Living in the deep South, winter tends to be milder than in the Midwest where I grew up, and spring arrives gloriously earlier. And so it has happened this past week. A few days of rain, and--poof!--spring arrived. Trees are in full flower, lawns need immediate attention from myriad green sprouts, and there is a dense, yellow-green coating over everything (pine pollen...welcome to the south).
One of the beautiful things about spring occurred to me last week as I passed a window: Spring is warmer than winter.
Some of you got there ahead of me, but hear me out. As I approached a window last week, I noticed the sun shining invitingly through. However, in the South, it does that pretty much all year long. What I noticed as I reached the window was that there was now more than light coming through the window; there was also heat.
Now, the sun's rays bring a true promise, not a false one, of warmth. Though it is not yet warm enough for my badly-thinned blood, it is certainly warmer than it has been, and I am grateful.
And it occurred to me that this comparison is the perfect metaphor for depression. Some of you know that I experienced a clinical depression many years ago (I described it here), and that memory still shapes me in so many ways. I remember distinctly that I could not sense the good and reasonable things in my life during that time. It was as if I could see the light, but I couldn't' feel it. True, good things just couldn't reach my soul, and so I lived on in a hopeless, cold place, so very alone.
If you haven't experienced a depression like this--and may you never!--please allow me to say that that cold hole is not one you can just crawl out of. If you know me, you know I'm not really given to negativism or pessimism. But when I found myself in that place, I.could.not.get.out. I sensed that the world around me wasn't as cold and lifeless as I felt it was, but no amount of trying could make me feel that blessed heat.
Only God could pull me out of that pit and shine His warm and glorious face on mine once again. And He did. May my lips never cease to praise Him and remember how the truth of the Son warmed my soul!
I'm so glad it's spring again in my heart. In fact, it might just be summer now.
Warm from His light,
-J
I love the LORD, for He heard my voice; He heard my cry for mercy. Because He turned his ear to me, I will call on Him as long as I live. The cords of death entangled me, the anguish of the grave came upon me; I was overcome by trouble and sorrow. Then I called on the name of the LORD: "O LORD, save me!" The LORD is gracious and righteous; our God is full of compassion. The LORD protects the simplehearted; when I was in great need, He saved me. -Psalm 116:1-6, NIV
A man can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in his work. This too, I see, is from the hand of God, for without Him, who can eat or find enjoyment? -Ecclesiastes 2:24-25, NIV
(c) 2009
Showing posts with label Part of My Grace Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Part of My Grace Story. Show all posts
Monday, March 30, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
A Quick Look Back Before Moving Forward
I'm really lousy at keeping up with my communications: phone calls, email, Facebook, even thank you notes. I'm guessing most of you know that already. :-( It's not that I don't compose these notes/calls in my head...I DO! It's just that I struggle getting from the planning to the implementing stage. I know that this is...not nice.
Since this has been a struggle for me my entire life, I don't expect to conquer it all at once. But one of my non-resolutions (I don't make New Year's resolutions 'cause I'd just fail and feel guilty; I DO however take the opportunity at the beginning of each year to review areas I want to improve in.) was to try to do better in this area.
And step #1 was to clean up my email inboxes. I have three main email accounts: one for work, two personal--mostly divided as one for subscriptions/junkmail and one for personal notes. Between the three accounts, I had over SIX-HUNDRED emails in my INBOX. That's not including myriad additional folders (generally a dozen or so) attached to each account.
Clearly, I wasn't managing my electronic communications.
As I began the process of weeding out my inboxes this week, I discovered something very important: I had quite a 2008...and God sustained me through it all.
Wanna review a bit with me?
**February: Doctors found suspicious calcifications in my breast (sorry, guys), that led to a series of painful and expensive procedures {the day before}...eventually to tell me I was just fine {the day after}. Yee-haw. But this is the month one of my girls received Christ as her Savior...I still tear up at the memory.
**May: I was contacted regarding my 'dream job' and began a deep, draining, God-seeking journey to discover His will regarding this opportunity.
**June: May & June are my very busiest time of year at work, and coupled with the strain of the process above, this made for a really challenging month. I thought it was tough enough, until my mother was (finally!) diagnosed with a serious, life-threatening disease (she is quite stable now, thank you) {as it began} and my handicapped sister started code-blue-ing (stopped breathing) several times a week for no discernible reason. This was an achingly difficult month.
**July: Interviewed for this job and visited my family. My mother began to respond to treatment, and a battery replacement(!) resolved my sister's ailment. My elders asked to meet with me to pray over me and for my family--one of the most precious gifts I have ever been given. EVERYONE in my life who knew about the job opp thought it was a done deal...until I had to turn it down. Yet I truly believed God would intervene and open the door. He didn't.
**August: Felt adrift and alone in the aftermath of the previous months, and really struggled to find my footing again.
**But by October, things were looking up. Despite the near-totalling of my car, joy came when TWO of my sisters gave birth to boys in the same week! AND my brother announced that he and his lovely new bride were expecting in May! Good news for a happy aunt! And, I celebrated happy milestones in The Journey.
**November: We voted! I celebrated some more Journey milestones. The girls I work with shocked the pants off of me when three of them (out of five) finished memorizing the books (2 Timothy, Ephesians--only one per girl!) I had assigned them. To see their growth and their excitement was so thrilling...and humbling.
**December: A busy, happy month. Of course, I started day 1 with the stomach virus (you should definitely pass on this one!) and spent the entire month (until now, actually) sick in some form. BUT, I love the Christmas season, and work--though crazy busy--was full of excitement and fun. THEN, I tried getting out of the boat; that didn't go so well. But THEN, most of my wonderful family came for a crazy week of food and fun at my house! Whee-ha! And THEN, I got to start the new year with a trip to visit my BF from middle school...still one of my very dearest, most precious friends. Busy, busy, but happy.
A review of my email showed me encouraging blog comments and prayers from many of you, and the consistent care of my local church leadership and family. And though there is little electronic documentation, I keenly recall the love my work family poured out on me in those really intense times.
And when I look at all of this, I recall the goodness of our God. How He carried me through unknown and frightening waters; how He brought me words of wisdom and encouragement at my most desperate moments; how, even when He would not answer my questions, He comforted me with quiet assurances of His presence and His plan.
And though I would be okay if 2009 didn't bring with it some of the crazy, scary, nutty things that 2008 did, I would not trade His sweet presence and lessons for anything at all.
I'm so glad I started the year with a communications clean-out. I think it made for one of my best New Year's ever.
Now, onto 2009 and all that it holds,
-J
May the God of peace, who through the blood of the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may he work in us what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen. --Hebrews 13:20-21, NIV
(c) 2009
Since this has been a struggle for me my entire life, I don't expect to conquer it all at once. But one of my non-resolutions (I don't make New Year's resolutions 'cause I'd just fail and feel guilty; I DO however take the opportunity at the beginning of each year to review areas I want to improve in.) was to try to do better in this area.
And step #1 was to clean up my email inboxes. I have three main email accounts: one for work, two personal--mostly divided as one for subscriptions/junkmail and one for personal notes. Between the three accounts, I had over SIX-HUNDRED emails in my INBOX. That's not including myriad additional folders (generally a dozen or so) attached to each account.
Clearly, I wasn't managing my electronic communications.
As I began the process of weeding out my inboxes this week, I discovered something very important: I had quite a 2008...and God sustained me through it all.
Wanna review a bit with me?
**February: Doctors found suspicious calcifications in my breast (sorry, guys), that led to a series of painful and expensive procedures {the day before}...eventually to tell me I was just fine {the day after}. Yee-haw. But this is the month one of my girls received Christ as her Savior...I still tear up at the memory.
**May: I was contacted regarding my 'dream job' and began a deep, draining, God-seeking journey to discover His will regarding this opportunity.
**June: May & June are my very busiest time of year at work, and coupled with the strain of the process above, this made for a really challenging month. I thought it was tough enough, until my mother was (finally!) diagnosed with a serious, life-threatening disease (she is quite stable now, thank you) {as it began} and my handicapped sister started code-blue-ing (stopped breathing) several times a week for no discernible reason. This was an achingly difficult month.
**July: Interviewed for this job and visited my family. My mother began to respond to treatment, and a battery replacement(!) resolved my sister's ailment. My elders asked to meet with me to pray over me and for my family--one of the most precious gifts I have ever been given. EVERYONE in my life who knew about the job opp thought it was a done deal...until I had to turn it down. Yet I truly believed God would intervene and open the door. He didn't.
**August: Felt adrift and alone in the aftermath of the previous months, and really struggled to find my footing again.
**But by October, things were looking up. Despite the near-totalling of my car, joy came when TWO of my sisters gave birth to boys in the same week! AND my brother announced that he and his lovely new bride were expecting in May! Good news for a happy aunt! And, I celebrated happy milestones in The Journey.
**November: We voted! I celebrated some more Journey milestones. The girls I work with shocked the pants off of me when three of them (out of five) finished memorizing the books (2 Timothy, Ephesians--only one per girl!) I had assigned them. To see their growth and their excitement was so thrilling...and humbling.
**December: A busy, happy month. Of course, I started day 1 with the stomach virus (you should definitely pass on this one!) and spent the entire month (until now, actually) sick in some form. BUT, I love the Christmas season, and work--though crazy busy--was full of excitement and fun. THEN, I tried getting out of the boat; that didn't go so well. But THEN, most of my wonderful family came for a crazy week of food and fun at my house! Whee-ha! And THEN, I got to start the new year with a trip to visit my BF from middle school...still one of my very dearest, most precious friends. Busy, busy, but happy.
