent, defenseless, vulnerable.  The more I thought about his vulnerability the more beautiful it seemed.  I don't risk vulnerability unless I want to be known, unless I deeply care about the person I am vulnerable with.

"See me.  Know me.  Love me"  is the heart-beat of vulnerability.  

And here was our God.  As a baby, vulnerable. A God who wants to be known.

Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you. James 4:8

That same idea spilled over into a conversation the other day.  "Why did Jesus tell parables? Why didn't he just speak plainly?" questioned a friend, echoing my own frustration with the Bible's stubborn refusal to be a theology text-book, to lay out the answers to all our questions in ways that aren't open to multiple interpretations.

Instead, the Bible is a messy book, full of narratives, (some of which are frustratingly ambiguous about God's response-Jephthah's daughter, anyone?), poetry, regulations, letters.  It's a book that invites conversation, wrestling, reading and rereading.    Maybe, if the Bible had been written as a systematic theology text, we wouldn't have so many questions, but no one has ever passionately loved a text book. But through the messiness, the readings and re-readings, the struggles to understand, the One whose story it tells becomes clearer.  We find ourselves at his feet awed by the beauty in a poem, humbled by the grace he showed in Christ, or perhaps like David, hurt or confused and looking to him for answers.  Perhaps all this messiness is just another invitation, an invitation to know and be known, an invitation to relationship.  Relationships are messy-I don't know a single person who comes with a guide book.  We're notorious for miscommunicating, for interpreting the same phrase or text a thousand different ways. But that very messiness compels us to seek answers, and the only way I know to find them is through knowing the person more. A theology textbook (or a user's guide for our friends) might have given us the complacency that we knew the answers, but it was never about the answers anyway- it was always about the relationship.

And this is eternal life, that they know you the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. John 17:3
So now, as I continue to wrestle with this messy text, and with my faith which seems so full of paradoxes, I'm trying to embrace the beauty of messiness.  I may not have all the answers, but as long as I'm clinging to the one who does and seeing him more clearly in the process, having the answers isn't as important.

Let us know; let us press on to know the LORD; his going out is sure as the dawn; he will come to us as the showers, as the spring rains that water the earth. Hosea 6:3

Lost in the Labyrinth

Vienna, Austria- Schönbrunn Palace
July 21st, 2014

We could see our goal in the middle of the labyrinth, but every twist and turn seemed to take us farther away from it. We were almost convinced we’d taken a wrong turn somewhere and were tempted to follow some of the people ahead of us, who had taken a shortcut through a break in the bushes. However, since this wasn’t actually a maze, but a carefully designed labyrinth path with only one route, we stuck to it, sure that eventually we’d arrive at our destination. Another turn brought us out into a central area, where there were musical tiles placed in the ground, by jumping on them you could play a tune. We played for awhile, gratified by the surprise in our path, before continuing on, where it seemed we were even more lost, the paths gradually spiraling farther and farther from the center. Just when we were almost sure that we’d done the impossible and gotten lost in a maze with only one route, we suddenly veered back towards the center, until we finally reached the kaleidoscope mirrors we’d been trying to get to the whole time.

Sometimes, lately, I’ve felt a bit lost in a labyrinth in life. I see what I think is my goal, but the twist and turns I take don’t always seem to lead me closer. In fact, sometimes they seem to take me farther away. I think about taking “shortcuts”, or maybe changing my goals to something easier to meet. And yet, wandering that labyrinth reminded me of something. I trusted the labyrinth maker that however far we felt we were straying from our goal, whatever the detours we seemed to take; we were always getting closer to the destination. I might not have been able to see how it all worked out. I might not have known what was around the next turn, or how long we would be wandering, feeling lost. But still, I trusted.

Can’t I do the same in life? Trust that even though I can’t always see how I’m progressing towards my goals, that doesn’t mean I’m not progressing? Trust that there is one who sees me in my “labyrinth” and knows the route I’ll take to reach the goal? Trust that sometimes what feel like detours lead to surprises just around the corner?

“All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” Psalm 139:16b

The Measure of a Day

I like checklists.  They make me feel productive, and, a product of my American Protestant work ethic, I strive for productivity.

