what do you do...

when your heart is broken?
when people do not understand you?
when friendship is a thing to be measured in airplane tickets and fleeting moments?
when your heart is shriveling under the unrelenting, desert sun?

i cry.

when the Church fails you?
when you fail the Church?
when you don't fit into someone else's mold?
when you are judged because you are misunderstood?

i weep, and then i sleep. i wake up to weep again.

when a British band is the only sound that quiets your soul?
when a Mongolian roommate lives half a world away?
when a Tunisian cafe offers more contentment than your own home?
when a Spanish madre opens your eyes more than a college degree?

i do not know.
so, i cry. i weep. i sleep. and i weep again.

On Gifting, Or Why I Moved Overseas

I've noticed that a lot of my writing recently, whether here or for Wild Wisteria, has been reflective of my times at Ecclesia. Music, sermons, art, and moments of peace in that restful space have been my significant quiet times over the past months. This post is no exception.

1 Corinthians 12 was the source of this week's sermon (we are working through Corinthians as a church right now). In case you don't have the entire Bible memorized, 1 Corinthians 12 is Paul's talk about gifts from the Spirit to believers. Throughout this passage, it's like Paul is trying to break up silly squabbles that the Corinthians have been having: "How come he has the gift of healing? I wanted that one!" "Why does she get to be so good at having people over?" "Why do they get to be the ones up in front all the time?" "It's not fair!!!"

His basic response to the whining is: Listen, you people are like a body. A body has many parts and each part plays a valuable role in making that body a functioning, viable being. No one part is more important than the other; some parts obviously get more face time than others.



So get over it. And for crying out loud, use your gifts! If you don't, the whole body suffers.

Our pastor challenged believers to a) know what our gifts are, b) stop being ignorant about them and/or c) stop being disobedient by not using them. These are gifts from God, after all. Gifts that, when used, usher in the kingdom in powerful, unstoppable ways. So, as a dutiful church member, I started thinking about the gifts God has given me. Because I've had the privilege to go to seminary, I've already walked through the process of figuring the gifts thing out. Basically, my top three gifts are (in no particular order): faith, teaching and leading.

It's interesting how the Spirit times things. I met a friend for lunch today (her blog is here), and in the course of our conversation we started talking about women and our place in the body. As she is a new friend, we are still figuring out one another's contexts/stories. We already know that we share a passion for cross-cultural work and ministry. Today we learned that she grew up in a church tradition that has been ordaining women for over four decades; I grew up in a church tradition that still, in general, frowns upon women preaching from the pulpit (female ordination is not even on the radar screen). In the course of our conversation, I said, "You know, one of the reasons I moved overseas and became a 'missionary' after college is that my gifting doesn't have a place in the American evangelical church."

Faith, teaching and leading are great gifts to have, whether you are a man or a woman--many men in church leadership will admit this. The only problem is that in the majority of the *American evangelical church, women are only allowed to fully utilize their leadership and teaching gifts within the context of women's or children's ministries. (N.T. Wright provides a beautiful introduction to why I believe this is not a biblical stance. For a short video of Wright's explanation, click here.)

I really like kids and have put in my share of babysitting hours, but kids are not naturally drawn to me. It seems that they are automatically programmed to like my dear husband better. I also really love other women, but most women cannot relate to me because I simply do not have much in common with them.

I don't blame them--I have had a bizarre, all-over-the-place, unpredictable life and even before the bizarreness I was (and am) an independent, strong-willed and ambitious person who likes to live outside of anything 'safe.' I also can't relate to lots of women in the American church because I don't have an obvious 'motherly' instinct, my husband and I have a very egalitarian view and practice of marriage, and I do not really enjoy Beth Moore book studies.

So how, exactly, would I use my gifts to build up the church if there was no place for them there?

And here we are: why I moved overseas. In my 21-year old mind, I had not yet figured out my gifts completely, wasn't yet married and didn't really know what to do with myself. But although it certainly wasn't that clear to me then, I knew I'd be able to be who I was supposed to be if I left the environment that said I couldn't be that. So I did. And I was.

Now, several years later, I'm in America faced with similar struggles to those college days. I'll be here for a little while yet, and for the time being can't run to another place to use what He's given me. I know well enough that I can't open my own doors and that all I do is walk through the ones He opens for me. So, I'm praying that He will use the faith, the teaching and the leadership gifts in ways that never point to me, but only to Him--for the encouragement of the church and the worship of my Lover, Jesus.

*The reason I continue to qualify 'church,' is that many local bodies around the world do not have the same views about roles of men/women in the local church.

"Eye" courtesy of sodahead.com
"Women's Ministry" courtesy of wix.com

travels.

I traveled last week and was reminded once again that His creativity is simply astounding. The differences between people, places and entire cultures are astounding; and yet, He is the Father of us all.