A review of my email showed me encouraging blog comments and prayers from many of you, and the consistent care of my local church leadership and family. And though there is little electronic documentation, I keenly recall the love my work family poured out on me in those really intense times.
And when I look at all of this, I recall the goodness of our God. How He carried me through unknown and frightening waters; how He brought me words of wisdom and encouragement at my most desperate moments; how, even when He would not answer my questions, He comforted me with quiet assurances of His presence and His plan.
And though I would be okay if 2009 didn't bring with it some of the crazy, scary, nutty things that 2008 did, I would not trade His sweet presence and lessons for anything at all.
I'm so glad I started the year with a communications clean-out. I think it made for one of my best New Year's ever.
Now, onto 2009 and all that it holds,
-J
May the God of peace, who through the blood of the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may he work in us what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen. --Hebrews 13:20-21, NIV
(c) 2009
Friday, November 14, 2008
Conversations With God
Here is the blog entry I started yesterday, when rain paused but the trees shone: All the world is gold...and red, and green. The trees here...
That's as far as I got, but you can see that I was seeing the world as beautiful. And that gave me hope. That was nice.
Today, I ran across this website via a couple of friends' communications: http://alirae.net/blog/
I haven't read much, but this woman is a pediatric nurse on a mercy ship, currently off the shore of Liberia. And here is what sent me into a self-indulgent stew of sorrow: "I spend my days in a delightful whirl of crying babies, cast-footed kids, and even the occasional grownup. I've never been so happy....(Please let me stay forever.)"
That's when I realized that questions that I thought I had answered weren't so fully answered, and that the peace that I so often feel is more tentative than solid. Many of you know that I spent the vast majority of my life planning for and moving toward cross-cultural ministry, from about age 7 to about age 31. I'm no math major, but that's a lot of time.
But after a brief stint overseas, and achieving the necessary master's degree, it all came to a screeching halt. God said, "Wait."
Okay, I can wait...a few months. A year. Or, apparently, more.
Then God said, "Wait on ME."
Okay, that one is harder. It's not just the hunkering-down, holding-on-for-dear-life kind of waiting. In fact, it's not holding on at all. It's a release, an utter, willing submission of yourself to the hand of God. Harder, but I learned.
Then, I asked God, "When?"
But God just said again, "Wait."
So I waited. I tried to make myself useful during this 'intermission.' I delved deeply into ministry. I learned how to disciple. I saw life from the 'professional ministry' side. I worked with a church plant. And every so often, I would ask again, "When?" "God you know my heart is already in Central Asia. They don't know you there..."
"Wait."
I learned how to manage serious physical pain. I learned that God can heal what doctors declare you will live with forever. I learned how to seek His face...and that when you do, He meets you there in ways words cannot define. Amazing lessons...but in many ways, I still felt that I was just treading water, waiting to go.
Finally, years in, I asked, "Am I going? Please tell me where to point my nose."
And God said, "You are not being sent to a people of obscure speech and difficult language...not to many peoples of obscure speech and difficult language, whose words you cannot understand. Surely if I had sent you to them, they would have listened to you."*
And I cried. I cried for two years.
How can I not go? Is there a greater calling?
Then God spoke quiet truths into my heart:
"I don't need you to accomplish great things for Me, J. I AM great, and I will accomplish all that I desire."
"Cross-cultural ministry is not the greatest thing you can do. Knowing Me is."
"Put roots down, J. You've never learned how to be where I've put you."
"Pursue Me. Seek My face."
"I love you. Unconditional, all-encompassing love. Let that sink into the deepest parts of you."
"While you've been banging on the doors of heaven, asking Me to change your circumstances, I've been changing you. This is the greater part."
...
And so many other truths and promises.
Finally, my heart came to a place of peace, and I found this was my prayer: You have made known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.**
But today, I found myself questioning anew, "Is this really it, Lord? I don't intend this as a complaint, but my heart still yearns for...something. For some things. And sometimes, I feel sad that I'm not there, doing that, serving in that way. What do I do with that?"
What I'm doing now is choosing to remember this: The LORD is my light and my salvation... The LORD is the stronghold of my life.***
I am remembering that this is what I've asked of God, and that it is the greater part: One thing I ask of the LORD, this is what I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to seek him in his temple.***
And so I end with the same lesson with which I started: Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD.***
So Lord, I'm waiting...on You. But this time I know that You know where I am, that You will fulfill your plan for me, that You love me in ways I will spend all of eternity trying to absorb, that Your face is worth seeking--it is so beautiful.
O Lord, Hineni.****
-J
The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me; your love, O LORD, endures forever—do not abandon the works of your hands. --Psalm 138:8
*Ezekiel 3:5-6, NIV
**Psalm 16:11, NIV
***From Psalm 27, NIV
****This Hebrew term basically means, "Here I am." More on this soon.
P.S. For more of my thoughts on the waiting/longing process, you can review this post.
(c) 2008
That's as far as I got, but you can see that I was seeing the world as beautiful. And that gave me hope. That was nice.
Today, I ran across this website via a couple of friends' communications: http://alirae.net/blog/
I haven't read much, but this woman is a pediatric nurse on a mercy ship, currently off the shore of Liberia. And here is what sent me into a self-indulgent stew of sorrow: "I spend my days in a delightful whirl of crying babies, cast-footed kids, and even the occasional grownup. I've never been so happy....(Please let me stay forever.)"
That's when I realized that questions that I thought I had answered weren't so fully answered, and that the peace that I so often feel is more tentative than solid. Many of you know that I spent the vast majority of my life planning for and moving toward cross-cultural ministry, from about age 7 to about age 31. I'm no math major, but that's a lot of time.
But after a brief stint overseas, and achieving the necessary master's degree, it all came to a screeching halt. God said, "Wait."
Okay, I can wait...a few months. A year. Or, apparently, more.
Then God said, "Wait on ME."
Okay, that one is harder. It's not just the hunkering-down, holding-on-for-dear-life kind of waiting. In fact, it's not holding on at all. It's a release, an utter, willing submission of yourself to the hand of God. Harder, but I learned.
Then, I asked God, "When?"
But God just said again, "Wait."
So I waited. I tried to make myself useful during this 'intermission.' I delved deeply into ministry. I learned how to disciple. I saw life from the 'professional ministry' side. I worked with a church plant. And every so often, I would ask again, "When?" "God you know my heart is already in Central Asia. They don't know you there..."
"Wait."
I learned how to manage serious physical pain. I learned that God can heal what doctors declare you will live with forever. I learned how to seek His face...and that when you do, He meets you there in ways words cannot define. Amazing lessons...but in many ways, I still felt that I was just treading water, waiting to go.
Finally, years in, I asked, "Am I going? Please tell me where to point my nose."
And God said, "You are not being sent to a people of obscure speech and difficult language...not to many peoples of obscure speech and difficult language, whose words you cannot understand. Surely if I had sent you to them, they would have listened to you."*
And I cried. I cried for two years.
How can I not go? Is there a greater calling?
Then God spoke quiet truths into my heart:
"I don't need you to accomplish great things for Me, J. I AM great, and I will accomplish all that I desire."
"Cross-cultural ministry is not the greatest thing you can do. Knowing Me is."
"Put roots down, J. You've never learned how to be where I've put you."
"Pursue Me. Seek My face."
"I love you. Unconditional, all-encompassing love. Let that sink into the deepest parts of you."
"While you've been banging on the doors of heaven, asking Me to change your circumstances, I've been changing you. This is the greater part."
...
And so many other truths and promises.
Finally, my heart came to a place of peace, and I found this was my prayer: You have made known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.**
But today, I found myself questioning anew, "Is this really it, Lord? I don't intend this as a complaint, but my heart still yearns for...something. For some things. And sometimes, I feel sad that I'm not there, doing that, serving in that way. What do I do with that?"
What I'm doing now is choosing to remember this: The LORD is my light and my salvation... The LORD is the stronghold of my life.***
I am remembering that this is what I've asked of God, and that it is the greater part: One thing I ask of the LORD, this is what I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to seek him in his temple.***
And so I end with the same lesson with which I started: Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD.***
So Lord, I'm waiting...on You. But this time I know that You know where I am, that You will fulfill your plan for me, that You love me in ways I will spend all of eternity trying to absorb, that Your face is worth seeking--it is so beautiful.
O Lord, Hineni.****
-J
The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me; your love, O LORD, endures forever—do not abandon the works of your hands. --Psalm 138:8
*Ezekiel 3:5-6, NIV
**Psalm 16:11, NIV
***From Psalm 27, NIV
****This Hebrew term basically means, "Here I am." More on this soon.
P.S. For more of my thoughts on the waiting/longing process, you can review this post.
(c) 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Best/Worst Travel Experience
I just finished entering a contest where the subject matter was your best &/or worst travel experience. Well, since my best happened on the same trip as my worst, it was pretty easy to pick which story to tell. Here, in all it's absence of glory, is my recounting:
Having lived overseas, I've flown quite a bit, and my best & worst travel experience occurred all in one instance while living in South Korea.
Or perhaps I should say, the trip was fabulous, but the before & after were horrendous.
While teaching ESL in S. Korea, one of my roommates and I decided to take a four-day weekend and hop over to Hong Kong, shortly before the handover from Britain to China. Since payday was going to happen during that very weekend, we asked our director if he would pay us a couple of days early. "No problem," he said. However, when the day arrived, he was no where to be found. We spent hours hunting him down and finally cornered him into going to the bank with us and getting our pay. Whew! Problem #1 overcome.