If my list looks like this at the end of the day, I feel satisfied

study German
study Finnish
class
read article for thesis
laundry
grocery shopping
dishes
clean the bathroom
homework

But, on a day like today, when my list looks more like this:

study German
study Finnish
class
read article for thesis
laundry
grocery shopping
dishes
clean the bathroom
homework


I feel like a failure.

But are success and failure measured only by what we do?  Isn't who we are just as important? I think I need to remake my lists, change my priorities.  So, learning to be instead of to do, here's a new list.

Flipping to the last page

I looked up from the book I was reading, and glanced out the window.  We were passing through some city I didn't recognize.  I went back to reading, musing that I liked long bus rides.  There's a bit of adventure along the way, you're not quite sure of where you are, or where you'll be next, but you're secure in your final destination.  Why couldn't I treat life the same way, I wondered.  Stop worrying about the unexpected detours and unknown stops in my path, and just feel secure in my final destination.

When I was a kid, I used to love Nancy Drew mysteries.  Despite having read dozens, and knowing there were dozens more to read, there would usually come a point in the book where I was scared.  They seemed to be in an impossible situation with no way out.  So, I would flip to the end of the book, and just read the last paragraph.  I didn't want to read enough to give away the fun of the adventure, just enough to give myself the courage to keep reading, knowing that everything was going to be all right.

I feel a bit that way in my own life right now.  Not scared of danger, just scared of unknowns.  Overwhelmed by all the changes I know are coming just a year from now, and feeling like I don't have the resources to handle them.

But, as I was riding on that bus yesterday, I was reminded of something.  I do know the ending.  And everything does turn out all right.  There's a lot I don't know about the journey, but that's ok, because I know the ending, and that gives me courage to keep on keeping on.

"And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” And he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give from the spring of the water of life without payment. The one who conquers will have this heritage, and I will be his God and he will be my son." Revelation 21:3-7

The power of his resurrection

My faith feels frozen.  I am weary and discouraged.  I don't see fruit in my life.  I don't see growth.  For one who knows the Truth, I seem to have a lot of unanswered questions.  

But spring reminds me of something: at the end of winter, when things seem most bleak, when it feels like the world will always be grey, things are changing beneath the surface where we still can't see them.  And then, from what seemed to be dead, lifeless, hopeless, new life appears.

Then, of course, there's the story when death appeared to have won.  

And Joseph bought a linen shroud, and taking Jesus down, wrapped him in the linen shroud and laid him in a tomb that had been cut out of the rock. And he rolled a stone against the entrance of the tomb. Mark 15:46

Death. A Tomb.  The end.  

Except, it wasn't.  It was only preparation for the most glorious beginning.

But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has risen, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and behold, he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him. See, I have told you.” Matthew 28:5-7

And so, this Easter, I'm rejoicing. I'm rejoicing that I serve a living Savior.  I'm rejoicing that my God is in the business of redeeming hopeless situations.  I'm rejoicing that when things seem most desperate, God is working behind the scenes and below the surface and someday his glory will come bursting through.

For God is working in you, giving you the desire and the power to do what pleases him. Philippians 2:13

You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last—and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you. John 15:16

Emmanuel- God in our midst

Matthew 1:23 “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel” (which means, God with us).

In Helsinki, I visited an exhibit of nativity scenes, based on Italian nativity scenes from the 17 and 18 hundreds.  At first, I was struck by the oddity of the anachronisms- women selling sausages, men discussing business in the street- all dressed in styles from a more modern time, and somewhere, in the midst of it all, the Holy Family. 

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. John 1:14

But the more I looked, and the more I pondered, the more I came to love the symbolism of it.  He was there, in our midst.  He is here, in our midst.  Many of the people in the scenes went about their daily lives, oblivious to the greatest of all miracles: God among us.  The greatest moment in history was happening, and they were unaware.  Others though, stopped what they were doing.  They came to adore, bringing offerings of everyday life- bread, apples, fish

It made me wonder, what if we remade these scenes, changed the characters to people we see about us every day?  What if we added ourselves to the scene?  Do I go about my daily life, so busy with normality that I forget to ponder the miracle this season reminds me of?  Has the idea of a God who dwells with us become so familiar to me that it has lost its mystery?  Or do I still pause in what I'm doing, and stop in awe at the manger, to wonder at the God who became flesh and dwelt among us?