(Houseboat, Amsterdam canal)

(English graffiti, Amsterdam)

(Bikes, Amsterdam)

(Sandals, Tunis)

("Tunis", Tunis)

Up to the Mountain

What is it about mountains that makes my soul feel peace?

My husband and I took a short vacation to Colorado to celebrate our one-year anniversary. We were both exhausted, worn, and in need of fresh air.


Our second day here, I realized that I still struggle with a very deep-set fear of being un-beautiful. This is a fear that I have fought time and time again since my freshman year of high school; usually fear wins. It is hard for me to even admit this because I am strongly feminist in many ways--women are not defined by their outward appearance but by their intelligence, character and motivations; women should be independent and not care about what others think of them; women are valuable because of their contributions to the world and not because they ‘adorn’ the world like so many ornaments on a Christmas tree.

But I do. And I know that no matter how much I desire to be transformed into who Jesus wants me to be, that desire will be hindered by my losing battle with the fear of being physically unacceptable.

The mountains draw this fear out of me and make me confront it.

------------------------

Our third day here, we were driving with a dear friend up into the mountains and a song came on the radio. I’m not one to listen to Christian radio (that’s another post for another time), but Jesus dedicated a song to me and I couldn’t resist. The song is called “Beautiful Things” - here is my favorite rendition of it:

Gungor's "Beautiful Things" (Relevant Live Version)

Much later that same day, I went on a walk by myself. The path I was following was paved with sand and fine gravel--bits of dust, really. As I alternately looked down at the ground to watch my feet and again up to the mountains out in the west, I realized that those beautiful mountains--those strong, calming, unexpected, stormy and lofty towers--are made of sand, fine gravel and bits of dust.

The ugly and unnecessary had been swallowed up into relentless Beauty.

And those mountains? Change, movement, and age continue to remake the character of each one.

They are not through yet, and neither am I.

"Des hommes et des dieux"

A disclaimer: Of Gods and Men is a French film by Xavier Beauvois, so if you don't know French or you can't handle watching subtitles, this movie is not for you.

If you fall into neither of these categories and you are remotely interested in a good/true story, history, Christian/Muslim relationships or excellent cinema, then please watch this movie. You won't regret it. And I'm pretty sure it's still at your local redbox.

Of Gods and Men is set in the beautiful mountain landscape of Algeria back in the 1990s and is based on a true and as yet unfinished story. We are introduced to a small Algerian town and its people by way of a brotherhood of Catholic missionary-monks who are there to love the people with Christ's love. It becomes apparent that the relationships between the brothers and the villagers are friendships that run deeper than a quick glance would reveal.

Each of the brothers contributes to daily chores and has his own special place at the simple monastery where they live. They are completely self-sufficient and do not drain any of the local resources--they grow their own food, make their own clothes and construct their own buildings. Their humility in learning the ways of the locals and in knowing the locals themselves demonstrates a deep desire to do something other than 'community development' or vacation (which are two of the ruts that missionaries stereotypically fall into).

------------------------------------

Rather abruptly, we are confronted with brutal scenes of the beginnings of Algeria's civil war. The brothers know that they could become targets of Muslim extremists but their leader, Christian, is convinced that the best way for them to live is to live as though dead to anything but Christ. So, they stay on. Each of the brothers experiences his own wrestlings--some more visibly and forcefully than others. An honest monk, Christophe, lies awake at night almost yelling his prayers. He is only trying to make a silent God listen.

The night comes when the feared Muslim extremists bang down their monastery gate and enter the compound demanding medical attention for one of their wounded fighters. The beloved doctor, Luc, tends to the man just as he had attended dozens of small children earlier in the day. After the warrior had been helped, Christian pointed out that it was a sacred night for them: Christmas Eve. The rebel leader apologizes for the interruption, then slips away, hidden by darkness.

The brothers, through their own personal struggles and prayers and internal turmoil, eventually are of one mind--to stay in Algeria is the only true proof of the Love that has been given to them; to move back to France would destroy all that they had previously shown of that Love. To stay: faithfulness. To leave: betrayal. And through all of the struggle, their rhythms of prayer, worship and work never change; their bonds with the villagers and each other grow even closer.

Eventually, the realities of war overtake them and all but two of the monks became hostages and then fatalities of a bitter rebellion that is still rumbling in Algeria.

But you know, and I know, that when those men were taken, their stories did not end. Because their lives ended well--in faithfulness and love--their stories were resurrected again and again in that little town. Twenty years later, and we're still talking about what love did. Love stayed, love healed the terrorist, love prayed, love worked, love did not fight, love did not run away.

Impossible, you say? Probably.

But, with hommes the things that are impossible are possible for Dieu.

Soul Space.