We then went home to pack, when roommate #3 decided to return from a drinking binge (looking back, RM#3 probably had alcohol poisoning, but we didn't know that then). RM#3 also brought two easily-irritated, drunk nationals into our home. When RM#3 holed up in the restroom, "ill," these two guys refused to leave, and were bordering on becoming violent. We demanded that RM#3 come out and boot them out, no matter how ill. These two guys finally left, and we locked the door. Problem #2 overcome.
However, RM#3 continued to stay in the restroom long into the night, until we finally began to bang on the door and demand an exit. When RM#3 did finally leave, what was left behind was disgusting. Every hole in the bathroom was clogged with, uh, "illness." It was one of the worst things I've ever seen. It was all over the walls, the sink, the washer, the toilet...I could have strangled RM#3.
With only a few hours left now until our early morning departure, and utterly exhausted, we spent the next 1-1/2 hours using up every paper towel and plastic bag in the house to clean out the room. I would gulp air, hold my breath, and clean as long as I could, then stick my head out of the door, gasping in fresh air. It was truly horrific...but we finally got it cleaned up. Problem #3 over with.
We made our flight from the south up to Seoul, but made our flight out of Seoul only by the grace of fellow travelers who let us cut when a slow-moving, 1/8-mile security line that didn't exist 10 minutes earlier threatened to keep us from our gate. Problem #4 averted.
However, once we landed in Hong Kong, we could not have had a nicer time. Adventure after adventure, wonderful people, food, shopping, and landscapes captivated us, and we were able to squeeze in every item we had placed on our itinerary.
Our flight home, however, was turbulent enough that I genuinely--despite much experience traveling--questioned whether we would arrive at our destination. My stomach began to get a little queasy, but we did finally arrive in Seoul. Return Problem #1 overcome.
However, our return flight landed late, and we missed our connecting flight--the final one of the day. So we headed outside to queue for a taxi, which would take us to the bus station across town. It was so late at this point that the lines were long waiting for the few remaining taxis. Disreputable taxi drivers kept trying to 'book' us to take their taxis--for triple or quadruple the price. Finally we got a 'real' taxi and arrived at the bus station just in time to catch the final bus south for the night. We had a five hour ride ahead of us (instead of the planned 45 minute flight). It was nearly midnight, but at least we had a ride home. Return Problem #2 overcome.
The queasy feeling that had started on the plane turned into a full-blown stomach virus by the time our bus ride was over. It didn't matter, however, as I still had to head to my class at 6:30 a.m. I'd had no sleep and was very ill, but there was no way my director would have believed I was sick the day after vacation if he hadn't seen me. So I suffered through three hours of teaching (doubled over) and then collapsed. Return Problem #3 endured.
The befores and afters of this trip were really, really awful. The only consolation is that my visit to Hong Kong was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience. As bad as before/after were, this was still the best vacation I've ever had.
Blessings,
J
(c) 2008
Having lived overseas, I've flown quite a bit, and my best & worst travel experience occurred all in one instance while living in South Korea.
Or perhaps I should say, the trip was fabulous, but the before & after were horrendous.
While teaching ESL in S. Korea, one of my roommates and I decided to take a four-day weekend and hop over to Hong Kong, shortly before the handover from Britain to China. Since payday was going to happen during that very weekend, we asked our director if he would pay us a couple of days early. "No problem," he said. However, when the day arrived, he was no where to be found. We spent hours hunting him down and finally cornered him into going to the bank with us and getting our pay. Whew! Problem #1 overcome.
We then went home to pack, when roommate #3 decided to return from a drinking binge (looking back, RM#3 probably had alcohol poisoning, but we didn't know that then). RM#3 also brought two easily-irritated, drunk nationals into our home. When RM#3 holed up in the restroom, "ill," these two guys refused to leave, and were bordering on becoming violent. We demanded that RM#3 come out and boot them out, no matter how ill. These two guys finally left, and we locked the door. Problem #2 overcome.
However, RM#3 continued to stay in the restroom long into the night, until we finally began to bang on the door and demand an exit. When RM#3 did finally leave, what was left behind was disgusting. Every hole in the bathroom was clogged with, uh, "illness." It was one of the worst things I've ever seen. It was all over the walls, the sink, the washer, the toilet...I could have strangled RM#3.
With only a few hours left now until our early morning departure, and utterly exhausted, we spent the next 1-1/2 hours using up every paper towel and plastic bag in the house to clean out the room. I would gulp air, hold my breath, and clean as long as I could, then stick my head out of the door, gasping in fresh air. It was truly horrific...but we finally got it cleaned up. Problem #3 over with.
We made our flight from the south up to Seoul, but made our flight out of Seoul only by the grace of fellow travelers who let us cut when a slow-moving, 1/8-mile security line that didn't exist 10 minutes earlier threatened to keep us from our gate. Problem #4 averted.
However, once we landed in Hong Kong, we could not have had a nicer time. Adventure after adventure, wonderful people, food, shopping, and landscapes captivated us, and we were able to squeeze in every item we had placed on our itinerary.
Our flight home, however, was turbulent enough that I genuinely--despite much experience traveling--questioned whether we would arrive at our destination. My stomach began to get a little queasy, but we did finally arrive in Seoul. Return Problem #1 overcome.
However, our return flight landed late, and we missed our connecting flight--the final one of the day. So we headed outside to queue for a taxi, which would take us to the bus station across town. It was so late at this point that the lines were long waiting for the few remaining taxis. Disreputable taxi drivers kept trying to 'book' us to take their taxis--for triple or quadruple the price. Finally we got a 'real' taxi and arrived at the bus station just in time to catch the final bus south for the night. We had a five hour ride ahead of us (instead of the planned 45 minute flight). It was nearly midnight, but at least we had a ride home. Return Problem #2 overcome.
The queasy feeling that had started on the plane turned into a full-blown stomach virus by the time our bus ride was over. It didn't matter, however, as I still had to head to my class at 6:30 a.m. I'd had no sleep and was very ill, but there was no way my director would have believed I was sick the day after vacation if he hadn't seen me. So I suffered through three hours of teaching (doubled over) and then collapsed. Return Problem #3 endured.
The befores and afters of this trip were really, really awful. The only consolation is that my visit to Hong Kong was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience. As bad as before/after were, this was still the best vacation I've ever had.
Blessings,
J
(c) 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Great Things for God
A few days ago, I found myself pontificating in an email to a friend:
"I'm kinda of the opinion that Christendom tends to glorify roles it shouldn't--pastor, missionary, counselor--and glosses over what God values: a broken and contrite spirit, lives lived in quiet surrender and faithfulness. Exactly where did God tell us to do great things? I'm pretty sure that He told us to be faithful in the little things...oh, I see my soapbox came out again. Sorry about that... :-D"
I found it ironic that I should pen such words. Great Things For God was my mantra for the better part of two decades. But God held a different opinion, and He finally got me to sit still long enough to hear it.
I was somewhere around seven the first time I remember hearing one of those, "They want a missionary to come, but there is no one to send," stories. And in my heart, I echoed Isaiah, "I'll go! Send me!" From that point forward, whether with thrilling acceptance or self-focused rejection, going as a missionary became the central theme of my life. When walking with the Lord, I knew this to be my goal and my calling. When embracing my sin and self, I wanted nothing to do with it.
For twenty-plus years, this was the drumbeat to which my life marched. The experiences I sought (e.g., summer Bible club teacher, teaching ESL overseas short-term as a 'tent-maker'), the people with whom I spent time (e.g., missionaries), the education I pursued (Bible, education, ESL degrees)--even the mission-focused churches I joined--were all focused on preparing me for long-term ministry cross-culturally. Over the years, my focused narrowed, honing in on a certain region, a certain type of ministry, certain philosophies of ministry, certain sending agencies.
And then, in 1999, the movement stopped. There was no going, only waiting. And so I sat, apparently spinning my wheels, waiting for the plane to stop circling and land. And I waited... And I waited some more...
By the time 2004 rolled around, I had been waiting for 25 years. And I was tired of waiting. It was starting to seem like I was to be permanently located state-side, and I just felt I needed to know where to apply my energies. The question went something like this: Lord, I've been waiting a long time. Am I staying or am I going? I just need to know where to point my nose.
That evening, I continued in my regular place of study, reading from Ezekiel. And God said to me:
You are not being sent to a people of obscure speech and difficult language, but to the house of Israel--not to many peoples of obscure speech and difficult language, whose words you cannot understand. Surely if I had sent you to them, they would have listened to you.
And I literally choked. I gasped. And I knew with absolute certainty that God was answering my question. I was not being sent. I would not be going.
I cannot overstate the shock waves that went through my life. Absolutely everything in my life had been pointed toward going. What was I to do if I wasn't going? What did this mean?
I spent at least two years just trying to absorb this message, this change in direction. How was it possible I wasn't going? I was sure--and am to this day--that my calling overseas/to cross-cultural ministry was from the Lord. How could I both be called and not? It brought to mind Abraham, and the son of promise. Isaac was the son of promise, yet Abraham was called upon to kill him. How could he be both dead and the father of a nation? How could both be true? And yet they were. And so the same was true in my life. Called to go; told to stay.
Over the next several years, many, many lessons were spoken into my life in the absence of this vocation. Many misguided philosophies were unearthed and replaced. Many experiences reshaped my perspectives and even my desires. And into my life, God spoke quiet words, like:
*Was it for the place, the people, or for Me that you were going? (This is exact evolution of my motivations; the 'for Me' part came only after 2004.)
*In all the hours you've spent knocking on My door, asking me to change your circumstances, I've been working on changing you.
*I don't need you to do great things for Me, J. I am great, and I will show Myself mighty. I am calling you to be faithful.