May you see Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us, in your life this Christmas.  May you experience the wonder and the mystery of a God who humbled himself to become one of us. May you be like Mary, treasuring the miraculous in the midst of the ordinary, and pondering it in your heart.

"Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross." Philippians 2: 5-8

But he was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his stripes we are healed." Isaiah 53:5

Falling off the tight rope

I used to think of God's will as a tight rope: you're either on it, or off it, and staying balanced is a treacherous journey of discernment, where any mis-step will send you tumbling.  And if you want God's best for your life, you have to work to get back on that tightrope, because it stretches away into God's perfect future for you, and there you are, on the ground, stuck with plan B.

When I'm thinking this way, decisions are terrifying.  If I don't discern God's will correctly and instead I (take this job, move to this place, date this person) and it wasn't REALLY God's will, then I'll be stuck in plan B.  I start to stress, on one hand, that I will fail God, and on the other that he will fail me.  If I choose wrong, he won't be able to use me as he planned to.  Life will go on, but I won't meet that one person who was going to tell me about that particular mission's organization that would have been the perfect fit for me and I would have changed hundreds of children's lives.  He also won't be able to bless me as he planned to.  I also won't meet that amazing man that God had planned for me to marry.  Oops.  I would have met him at that other job.  Or in a different country.  Or at a different school.  Too bad I heard God wrong, and now I'm stuck with plan B.  Unless of course, I can figure out where I misheard, back track as it were, and get myself back on the tight rope.  Then maybe I can still have the "best" plan.

How small my view of God can be, and how large my view of myself.  Did I really think that I could fail God?  That me, one tiny, insignificant creation in a world of 7 billion, could make a choice that would upset the course of God's divine plan?  That with my one decision, I would lessen his ability to work through me?  Do I really think that God's grace is so small that it only covers me when I'm following down a pre-made path that I can't see and nothing but faith and guesswork can ever make out?  Do I not know that God is everywhere?  That he redeems all our mistakes, is with us always, even to the end of this age, and lavishes his love on us?

I'm reworking my understanding of God's will.  When God put Adam and Eve in the garden, he gave them choices and parameters.  "And the LORD God commanded the man, saying, “You may surely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.” (Genesis 2:16 & 17) I'm beginning to think, that in much the same way, God gives us choices and parameters now.  "He has showed you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?" (Micah 5:7)  “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment.  And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself." (Matthew 22: 37&38)  Does my decision flow from my love of God?  Does it demonstrate love to my neighbor?  Is it a decision that embraces love, mercy, and justice?  Because if it does, I think it's a decision that I'm free to make without agonizing whether or not it's God's will.  Perhaps that seems obvious, but for me, it hasn't always been.  It still isn't.  I feel like I need a special confirmation, a special blessing, in order to proceed.  Maybe because of my personality.  Maybe because of things I was taught in church (until you have "perfect peace" that a decision is from God, you should continue to seek him. . . how does that even work if a decision has a deadline and not making a decision is the same as deciding "no"?).  Maybe because of verses like this one, "And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left." (Isaiah 30:21).

As I've been trying to come to a Biblically sound view of what it means to seek God's will, I can't really bring to mind any soul-searching, agonizing times of desperately seeking God's will in the Bible (Jesus, at Gethsemane is the only time that comes to mind.  And there he already kenw God's will, but was asking if there was any other way, that's a bit different than evaluating options and choosing the one God approves).  Yes, there are MANY times when God clearly speaks and directs someone to do something specific.  And there are times when God's people seek guidance for how to overcome specific problems.  But overall, I see a principle of honoring God with our lives and moving forward trusting that he will guide. "The steps of a man are established by the LORD, when he delights in his way; though he falls, he shall not be cast headlong, for the LORD upholds his hand" (Psalm 37:23 & 24).  If you search the Bible with the term "God's will", you'll find that often it relates to general principles (it is his will for us to be holy, to give thanks, to be sanctified) or a general calling (it was his will for Paul to be an apostle).  Rarely is it written about a specific circumstance, and if it is, it isn't generally something that needs to be carefully discerned, but more likely revealed through circumstances (Paul writing, "I will come back if it is God's will." in Acts 18:21).