I promised weeks ago a review of "Des Hommes et Des Dieux." I promise I haven't forgotten my promise; I will review it and I will do my best to persuade you to see it, soak in it, dwell on it and never forget it.

In the meantime, a tasting (#4 in the series).

#1: Communication

This has been on my mind a lot because I've been forced out of my communication comfort zone this summer--pushed, shoved and otherwise prodded out of old/regular patterns (often unhealthy) and into new/unexpected patterns (hopefully healthy). I've reached the point in my life where I am in positions to make decisions that affect other people and where I have to communicate important things to other people and I've blown it over and over again in the past six months or so. Here's what I've learned:

Old communication: immediate, self-provoked, self-centered, short-term, short-sighted, careless

New communication (and this is by no means perfected): careful, God-and-others-centered, wise, long-term, honest, guarded

#2: Soul Space

What does it look like for you to have enough space for your soul to grow, hurt, feel, heal and rejoice? I've partially learned this lesson about myself many times over the past several years; I know that it involves intentional time taken for reflection, solitude, prayer and community. But this summer, I learned it in a searing, 'thou-shalt-not-forget' kind of way. This summer, I said "Yes" too many times and the practical consequence of that was that my soul did not have enough space. It lacked nourishment, it got droopy and it wasn't giving off much life.

I've been able to juggle similar consequences to "yes" before, but I couldn't this summer and I paid the price. My internal exhaustion has manifest itself in dozens of ways, both internally and externally. I realized about two months ago that I can't do this anymore. I know how I'm wired; I know that perhaps my soul needs extra time and space than others; I know, I remember and I say "no" more often than I used to.

#3 The Stupid Money System

I remarked to my husband the other day that I've always known I didn't like money for a reason. Here thousands of Americans are scrambling around and proclaiming doomsday because they've staked thousands of dollars on a gamble (sorry, Wall Street, it is what it is), while tens of thousands of Somalians are dying the slow, brutal death of starvation and Syrians are being terrorized because they want political freedom.

How does this...

...get displaced by this?

(taken on the New York Stock Exchange)

Money is Stupid, & Twisted. I wish I were brilliant enough to figure out a way around it. But it's true, what Jesus said--you can't serve Money and God.

#4: Advocating for The Other

I went to the opening of The Help with my husband and a couple of other friends (if you haven't yet seen it, you need to). I was powerfully reminded of what a dear mentor in seminary told me: "One of the most powerful ways to demonstrate and do love is to advocate for those who are not like you, for those who are Other."

After the movie, I was almost paralyzed by grief. I was thinking about racial prejudice, and famine and war and the injustice of the world in general. It seems like I can't contribute at all; that what I am trying to do isn't even a drop in the Pacific Ocean of Wrong that needs to be made Right. I had dreams last night; dreams that somehow combined the movie with Libya and sadness and the primeval desire for things to be the way they should be.

This morning, the Psalmist confronted me:

I know that the LORD secures justice for the poor
and upholds the cause of the needy.
Surely the righteous will praise your name,
and the upright will live in your presence.

(140:12-13)

I can't fathom this, and I wish that the security and upholding of justice would come more easily to my human eyes. But what else can I do but trust that the Author of paradise can remake it yet?

Why i need to dance.

God dances. No really--He does.

I'm pretty sure that after He created the world, as a part of His rest, He had the angels play some music and then He danced a jig over the beauty that is the universe (universes?) He had just hand-fashioned from nothing.

I'm also pretty sure that He danced another jig when He introduced Eve to Adam, because He was thinking, "You both reflect me--now just try and spend the rest of your lives trying to figure out how." I think He was laughing at that point, too.

There are other times that God danced, I just know it. I have a hunch that He always dances when someone responds to His invitation. How often does that happen?

I know He wants to dance with me. He is always holding out his hand, drawing me into breathtaking twirls, intimate spaces and even sometimes dissonant chords or missteps that always resolve into glorious harmony. I have only to take His hand and follow His lead. But usually I am too caught up in my own thoughts and cares that I don't see His hand or hear His voice of love welcoming me into His embrace.

Why is it so hard for me to recognize each moment as the next dance step--with Him?

Almost seven years ago, my parents gave me a book for Christmas by Ken Gire entitled The Divine Embrace. Gire uses the metaphor of dance throughout the book as a way to describe how Jesus relates to His beloved, and what that means during times of drought, hurry, hunger and joy. I re-read part of this book yesterday and realized afresh one of the reasons why it is so very difficult for me to enjoy the moment-by-moment spontaneity of the dance. Mostly, it's because I allow other voices (critics, peers, family, colleagues, perhaps even especially myself) to crowd around me on the dance floor and I lose sight of my Love. He never loses sight of me, though.

The beautiful thing about Jesus dancing is that He is a very persistent partner, and He is always ready to cut in.