Oh, how I still wrestle with this last one, at least in part. I have found peace in the knowledge that God doesn't need great things from me. In fact, I have found relief, as I am pretty sure I can't do great things anyway. But being faithful, day in and day out, in the little minutiae of life, in the mundane things in my world, this is where I am weak. If you ever need someone to tackle a project or to 'come to the rescue,' I am your woman. I am great in the exceptional moments of life. I am terrible at coming through day after day after day in the piddly details.
This, I might add, is the lesson I am learning in my weight-loss journey. I could easily fast for a day or two. But being consistent in reducing my caloric intake and adding exercise to my schedule regularly are much harder tasks. They require dying to self daily. They require faithfulness in everyday moments.
So here I sit, not going, but growing, learning how to be insignificant, a minutiae-managing pro. It is a lesson I must master, for though perhaps someday God will see fit to add something else to my plate, I will never need to stop being faithful. That is where my calling lies...in the daily.
So today, I'm not attempting great things for God; I'm just trying to be faithful. If anything great happens, you can be sure it was all Him.
* "His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!' --Matthew 25:21
* Now it is required that those who have been given a trust must prove faithful. --I Corinthians 4:2
* But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness... --Galatians 5:22
* Do not be afraid of what you are about to suffer. I tell you, the devil will put some of you in prison to test you, and you will suffer persecution for ten days. Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you the crown of life. --Revelation 2:10
-J
(c) 2008
Scriptures quoted from the NIV.
"I'm kinda of the opinion that Christendom tends to glorify roles it shouldn't--pastor, missionary, counselor--and glosses over what God values: a broken and contrite spirit, lives lived in quiet surrender and faithfulness. Exactly where did God tell us to do great things? I'm pretty sure that He told us to be faithful in the little things...oh, I see my soapbox came out again. Sorry about that... :-D"
I found it ironic that I should pen such words. Great Things For God was my mantra for the better part of two decades. But God held a different opinion, and He finally got me to sit still long enough to hear it.
I was somewhere around seven the first time I remember hearing one of those, "They want a missionary to come, but there is no one to send," stories. And in my heart, I echoed Isaiah, "I'll go! Send me!" From that point forward, whether with thrilling acceptance or self-focused rejection, going as a missionary became the central theme of my life. When walking with the Lord, I knew this to be my goal and my calling. When embracing my sin and self, I wanted nothing to do with it.
For twenty-plus years, this was the drumbeat to which my life marched. The experiences I sought (e.g., summer Bible club teacher, teaching ESL overseas short-term as a 'tent-maker'), the people with whom I spent time (e.g., missionaries), the education I pursued (Bible, education, ESL degrees)--even the mission-focused churches I joined--were all focused on preparing me for long-term ministry cross-culturally. Over the years, my focused narrowed, honing in on a certain region, a certain type of ministry, certain philosophies of ministry, certain sending agencies.
And then, in 1999, the movement stopped. There was no going, only waiting. And so I sat, apparently spinning my wheels, waiting for the plane to stop circling and land. And I waited... And I waited some more...
By the time 2004 rolled around, I had been waiting for 25 years. And I was tired of waiting. It was starting to seem like I was to be permanently located state-side, and I just felt I needed to know where to apply my energies. The question went something like this: Lord, I've been waiting a long time. Am I staying or am I going? I just need to know where to point my nose.
That evening, I continued in my regular place of study, reading from Ezekiel. And God said to me:
You are not being sent to a people of obscure speech and difficult language, but to the house of Israel--not to many peoples of obscure speech and difficult language, whose words you cannot understand. Surely if I had sent you to them, they would have listened to you.
And I literally choked. I gasped. And I knew with absolute certainty that God was answering my question. I was not being sent. I would not be going.
I cannot overstate the shock waves that went through my life. Absolutely everything in my life had been pointed toward going. What was I to do if I wasn't going? What did this mean?
I spent at least two years just trying to absorb this message, this change in direction. How was it possible I wasn't going? I was sure--and am to this day--that my calling overseas/to cross-cultural ministry was from the Lord. How could I both be called and not? It brought to mind Abraham, and the son of promise. Isaac was the son of promise, yet Abraham was called upon to kill him. How could he be both dead and the father of a nation? How could both be true? And yet they were. And so the same was true in my life. Called to go; told to stay.
Over the next several years, many, many lessons were spoken into my life in the absence of this vocation. Many misguided philosophies were unearthed and replaced. Many experiences reshaped my perspectives and even my desires. And into my life, God spoke quiet words, like:
*Was it for the place, the people, or for Me that you were going? (This is exact evolution of my motivations; the 'for Me' part came only after 2004.)
*In all the hours you've spent knocking on My door, asking me to change your circumstances, I've been working on changing you.
*I don't need you to do great things for Me, J. I am great, and I will show Myself mighty. I am calling you to be faithful.
Oh, how I still wrestle with this last one, at least in part. I have found peace in the knowledge that God doesn't need great things from me. In fact, I have found relief, as I am pretty sure I can't do great things anyway. But being faithful, day in and day out, in the little minutiae of life, in the mundane things in my world, this is where I am weak. If you ever need someone to tackle a project or to 'come to the rescue,' I am your woman. I am great in the exceptional moments of life. I am terrible at coming through day after day after day in the piddly details.
This, I might add, is the lesson I am learning in my weight-loss journey. I could easily fast for a day or two. But being consistent in reducing my caloric intake and adding exercise to my schedule regularly are much harder tasks. They require dying to self daily. They require faithfulness in everyday moments.
So here I sit, not going, but growing, learning how to be insignificant, a minutiae-managing pro. It is a lesson I must master, for though perhaps someday God will see fit to add something else to my plate, I will never need to stop being faithful. That is where my calling lies...in the daily.
So today, I'm not attempting great things for God; I'm just trying to be faithful. If anything great happens, you can be sure it was all Him.
* "His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!' --Matthew 25:21
* Now it is required that those who have been given a trust must prove faithful. --I Corinthians 4:2
* But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness... --Galatians 5:22
* Do not be afraid of what you are about to suffer. I tell you, the devil will put some of you in prison to test you, and you will suffer persecution for ten days. Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you the crown of life. --Revelation 2:10
-J
(c) 2008
Scriptures quoted from the NIV.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
What Grace Is Mine
If you were to open up my Bible to Hebrews chapter 10, you would find this note in my Bible:
cf (compare with) my life 1988-1990
Oh what grace is mine!
This note is found next to the following verses:
If we deliberately keep on sinning after we have received the knowledge of the truth, no sacrifice for sins is left, but only a fearful expectation of judgment and of raging fire that will consume the enemies of God. Anyone who rejected the law of Moses died without mercy on the testimony of two or three witnesses. How much more severely do you think a man deserves to be punished who has trampled the Son of God under foot, who has treated as an unholy thing the blood of the covenant that sanctified him, and who has insulted the Spirit of grace? For we know him who said, "It is mine to avenge; I will repay," and again, "The Lord will judge his people." It is a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of the living God. (vv. 26-31)
1988-1990 found me in my last two years of high school. The summer before my junior year, my father, then a pastor of a small church, was run out of his church in a most ungracious way for speaking truth. God miraculously provided a full-time job and house for our family of five (we had been living in a parsonage) within weeks.
But it wasn't God's grace at which I found myself looking. I was looking at the fact that God had said "No" to my request.
Some years earlier, I had refined my major prayer list down to two things: God, please don't let my parents die while I am young; and, please don't let my family move before I graduate from high school.
Now, when my father got run out of his church, this necessitated a move. Actually, by God's provision, we moved only about 45 minutes away, to a suburb on the other side of the large city in which we lived. But 45 minutes meant that I had to leave the high school and the status I loved so much.
You see, by 7th grade, I had had enough of this 'loser/unpopular' tag that I had acquired simply by moving into the school district a few years before, so I purposed in my heart to become--if not popular--someone everyone had to respect. This was certainly no holy aspiration; it was more like revenge. And, I accomplished this. I became active in student government and choir, played some sports (badly!), and engaged myself in just about every extracurricular activity available. I became so involved that by my sophomore year of high school, I was part of 13 different academic clubs and was an officer in half of them. And then, at the end of that year, my crowning achievement: I was elected as the vice-president of the most powerful/popular club in the school: SADD. Now this election meant that I would, upon becoming a senior the following year, become president of this club. I could not have been more thrilled. Until we moved.
Another process happened during those years, a change in my heart. You see, during my junior high years, I had become very active in our Youth for Christ club, and actually became fairly active in sharing my faith. But as the years wore on and as this unholy desire took deeper root in my heart, I unknowingly began to walk less and less by the Spirit and more and my in my flesh. By the time my sophomore year ended, I was completely off on my own, coasting in my reputation as a Christian, because it was okay to be a 'Christian' at my school. And then we moved.
At my new, 'hick' high school, it was not okay to be a Christian. Christians were openly ridiculed, and only the gooberiest kids acknowledged Christ. And in my bitterness, I decided that no one had to know that I was a Christian. And so they didn't...
I went through my last two years of high school as 'a good girl' not a Christian. And I all but dared danger to find me.
I struggled so much that first year. I had no friends (I am a very social person, and had always had a strong network of friends). I went from high grades to literally failing classes. I would ask to be excused during classes so I could go to the restroom and burst into tears. I was completely and utterly lost. During this time, one of my teachers was so concerned about me that he sent me to the school counselor. She, of course, had no idea (nor could she, as an unbeliever, understand) that my problem was a spiritual one. I was angry at God, and I knew it. I wanted Him to pay for what He did to me, and somehow I felt my bitterness was payback.