I've been trying to find out what the early church father's wrote about decision making and while my search has been cursory so far, I haven't really turned up much of anything.  And I'm wondering if this is the reason why, "increased control over one's own life- problems of choice- are typically upper-class phenomena in the previous generations" (Life Stories of Social Change J. P. Roos) Until recently, "discerning God's will" wasn't something that your average person had much cause to do.  All the major life decisions where it's easy to worry about making the wrong choice, were choices they didn't even truly have to make.  Your father was a farmer, you were a farmer.  You were apprenticed to someone as a child, that became your trade.  You were a woman, you would marry, bear children and keep house.   Even "choices" like marriage were less of a choice when marriage was a much more practical arrangement and much less of the romantic attachment it is seen as today.  So if they could take those steps without fearing that they would somehow unknowingly be disobedient to God, I think we can probably do the same. 

I'm not suggesting we not pray, and seek God's will.  I just think that maybe, just maybe, God is more interested in us becoming transformed into his image than he is with creating prescribed paths for each one of us that we have to figure out.  And I'm confident that my God can transform me anywhere, and use any circumstance for his glory and for my good.  So, I'm beginning to say sometimes, after praying and seeking God, "maybe this right now, is a choice God is allowing me to make, and it's all right to choose any of these options"  But it's hard to do.  Even as I realize that my decisions shouldn't be made in fear because "Perfect love casts out fear"I find myself returning to the "comfort" of old ways of thinking.  Discerning God's will doesn't require me to make a decision- it just requires me to hear God's voice.  He chooses, I obey. There's safety in that, despite the fear of "mishearing".   But choosing, somehow that's a bit scarier.  But there's joy and freedom in that too.  So for now, I'm trying to learn to walk the tightrope with more confidence, no longer fearing that I can fall off and "lose" God's will for my life (as long as I'm not in rebellion to what his word reveals), and rejoicing in the truth that "all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose." (Romans 8:28).  It's not MY choices that keep me on that tight rope after all.  It's the glorious grace of my wonderful savior. 

Anticipation

Spring is coming.  I love the feeling of expectation, the knowledge that something good is just around the corner- it might delay in coming, we might have to suffer through a few more wintery days, but the evidence that spring is here and warm weather around the corner peeks out.  It peeks out from the trees in bud, and from the branches of a bramble, just beginning to sprout leaves.

That same sense of anticipation, of hope waiting to be fulfilled, makes me think of this passage.

"No distrust made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised."

Romans 4:20-21

I want to have that active kind of faith; faith that hopes and rests in the present, confident that God's promises will be fulfilled "in the fulness of time" So, as I wait, in this time of transition, I will wait with hope.  Just as spring will surely come, so will all of God's other promises to me be fulfilled.  

Baby Steps

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” John 14:27

Sometimes, I fret.  I worry about the things I cannot control.  But there are moments when I see progress, when I realize that I have learned to cast not all, but at least some, of my burdens on Jesus and to leave them there. 

At the end of last year, I desperately, and to be perfectly honest, without much faith, asked God for teachers for this year.  I didn’t see where his answer would come from, so even as I asked, I doubted his response.  Despite my lack of faith, God provided.  My faith grew just a little bit.  Enough that when Rae Ann was left without a classroom aide, and I had no idea where one would come from, instead of fretting, I took the problem to Jesus and stopped worrying.  On Wednesday, Jessica had to go pick someone up from the airport, someone I wasn’t even aware was coming.  By Friday, she’d been to visit Luz y Vida and I found out that she would be staying until the end of the school year, helping as a classroom aide in Rae Ann’s class.

“Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you”. 1 Peter 5:7

Thinking about heading back to the States and my transition time before grad school, I started wondering about where I would live.  Before I even had time to worry about it, my mom mentioned that my family will be moving out of the house we’ve lived in for years and into a new house, and maybe they could rent the old house to me.  One question taken care of, I reminded God (not that he really needed a reminder) how much I hate the thought of living alone.  Turns out my sister has decided to pursue grad school at the same time as me and will be at the same point of transition, so it looks like the two of us may be housemates in our parents’ old house before we start grad school.

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?” Matthew 6:25

As my faith grows in some areas, I still find it desperately lacking in others.  I worry. What if none of the grad schools I apply to accepts me?  What if I finish grad school and don’t know what I’m supposed to do next? And my biggest worry, What if I stay single for the rest of my life, how will I deal with that?

Be anxious for NOTHING

It’s a command.  Not one I’m very good at keeping.  Over and over again, I find myself back where I started, pleading with God for the answer I want.  And over and over I have to remind myself- My God provides for me.  My God loves me.  My God is all-powerful.  I do not need to fear.  Worrying changes nothing.  And I hope, that bit by bit, I will learn to truly be anxious for nothing, to take all my worries and fears to God and leave them there, trusting that the God who has shown himself to be faithful over and over and over again will never stop being faithful.

Longing for a better country. . .

I've been thinking about heaven lately. 

My grandparents are headed there before me.  It might be months from now or only weeks from now, but they've reached that point where mortality can't be argued anymore.

Mostly, I want to stop the clock and hold on to them forever.  But inside me, there's a building "longing for a better country" that trusts that I'll see them again on the other side of death, and it will be better.

"If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.” Hebrews 11:15-16

Somewhere along the way nowhere begins to feel exactly like home. 

To be with loved ones here means leaving loved ones there.    There's always part of me that's missing.  

At my church in Colombia, I close my eyes and sing all the songs, I don't need to look at the words.  But then, the pastor starts to preach and I miss the focused sermon of pastors back "home".  "Home" again, I find that all the songs the church sings seem to have changed in the past 3 years.  I stare at the overhead, missing the familiar words of the songs back "home" in Colombia.  It's a scene that's mirrored in a thousand little ways, the way my two homes intersect, each with their mutually exclusive joys and challenges.  

And I find myself at moments, longing for heaven.  Everyone I love, everything that matters, all in one place.  No more confusion.  No more striving.  No more difficult, painful, unanswered questions.  No more goodbyes.

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” Revelation 21:4 

The myth of the wicked heart

I'm a logical, rational person.  I make decisions with my mind.  I distrust my emotions.  After all, the heart is wicked, isn't it?  "Follow your heart", "listen to your heart", all new age philosophies that will lead us astray, because our deceitful heart can't be trusted.  

My mind, on the other hand, logic- that can be trusted.  

Recently though, mind and heart came into conflict about something, and I found myself wondering if I could always trust my rational mind.  Maybe it could lead me astray too.  And maybe my heart wasn't so far off base after all.  So, I decided to see what the Bible actually says.

"The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?" Jeremiah 17:9 (KJV)

Sounds clear enough.  The heart is deceitful and wicked.  Case closed.  

Until I opened a concordance with word definitions.  The word translated heart in this verse, הַלֵּ֛ב (lev), is most commonly translated heart.  But, it can also be translated as mind, will, or intellect. Apparently, the modern Western division of the heart as the seat of the emotions and the mind as the seat of the intellect isn't quite the same as ancient Hebrew thought.  It seems like "inner man" (the first definition given of the word) might be more accurate.  Or, in our trichotomous understanding of humanity, the soul.  

So, it's not just my heart or emotions that are deceitful.  It's my entire inner-being.  My feelings AND my thoughts.  

And then there's that little phrase "desperately wicked".  That's some strong language.  And a completely off base translation.  King James is one of the few translations that chose the word wicked there.  Every other time it occurs, it is translated as sick or incurable.  There's a pretty big difference between sick and wicked.

So, it seems to me that my original understanding of this verse is completely inaccurate.  