The counselor began to ask all kinds of questions about my home--fighting? abuse? etc.... However, none of those things were true. I came from a good, stable home. They weren't the issue. I was. Finally, she asked me to describe how I felt. This is one of those crystal-clear moments fixed in my mind. "I feel like I'm in a deep pit, and everyone's hand is too short to reach me." And in my mind, I added, "Including God's."
From time to time over those years, I tried to return to God, but I was never willing to do what would have to be done: Humble myself and repent of my sin. And so, I wandered, lost, into my senior year of high school.
The summer before my senior year, some of that old, unholy resolve resurfaced. I decided that I would not let the next year be like the previous one. I would find friends; I would fit in; I would make better grades; I would have fun. And so I did.
My friends were not believers, not one of them. They were, however, party-ers, and so I began to 'fudge the truth' (aka, lying) with my parents and spend the night with lots of my friends, going from their homes to parties and dance clubs. Now here's where the irony comes in. I was very clear that I was a Christian, and I was very clear that God would not let me get away with my sin for too long. I was waiting for Him to catch up with me; I could feel the hunt on, and was terrified. I knew drinking was illegal for me at 16 & 17 years old. I had once heard that some people become alcoholics with their first drink, and I was certain that if I drank, the Holy Spirit would let me reap that consequence. So, I never drank anything other than tap water at these parties. And I learned what anyone who stays sober at these kinds of parties learns: being around a bunch of drunk people is boring. This is when I graduated to dance clubs. At least that was interesting. The great irony here is that I am so pitifully 'white' that dancing is the last thing I should be doing in public, not for any reason.
Several things happened as that year drew to a close, that would be difficult to explain here, but that let me know my period of quiet rebellion was about to be drawn to an end. The Scriptures say that it is the kindness of the Lord that leads us to repentance, and I can testify to that. God was quietly, but unequivocally drawing me to himself.
During that time, I 'happened' to be sitting next to my father during a Sunday morning communion service. (This was atypical for me.) Just to be clear, I was definitely a member of the Body of Christ at this point, and I knew the Scriptures said that you should not take the Lord's supper in an unworthy manner (i.e., a tainted, sinful state). I Corinthians 11 warns us that God judges those who do, some by illness, some by death. I understood that this was nothing to be trifled with, so I passed on the communion plates. In a striking break from normal patterns, my father leaned over to me in the service and asked, in the gentlest of tones, "Is there anything we need to talk about?" I practically jumped! Yes, I replied, there was.
Now, I'm no fool. I was aware that I was about to confess some pretty serious sins to my parents. So I invited them out for dinner that evening. At least they wouldn't kill me in public. During that dinner, I shared with my parents my lies and my acts of rebellion. And they didn't even raise their voices. In what is still the greatest human example in my life of God the Father's grace, my father replied, "We forgive you. We won't punish you; I don't think we could do anything worse to you than God's Spirit has already done." And it was done. I don't know anyone whose parents ever responded to them in this manner when so much blatant, rebellious sin was reported to them, but I do know that it was a Spirit-directed response. Punishment I was prepared for; grace I was not. And so yet again, His Spirit called to me gently...
The job my father received from the Lord following his exit from pastoral ministry was as a full-time Bible and theology professor at a Bible college. Thus, each of his children had opportunity to receive a full college education tuition-free from this school. Since my parents wanted each of us to attend a Bible college for at least one year prior to going elsewhere, this worked out very well...from their perspective. I, on the other hand, knew that I still wasn't fulling submitting to God, and I didn't really want to be around people who were trying to do so.
When this topic came up between my father and me one day, I learned the following: "Your mother and I will still love you, but we won't support you if you don't go to Bible college for at least one year." Now, from where I stand today, this seems reasonable. A parent isn't obligated to pay for whatever education a child wants, and if they are going to pay, then they should have some say in the matter. But at the time, what I understood was this: If I chose to run off to a state school, I would be making a break with my family that I wasn't sure I want to make.
I decided that I could 'tough out' one year at Bible college.
It took me less than two days to find the other rebellious hearts at the school. It was nice to have camaraderie, but it also made me nervous. My rebellion had never been overt or flamboyant; it was secretive. I didn't like stirring the waters, and these guys had already crossed far more lines than I ever planned to. Fortunately, God was way ahead of me.
Within the first few weeks of school, this particular Bible college has a spiritual emphasis week. Chapel time is extended and there are special events all week long to help students focus on where there hearts are before the Lord. So many things pricked at my hardened conscience that week, so many tiny intrusions of God's living Word into my damaged, aching heart.
Toward the end of the week, there was a skit presented which has been duplicated many times in many places. You may have seen it. It involved three people who were driving along and then were in a car accident. All three died, and then found themselves before heaven's gate. (Go with the intent here, as the theology is pretty sketchy.) When asked why God should let them into heaven, two of them were able to say they had believed in Jesus alone, but the third had never heard this. The latter individual was dragged off stage, while yelling at the other two, "Why didn't you ever tell me? How could you not tell me?"
It was at this moment that I began to contemplate all of the people whose lives touched mine during those last two years of high school, but who never once heard one word of Truth cross my lips. And it was as if, as I looked at my hands, that they were stained with blood, not really, but metaphorically*. I had not warned one person of their impending doom. And that guilt--genuine, hard-earned guilt--became the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. At that moment, in the quiet of that service, I repented of my sin and God's forgiveness and love flooded into my heart in such overflowing degrees that even these many years later, I choke up as I recall it. I was so very young when I accepted Christ that there was no particular feeling for me on the day. But this day, I came to understand what so many have experienced when they first repent from their sin--JOY. Unbelievable forgiveness and kindness and hope and love and JOY.
I started out weeping quietly, but by the time they did the only alter call of the week, I was blind from my tears and, I suspect, rather noisy. I stumbled forward to sign my name to a "Pact of the Cross" (or something like that), but my name was completely illegible. I just wanted to express in some way that my face was turned in the complete opposite direction of the previous two years. My heart now faced the cross and my back now faced my self.
As I retreated from the front, still sobbing uncontrollably, I found myself in my father's arms--my human father--and in my hand he placed a note:
3 John 1:4
Love, Dad
This precious passage reads, "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth." (KJV)
That day really was the beginning of a whole new journey for me, one that I share parts of here. Never again have I turned my back on my Savior as I did those last two years of high school.
You know, I still marvel at the grace that was mine. I was already His child, fully aware of the choice I was making, of the rebellion I was pursuing. And even now, I cannot believe that God would so freely and fully forgive me. It is one thing for the neighbor's child to spit in your face; it is a completely different thing--and much more painful--for your own child to do so.
And so we return to Hebrews chapter 10 and a note in my Bible:
cf (compare with) my life 1988-1990
Oh what grace is mine!
If we deliberately keep on sinning after we have received the knowledge of the truth, no sacrifice for sins is left, but only a fearful expectation of judgment and of raging fire that will consume the enemies of God. Anyone who rejected the law of Moses died without mercy on the testimony of two or three witnesses. How much more severely do you think a man deserves to be punished who has trampled the Son of God under foot, who has treated as an unholy thing the blood of the covenant that sanctified him, and who has insulted the Spirit of grace? For we know him who said, "It is mine to avenge; I will repay," and again, "The Lord will judge his people." It is a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of the living God. (vv. 26-31)
What grace is mine. And oh, what grace it is!
One final note. A few weeks into my first semester of college, I ran across this verse, which explained two things: 1.) that feeling of being in a pit, unable to be reached by anyone including God which I expressed to my school counselor; and 2.) the sense of blood-guilt* I had as I remembered the many in my high school with whom I had refused to share Christ's gift:
Surely the arm of the LORD is not too short to save,
nor his ear too dull to hear.
But your iniquities have separated
you from your God;
your sins have hidden his face from you,
so that he will not hear.
For your hands are stained with blood,
your fingers with guilt.
Your lips have spoken lies,
and your tongue mutters wicked things. --Isaiah 59:1-3
-J
(c) 2008
*For more on this concept, see Ezekiel 3:17-21.
cf (compare with) my life 1988-1990
Oh what grace is mine!
This note is found next to the following verses:
If we deliberately keep on sinning after we have received the knowledge of the truth, no sacrifice for sins is left, but only a fearful expectation of judgment and of raging fire that will consume the enemies of God. Anyone who rejected the law of Moses died without mercy on the testimony of two or three witnesses. How much more severely do you think a man deserves to be punished who has trampled the Son of God under foot, who has treated as an unholy thing the blood of the covenant that sanctified him, and who has insulted the Spirit of grace? For we know him who said, "It is mine to avenge; I will repay," and again, "The Lord will judge his people." It is a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of the living God. (vv. 26-31)
1988-1990 found me in my last two years of high school. The summer before my junior year, my father, then a pastor of a small church, was run out of his church in a most ungracious way for speaking truth. God miraculously provided a full-time job and house for our family of five (we had been living in a parsonage) within weeks.
But it wasn't God's grace at which I found myself looking. I was looking at the fact that God had said "No" to my request.
Some years earlier, I had refined my major prayer list down to two things: God, please don't let my parents die while I am young; and, please don't let my family move before I graduate from high school.
Now, when my father got run out of his church, this necessitated a move. Actually, by God's provision, we moved only about 45 minutes away, to a suburb on the other side of the large city in which we lived. But 45 minutes meant that I had to leave the high school and the status I loved so much.
You see, by 7th grade, I had had enough of this 'loser/unpopular' tag that I had acquired simply by moving into the school district a few years before, so I purposed in my heart to become--if not popular--someone everyone had to respect. This was certainly no holy aspiration; it was more like revenge. And, I accomplished this. I became active in student government and choir, played some sports (badly!), and engaged myself in just about every extracurricular activity available. I became so involved that by my sophomore year of high school, I was part of 13 different academic clubs and was an officer in half of them. And then, at the end of that year, my crowning achievement: I was elected as the vice-president of the most powerful/popular club in the school: SADD. Now this election meant that I would, upon becoming a senior the following year, become president of this club. I could not have been more thrilled. Until we moved.
Another process happened during those years, a change in my heart. You see, during my junior high years, I had become very active in our Youth for Christ club, and actually became fairly active in sharing my faith. But as the years wore on and as this unholy desire took deeper root in my heart, I unknowingly began to walk less and less by the Spirit and more and my in my flesh. By the time my sophomore year ended, I was completely off on my own, coasting in my reputation as a Christian, because it was okay to be a 'Christian' at my school. And then we moved.
At my new, 'hick' high school, it was not okay to be a Christian. Christians were openly ridiculed, and only the gooberiest kids acknowledged Christ. And in my bitterness, I decided that no one had to know that I was a Christian. And so they didn't...
I went through my last two years of high school as 'a good girl' not a Christian. And I all but dared danger to find me.
I struggled so much that first year. I had no friends (I am a very social person, and had always had a strong network of friends). I went from high grades to literally failing classes. I would ask to be excused during classes so I could go to the restroom and burst into tears. I was completely and utterly lost. During this time, one of my teachers was so concerned about me that he sent me to the school counselor. She, of course, had no idea (nor could she, as an unbeliever, understand) that my problem was a spiritual one. I was angry at God, and I knew it. I wanted Him to pay for what He did to me, and somehow I felt my bitterness was payback.
The counselor began to ask all kinds of questions about my home--fighting? abuse? etc.... However, none of those things were true. I came from a good, stable home. They weren't the issue. I was. Finally, she asked me to describe how I felt. This is one of those crystal-clear moments fixed in my mind. "I feel like I'm in a deep pit, and everyone's hand is too short to reach me." And in my mind, I added, "Including God's."
From time to time over those years, I tried to return to God, but I was never willing to do what would have to be done: Humble myself and repent of my sin. And so, I wandered, lost, into my senior year of high school.
The summer before my senior year, some of that old, unholy resolve resurfaced. I decided that I would not let the next year be like the previous one. I would find friends; I would fit in; I would make better grades; I would have fun. And so I did.
My friends were not believers, not one of them. They were, however, party-ers, and so I began to 'fudge the truth' (aka, lying) with my parents and spend the night with lots of my friends, going from their homes to parties and dance clubs. Now here's where the irony comes in. I was very clear that I was a Christian, and I was very clear that God would not let me get away with my sin for too long. I was waiting for Him to catch up with me; I could feel the hunt on, and was terrified. I knew drinking was illegal for me at 16 & 17 years old. I had once heard that some people become alcoholics with their first drink, and I was certain that if I drank, the Holy Spirit would let me reap that consequence. So, I never drank anything other than tap water at these parties. And I learned what anyone who stays sober at these kinds of parties learns: being around a bunch of drunk people is boring. This is when I graduated to dance clubs. At least that was interesting. The great irony here is that I am so pitifully 'white' that dancing is the last thing I should be doing in public, not for any reason.
Several things happened as that year drew to a close, that would be difficult to explain here, but that let me know my period of quiet rebellion was about to be drawn to an end. The Scriptures say that it is the kindness of the Lord that leads us to repentance, and I can testify to that. God was quietly, but unequivocally drawing me to himself.
During that time, I 'happened' to be sitting next to my father during a Sunday morning communion service. (This was atypical for me.) Just to be clear, I was definitely a member of the Body of Christ at this point, and I knew the Scriptures said that you should not take the Lord's supper in an unworthy manner (i.e., a tainted, sinful state). I Corinthians 11 warns us that God judges those who do, some by illness, some by death. I understood that this was nothing to be trifled with, so I passed on the communion plates. In a striking break from normal patterns, my father leaned over to me in the service and asked, in the gentlest of tones, "Is there anything we need to talk about?" I practically jumped! Yes, I replied, there was.
Now, I'm no fool. I was aware that I was about to confess some pretty serious sins to my parents. So I invited them out for dinner that evening. At least they wouldn't kill me in public. During that dinner, I shared with my parents my lies and my acts of rebellion. And they didn't even raise their voices. In what is still the greatest human example in my life of God the Father's grace, my father replied, "We forgive you. We won't punish you; I don't think we could do anything worse to you than God's Spirit has already done." And it was done. I don't know anyone whose parents ever responded to them in this manner when so much blatant, rebellious sin was reported to them, but I do know that it was a Spirit-directed response. Punishment I was prepared for; grace I was not. And so yet again, His Spirit called to me gently...
The job my father received from the Lord following his exit from pastoral ministry was as a full-time Bible and theology professor at a Bible college. Thus, each of his children had opportunity to receive a full college education tuition-free from this school. Since my parents wanted each of us to attend a Bible college for at least one year prior to going elsewhere, this worked out very well...from their perspective. I, on the other hand, knew that I still wasn't fulling submitting to God, and I didn't really want to be around people who were trying to do so.
When this topic came up between my father and me one day, I learned the following: "Your mother and I will still love you, but we won't support you if you don't go to Bible college for at least one year." Now, from where I stand today, this seems reasonable. A parent isn't obligated to pay for whatever education a child wants, and if they are going to pay, then they should have some say in the matter. But at the time, what I understood was this: If I chose to run off to a state school, I would be making a break with my family that I wasn't sure I want to make.
I decided that I could 'tough out' one year at Bible college.
It took me less than two days to find the other rebellious hearts at the school. It was nice to have camaraderie, but it also made me nervous. My rebellion had never been overt or flamboyant; it was secretive. I didn't like stirring the waters, and these guys had already crossed far more lines than I ever planned to. Fortunately, God was way ahead of me.
Within the first few weeks of school, this particular Bible college has a spiritual emphasis week. Chapel time is extended and there are special events all week long to help students focus on where there hearts are before the Lord. So many things pricked at my hardened conscience that week, so many tiny intrusions of God's living Word into my damaged, aching heart.
Toward the end of the week, there was a skit presented which has been duplicated many times in many places. You may have seen it. It involved three people who were driving along and then were in a car accident. All three died, and then found themselves before heaven's gate. (Go with the intent here, as the theology is pretty sketchy.) When asked why God should let them into heaven, two of them were able to say they had believed in Jesus alone, but the third had never heard this. The latter individual was dragged off stage, while yelling at the other two, "Why didn't you ever tell me? How could you not tell me?"
It was at this moment that I began to contemplate all of the people whose lives touched mine during those last two years of high school, but who never once heard one word of Truth cross my lips. And it was as if, as I looked at my hands, that they were stained with blood, not really, but metaphorically*. I had not warned one person of their impending doom. And that guilt--genuine, hard-earned guilt--became the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. At that moment, in the quiet of that service, I repented of my sin and God's forgiveness and love flooded into my heart in such overflowing degrees that even these many years later, I choke up as I recall it. I was so very young when I accepted Christ that there was no particular feeling for me on the day. But this day, I came to understand what so many have experienced when they first repent from their sin--JOY. Unbelievable forgiveness and kindness and hope and love and JOY.
I started out weeping quietly, but by the time they did the only alter call of the week, I was blind from my tears and, I suspect, rather noisy. I stumbled forward to sign my name to a "Pact of the Cross" (or something like that), but my name was completely illegible. I just wanted to express in some way that my face was turned in the complete opposite direction of the previous two years. My heart now faced the cross and my back now faced my self.
As I retreated from the front, still sobbing uncontrollably, I found myself in my father's arms--my human father--and in my hand he placed a note:
3 John 1:4
Love, Dad
This precious passage reads, "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth." (KJV)
That day really was the beginning of a whole new journey for me, one that I share parts of here. Never again have I turned my back on my Savior as I did those last two years of high school.
You know, I still marvel at the grace that was mine. I was already His child, fully aware of the choice I was making, of the rebellion I was pursuing. And even now, I cannot believe that God would so freely and fully forgive me. It is one thing for the neighbor's child to spit in your face; it is a completely different thing--and much more painful--for your own child to do so.
And so we return to Hebrews chapter 10 and a note in my Bible:
cf (compare with) my life 1988-1990
Oh what grace is mine!
If we deliberately keep on sinning after we have received the knowledge of the truth, no sacrifice for sins is left, but only a fearful expectation of judgment and of raging fire that will consume the enemies of God. Anyone who rejected the law of Moses died without mercy on the testimony of two or three witnesses. How much more severely do you think a man deserves to be punished who has trampled the Son of God under foot, who has treated as an unholy thing the blood of the covenant that sanctified him, and who has insulted the Spirit of grace? For we know him who said, "It is mine to avenge; I will repay," and again, "The Lord will judge his people." It is a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of the living God. (vv. 26-31)
What grace is mine. And oh, what grace it is!
One final note. A few weeks into my first semester of college, I ran across this verse, which explained two things: 1.) that feeling of being in a pit, unable to be reached by anyone including God which I expressed to my school counselor; and 2.) the sense of blood-guilt* I had as I remembered the many in my high school with whom I had refused to share Christ's gift:
Surely the arm of the LORD is not too short to save,
nor his ear too dull to hear.
But your iniquities have separated
you from your God;
your sins have hidden his face from you,
so that he will not hear.
For your hands are stained with blood,
your fingers with guilt.
Your lips have spoken lies,
and your tongue mutters wicked things. --Isaiah 59:1-3
-J
(c) 2008
*For more on this concept, see Ezekiel 3:17-21.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
How Far He's Brought Me
You know, when I look back over my blogs, one thing that strikes me is how overwhelmingly positive they are...Looking to Jesus...