In reality, I have a desperately sick, deceitful inner-being.  Everything that makes me me, is incurably warped by the fall.

Except, it isn't incurable.  There's redemption.

And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.  (Ezekiel 36:26)

Guess what word is translated heart in this passage?  That's right, lev, the same as in Jeremiah.  God promised his people a new heart.  A heart of flesh.  He will renew our inner-being.

That same promise is reiterated in the New Testament.  

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. (2 Corinthians 5:17)

My heart has been renewed.  I am a new creation.  I still struggle with sin, yes.  But, my heart is not desperately wicked, or even incurably sick.  The great physician has made all things new.  

I'm not suggesting that we all go and do "whatever our heart desires".  Emotions are fickle, affected by externals.  But neither is it fair to say mind=good, emotions=bad.  God has given us a heart and mind, both of which need to be submitted to Christ's lordship, and both of which he can use to guide us.  My heart is not the enemy within.  It's more like a friend whose counsel I would listen to and weigh along with everything else I was taking into consideration.

Delight yourself in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Psalm 37:4  

The God who waits

When I was a child, I loved The Story about Ping.  It tells about a little duckling on the Yangtze river who lives on a river boat with his whole extended family.  One day, he wanders away and when all the ducks are called back to the boat, he realizes he will be last to get on.  The last duck back always got a spank on the back, so Ping decides not to go back, and he swims away.  He has several misadventures before he finally finds his family and the boat again, and decides to go back, despite again being last and needing to suffer the spank on his back.

I think sometimes, I picture God the same way as the duck keeper on the boat.  He stands there, waiting with his switch to punish me if I've gone astray.  And so, when I know my attitude hasn't been pleasing God, or I've done something I know I shouldn't, I do the same thing as Ping (or Adam and Eve).  I hide.  I hesitate to truly enter into God's presence and listen to his voice.  I know I don't deserve his mercy and grace, and so I isolate myself.  But, in doing so, I miss what God wants to offer.  I'll suffer the natural consequences of my sin.  I'll continue to suffer for distancing myself in my relationship to God.  But God's judgement is only for those whose backs are to him.  As soon as we turn to him, he is gracious to us.  Here's what it says in Isaiah 30:15 and 18

For thus said the Lord GOD, the Holy One of Israel,
“In returning and rest you shall be saved;
in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”
But you were unwilling, . . .

Therefore the LORD waits to be gracious to you,

and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you.
For the LORD is a God of justice;
blessed are all those who wait for him.

God doesn't wait like the duck keeper, to smack us on the back when he returns. He won't enforce our self-imposed isolation. He won't send us to a heavenly time out. God waits to to be gracious. He waits to show mercy. As soon as we turn our faces to him, he welcomes us back to himself.  Like the father welcoming the prodigal son, he doesn't make sure we get what we deserve before showing mercy.  Instead God the Father waits for our return to shower us with grace and mercy.  

What astounding love.  When we turn our backs to the creator of the universe, he doesn't wait to give us what we deserve.  He waits to be gracious.  His heart's longing is to receive us back as his own dear children.  

still

My mind and heart have been swirling with questions and emotions lately. I want answers. I want a plan. I want a vision for the future. I want joy, and adventure, and anticipation.

So, I've cried, I've pleaded, I've talked to God. And over and over, He keeps telling me to be still.

For thus said the Lord GOD, the Holy One of Israel, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.” Isaiah 30:15

The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord. Lamentations 3: 25&26

God knows my heart. Even if he weren't omniscient, I think I've told him my fears and desires, my doubts and questions hundreds of times. And there are moments when I want to demand answers. I want him to show up NOW in my life and take away the confusion.

But this is the verse God has put in my heart these past few days:

"But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me." Psalm 131:2

Like a weaned child. Not seeking anything. Not demanding to be fed. Not waiting for its physical needs to be met. Just resting in the safety and security of the arms of the one who loves you. So, I am trying to calm and quiet my soul. To rest in him. To trust that he loves me, he has a plan for me, and he won't let me miss it. When it's time, he'll answer. Until then, I need to trust him, rest in his presence, feel secure in his love.