This really significant to me because some years back I suffered through a clinical depression. If you're not familiar with this (and I hope you aren't) this is a period of serious depression (not just the blues) that lasts for 6 months or more. In my case, I began to heal at somewhere between 12 and 18 months. When you are depressed like this, you really cannot see the good, 'bright' and lovely things of life.
This period was a dark, terrible time in my life unlike any other. I ached physically, spiritually, and emotionally. I couldn't understand what was happening to me, and I didn't know how to 'get out of it.' I became such a different person from the person I had always been: from optimistic to complete pessimism; from self-reliant (in a healthy way) to helpless; from happy to desperate; from open to closed. I wouldn't know what had happened to me or have a descriptor (depression) for it until 3-4 years after it was all over. Having no words for it meant I couldn't even tell anyone. All I knew was that I wanted and needed OUT!
And when I say that, know that all options were on the table. Had I not had confidence that God knew what was going on and was still at work in this crazy world and life of mine, I promise you that I would not be here today. Because I had this confidence, suicide was never a serious option, but it did cross my mind. I just could not see the light at the end of this tunnel. It felt more like a cave in which I was lost, traveling ever deeper into the earth, and the voice in my head just kept saying, "Quit."
Since I pulled away from almost everyone during this time, almost no one knows how bleak my life was. Looking back, I can see classic triggers (onset of severe, undiagnosable physical pain, job loss, financial trouble) and classic symptoms (withdrawal from people, complete lack of motivation such that even dressing was a challenge, long periods of weeping though I couldn't have told you what was wrong). And classic responses--being so far away, my family didn't understand what was happening (who would guess depression?!), and this caused conflict between us. It was a truly dreadful time. I often prayed from Psalm 13:
How long, O LORD ? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me? Look on me and answer, O LORD my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death...
Now on the other side of this trial, I can understand all kinds of things about it:
· I was correct; God had not abandoned me.
· This was a very real spiritual battle, one that I was crazily losing for a long time.
· There was sin in my life that God was ferreting out.
· There were very hard lessons that I had to know that could only be taught through just such an experience.
· That a real friend is one who will tolerate you when you are in such a terrible shape.
· That healing can take a long time, but it does happen.
· What real compassion looks like, both to me and from me.
I share all this to say, that seven to eight years later I am so grateful that God has restored to me a heart that can see and appreciate what He has given and done. In some ways, I'm even better able to see... And so I know, even more than ever, that He is lovely and worthy and all.
Psalm 116 (My Testimony)
I love the LORD, for he heard my voice; he heard my cry for mercy. Because he turned his ear to me, I will call on him as long as I live. The cords of death entangled me, the anguish of the grave came upon me; I was overcome by trouble and sorrow. Then I called on the name of the LORD : "O LORD, save me!"
The LORD is gracious and righteous; our God is full of compassion. The LORD protects the simplehearted; when I was in great need, he saved me.
Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you. For you, O LORD, have delivered my soul from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling, that I may walk before the LORD in the land of the living.
I believed; therefore I said, "I am greatly afflicted." And in my dismay I said, "All men are liars."
How can I repay the LORD for all his goodness to me? I will lift up the cup of salvation and call on the name of the LORD. I will fulfill my vows to the LORD in the presence of all his people. Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints.
LORD, truly I am your servant; I am your servant, the son of your maidservant; you have freed me from my chains. I will sacrifice a thank offering to you and call on the name of the LORD. I will fulfill my vows to the LORD in the presence of all his people,
in the courts of the house of the LORD—in your midst, O Jerusalem. Praise the LORD.
In praise of His Name,
-J
(c) 2007
This really significant to me because some years back I suffered through a clinical depression. If you're not familiar with this (and I hope you aren't) this is a period of serious depression (not just the blues) that lasts for 6 months or more. In my case, I began to heal at somewhere between 12 and 18 months. When you are depressed like this, you really cannot see the good, 'bright' and lovely things of life.
This period was a dark, terrible time in my life unlike any other. I ached physically, spiritually, and emotionally. I couldn't understand what was happening to me, and I didn't know how to 'get out of it.' I became such a different person from the person I had always been: from optimistic to complete pessimism; from self-reliant (in a healthy way) to helpless; from happy to desperate; from open to closed. I wouldn't know what had happened to me or have a descriptor (depression) for it until 3-4 years after it was all over. Having no words for it meant I couldn't even tell anyone. All I knew was that I wanted and needed OUT!
And when I say that, know that all options were on the table. Had I not had confidence that God knew what was going on and was still at work in this crazy world and life of mine, I promise you that I would not be here today. Because I had this confidence, suicide was never a serious option, but it did cross my mind. I just could not see the light at the end of this tunnel. It felt more like a cave in which I was lost, traveling ever deeper into the earth, and the voice in my head just kept saying, "Quit."
Since I pulled away from almost everyone during this time, almost no one knows how bleak my life was. Looking back, I can see classic triggers (onset of severe, undiagnosable physical pain, job loss, financial trouble) and classic symptoms (withdrawal from people, complete lack of motivation such that even dressing was a challenge, long periods of weeping though I couldn't have told you what was wrong). And classic responses--being so far away, my family didn't understand what was happening (who would guess depression?!), and this caused conflict between us. It was a truly dreadful time. I often prayed from Psalm 13:
How long, O LORD ? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me? Look on me and answer, O LORD my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death...
Now on the other side of this trial, I can understand all kinds of things about it:
· I was correct; God had not abandoned me.
· This was a very real spiritual battle, one that I was crazily losing for a long time.
· There was sin in my life that God was ferreting out.
· There were very hard lessons that I had to know that could only be taught through just such an experience.
· That a real friend is one who will tolerate you when you are in such a terrible shape.
· That healing can take a long time, but it does happen.
· What real compassion looks like, both to me and from me.
I share all this to say, that seven to eight years later I am so grateful that God has restored to me a heart that can see and appreciate what He has given and done. In some ways, I'm even better able to see... And so I know, even more than ever, that He is lovely and worthy and all.
Psalm 116 (My Testimony)
I love the LORD, for he heard my voice; he heard my cry for mercy. Because he turned his ear to me, I will call on him as long as I live. The cords of death entangled me, the anguish of the grave came upon me; I was overcome by trouble and sorrow. Then I called on the name of the LORD : "O LORD, save me!"
The LORD is gracious and righteous; our God is full of compassion. The LORD protects the simplehearted; when I was in great need, he saved me.
Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you. For you, O LORD, have delivered my soul from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling, that I may walk before the LORD in the land of the living.
I believed; therefore I said, "I am greatly afflicted." And in my dismay I said, "All men are liars."
How can I repay the LORD for all his goodness to me? I will lift up the cup of salvation and call on the name of the LORD. I will fulfill my vows to the LORD in the presence of all his people. Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints.
LORD, truly I am your servant; I am your servant, the son of your maidservant; you have freed me from my chains. I will sacrifice a thank offering to you and call on the name of the LORD. I will fulfill my vows to the LORD in the presence of all his people,
in the courts of the house of the LORD—in your midst, O Jerusalem. Praise the LORD.
In praise of His Name,
-J
(c) 2007
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Vindication
As if He even needed it.
I'm not sure I remember even questioning directly, yet the thoughts still lingered around the corners of my mind: Why am I here, in the South, in this city? I, who yearned and prepared for 20+ years to go to the mission field, why am I not allowed to go? What could God's purpose be in this?
When God said stay, I said yes. And I would NOT want to move or to stay outside of His will. (Remember when the Israelites tried to take Canaan after God said they couldn't for forty more years? Disastrous!) But I think on some (and various) levels, I just wondered why. Had I done/not done something that would disqualify me? Was there sin in my life, or bad habits, that God needed eradicated? Had I so misunderstood His call as to have been misdirected for so many years? (To this, I can pretty quickly say no. I don't understand the contrast between go and don't go, but neither did Abraham when God said to offer up the son of the promise.)
I cannot fully answer this question, and perhaps I may never be able to. God doesn't promise answers. He gave us the only answer we needed in Jesus Christ. However, one thing I have seen clearly--if only in bits and pieces--is that there is purpose to God's words, and when He says something like, "Stay," there is a reason, and usually many.
Here's one. The greatest joy in my life right now is working with youth in a variety of teaching and discipleship settings. I cannot believe how wide this door has swung open to me and how effective God has made me. I am truly humbled week by week to see His Spirit speak through me ('...as if speaking the very words of God.'). Yet here is what I realized recently: To the students I teach and to their parents, I can say, as Paul did, "You, however, know all about my teaching, my way of life, my purpose, faith, patience, love, endurance..." (2 Timothy 3:10) This is a privilege that having time in/roots here has earned me. If I hadn't lived here, been proven in ministry, having simply spent the time in fellowship with and in service to this local body, I could not say, "You know all about my way of life."
If God had no other purpose for planting me in the South for nine years--and I know for a fact that He did have other purposes--this one purpose would be worth it. For it is my life, lived before this community over time, that has opened up these opportunities to minister. Because of God requiring me to stay, I am allowed to serve at levels I could never have otherwise achieved.
His plan always brings an overflow of blessings, and this is one: That I may be a known and proven quantity so that I may serve my King. I really couldn't ask for a better explanation of His direction.
As if He was required to give one.
-J
(c) 2007
I'm not sure I remember even questioning directly, yet the thoughts still lingered around the corners of my mind: Why am I here, in the South, in this city? I, who yearned and prepared for 20+ years to go to the mission field, why am I not allowed to go? What could God's purpose be in this?
When God said stay, I said yes. And I would NOT want to move or to stay outside of His will. (Remember when the Israelites tried to take Canaan after God said they couldn't for forty more years? Disastrous!) But I think on some (and various) levels, I just wondered why. Had I done/not done something that would disqualify me? Was there sin in my life, or bad habits, that God needed eradicated? Had I so misunderstood His call as to have been misdirected for so many years? (To this, I can pretty quickly say no. I don't understand the contrast between go and don't go, but neither did Abraham when God said to offer up the son of the promise.)
I cannot fully answer this question, and perhaps I may never be able to. God doesn't promise answers. He gave us the only answer we needed in Jesus Christ. However, one thing I have seen clearly--if only in bits and pieces--is that there is purpose to God's words, and when He says something like, "Stay," there is a reason, and usually many.
Here's one. The greatest joy in my life right now is working with youth in a variety of teaching and discipleship settings. I cannot believe how wide this door has swung open to me and how effective God has made me. I am truly humbled week by week to see His Spirit speak through me ('...as if speaking the very words of God.'). Yet here is what I realized recently: To the students I teach and to their parents, I can say, as Paul did, "You, however, know all about my teaching, my way of life, my purpose, faith, patience, love, endurance..." (2 Timothy 3:10) This is a privilege that having time in/roots here has earned me. If I hadn't lived here, been proven in ministry, having simply spent the time in fellowship with and in service to this local body, I could not say, "You know all about my way of life."
If God had no other purpose for planting me in the South for nine years--and I know for a fact that He did have other purposes--this one purpose would be worth it. For it is my life, lived before this community over time, that has opened up these opportunities to minister. Because of God requiring me to stay, I am allowed to serve at levels I could never have otherwise achieved.
His plan always brings an overflow of blessings, and this is one: That I may be a known and proven quantity so that I may serve my King. I really couldn't ask for a better explanation of His direction.
As if He was required to give one.
-J
(c) 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
On Discipleship
Sometimes I think I have the best life ever. And...sometimes not. But mostly these days, it is really, really good.
I am spending much time working on lessons for various discipleship activities that I am involved in, and I am enjoying both the preparation and the presentation, and I am LOVING seeing people engage God and His Word more and more.
I teach a middle school discipleship class on Sunday mornings. Some would call this Sunday School, but I like to be very specific about my intent: discipleship--Intentional training in righteousness through relationship. I find this very cool.
For years I thought I had not been discipled, but you know, that is exactly what my parents were doing all along. And while many others, mostly relatives, input into my life, I never really had someone come along and say, "I want to mentor you and help to train you in the Scriptures. I will commit myself to this." And I was so hungry for and open to this. So now I am very intentional about trying to do this for others.
I must admit, however, that this is a recent development. It took me many years to translate what I received from my parents into something I could give. I'm pretty sure that I would have no trouble discipling my own children, because this is what I saw modeled, but since I don't have children, that isn't very useful just now. But how do you do something like that when you've never seen it modeled? Jesus' primary command was to MAKE DISCIPLES, but I just never really saw people doing this. I learn best by watching others and then diving in and trying it myself. I'm very hesitant to try something I've never seen done before, so it took God's intervention to start me moving...
A few years ago, okay more like five or six, a friend of mine from church asked me to disciple her. That was pretty weird to me for a couple of reasons:
Joyfully,
-J
"Then Jesus came to them and said, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age." --Matthew 28:18-20
(c) 2007
I am spending much time working on lessons for various discipleship activities that I am involved in, and I am enjoying both the preparation and the presentation, and I am LOVING seeing people engage God and His Word more and more.
I teach a middle school discipleship class on Sunday mornings. Some would call this Sunday School, but I like to be very specific about my intent: discipleship--Intentional training in righteousness through relationship. I find this very cool.
For years I thought I had not been discipled, but you know, that is exactly what my parents were doing all along. And while many others, mostly relatives, input into my life, I never really had someone come along and say, "I want to mentor you and help to train you in the Scriptures. I will commit myself to this." And I was so hungry for and open to this. So now I am very intentional about trying to do this for others.
I must admit, however, that this is a recent development. It took me many years to translate what I received from my parents into something I could give. I'm pretty sure that I would have no trouble discipling my own children, because this is what I saw modeled, but since I don't have children, that isn't very useful just now. But how do you do something like that when you've never seen it modeled? Jesus' primary command was to MAKE DISCIPLES, but I just never really saw people doing this. I learn best by watching others and then diving in and trying it myself. I'm very hesitant to try something I've never seen done before, so it took God's intervention to start me moving...
A few years ago, okay more like five or six, a friend of mine from church asked me to disciple her. That was pretty weird to me for a couple of reasons:
- I had never done it. (And I wasn't anxious to try something I'd never seen done before.)
- She was the same age I was. (I always pictured this older to younger.)
- She was married. (How could I help her? I've never been there.)
- It didn't matter that I hadn't done it or seen it done. He could handle it; I just needed to jump in.
- It didn't matter that I was the same age. In this case at least, I had quite a few years on her--in the Lord.
- It didn't matter that she was married. Almost all of the basic issues of life are the same for married and single, and those that weren't, well, His Word was sufficient for that. I just needed to share His Word.
And so , choosing between obedience and disobedience, I jumped in. We typically met for two hours a week, and it was wonderful. At first, I was really nervous, thinking that I needed a curriculum (not bad a bad idea in some circumstances), but really, once we opened the floodgates, it just became a Bible Q&A session. My friend was inquisitive and (mostly) willing to apply God's Truth to her life. The few instances she wasn't interested, she would still hear me out. It was a wonderful first step. We met for two years, and I learned that:
- God could handle whatever was thrown my way. My only need was obedience.
- God had already supplied me with most of the knowledge and education I needed to handle this situation, and where I was insufficient, He was plenty so.
- His Word answers all the questions and needs in each person's life, no matter how different we are.
Joyfully,
-J
"Then Jesus came to them and said, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age." --Matthew 28:18-20
(c) 2007
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Easter Shoes
When I woke up that Saturday morning before Easter, I knew that I had to get a new outfit for the next day. For the past several years, in an effort to save some money, I hadn't followed my childhood tradition of getting a new Easter outfit, but on this day I just needed to. I dreaded the crowds. Only Christmas crowds are worse. But I gathered myself and made for the mall.I wandered the stores that usually yielded good finds, but to no avail. All things were ugly or too small or too old fashioned or not the right color. I couldn't find a dress, nor new slacks, nor a blouse, nor shoes. I couldn't find one thing that would make me feel ready to celebrate my Savior's resurrection. And I so wanted to go to Easter service ready in body as well as in spirit.
Nearly 8 years ago, I had been stricken with an undiagnosable joint problem. The pain in my joints prevented me from wearing heeled dress shoes, and so my wardrobe gradually moved away from dresses or skirts, away from dressing up in general. It had been years since I donned a dress, but I wanted this Easter to be special. And it could be, for three years before, God had healed me from my pain. I had just never gravitated back to anything close to dressing up.
Discouraged by the showing at the mall, I left and made for a discount shoe store down the street. At least I could find a good pair of shoes. But no luck. I shuffled up and down the aisles, looking at all sorts of comfortable shoes but not finding anything appropriate. Feeling very down, I turned to leave. As I approached the door, a woman was there trying on a pair of red, patent leather, sling-back, baby-doll-toed heels. And they were gorgeous.
A tiny idea was birthed in the back of my mind: Why not try them on? But I don't wear heels. Why not try them on? But I've never worn sling-backs (I have issues with shoes that reveal my self-described ugly feet). Just try them on. But red? It's so impractical. I'd have to buy a whole new wardrobe. Okay, try on the black ones.
They had had almost no shoes in my size in any of the styles I had looked at that day. But, bold as you please, there was a 10 in the middle of the stack of black shoes. I looked around self-consciously--as if I would be 'caught' by someone there! I grabbed some footies, slipped them on, and slid my feet into the shiny slippers.
And they fit. Perfectly. I did nearly tumble when I tried to stand in them, but that voice said, Look at how cute they are! I tried to walk. That was embarrassing. Anyone who has ever worn heels knows that it is a learned art, and apparently one that can be forgotten. But they did look good. I looked good in them. I felt absolutely frivolous as I reached for my wallet.
And they fit. Perfectly. I did nearly tumble when I tried to stand in them, but that voice said, Look at how cute they are! I tried to walk. That was embarrassing. Anyone who has ever worn heels knows that it is a learned art, and apparently one that can be forgotten. But they did look good. I looked good in them. I felt absolutely frivolous as I reached for my wallet.
At home, I tried them on with a pair of dressy pants and a blouse I really liked. I like the shoes, I liked the shirt, but the pants made everything seem wrong. Reaching to the back of my closet, I unearthed the last of a forgotten breed--a straight black skirt. It had been years, I recollected as I held the skirt in my hands, since I had worn one of these. Was I up to it?
And then that voice in the back of my head piped up again: Why not? All the reasons I had told myself over the years tumbled back into the forefront of my mind: I have ugly legs, I look better in slacks, I'm too tall to wear heels, etc. But suddenly I realized that the true hindrance was gone. I could wear heels again because when God took away my pain, He had also given me a gift--a little one, one overlooked for years. I could walk in heels without suffering inordinate pain. I could dress up again, for the pain that kept me from doing so was gone.
On Sunday morning, I left early so that I would have time to learn heel-walking again on my way into church. And by the time I arrived at the doors of the building, I was walking tall. I was also ready to worship, for I was celebrating not just my Savior's life, but the one He had given to me, and the one He had given back again.
(c) 2007
A True Story
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