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.

Discouragement with a Capital D.

Why is it so easy to become downhearted?

I think this happens to me because I too easily become a 'do-er' and not a 'be-er.'

Doing is great, of course. We were made to do, to create, to work, to make. But we were also made to be--in Him.

"In" is actually one of the most difficult words for speakers of foreign languages to understand, because in English, "in" holds several shades of meaning. In can mean physically inside or geographically near ("I'm inside the house," or "I'm in Atlanta.").

It can also take on a metaphysical, emotional or spiritual meaning. We say "She's in love with him" and "They're in a lot of trouble." It carries more of an abstract, within-the-realm-of significance.

Funny, isn't it? Jesus has a realm, and it happens to be the universe and everything else that may or may not (yet) exist. And it is He Himself. Jesus has a way that He wants things to be in His realm, and that Way is His Kingdom, the Way of all things made new, the Way of Redemption.

No wonder He tells me to be in Him, within the realm of who He is and what His way signifies (Redemption). When I am doing too much, I cannot see His realm--or live within it--very well at all, so of course discouragement comes with a Capital D.

So today, and hopefully tomorrow, I will focus more on being and less on doing. That is the "in" more complex than I can comprehend and yet so simple a little girl could understand it.

Tree of Life: Reviewed

The range of responses to the film Tree of Life have been varied. Garance Franke-Ruta (senior editor for politics at The Atlantic) reported that after a viewing of the movie in Washington, D.C., the "entire row was like YES! Is it over? Thank God it is finally over. Then burst out laughing." (via Twitter) New York Times reporters Manohla Dargis and A.O. Scott recently wrote a piece entitled "In Defense of the Slow and the Boring," in which Tree of Life was given as a prime example. My husband just plain didn't like it.

But, oh my. Tree of Life is a priceless treasure given to the human soul. Let me here offer an attempt at an explanation. My thoughts on the movie--Terence Mallick's Cannes-honored masterpiece--follow two main threads.

I have heard stories of the world's creation my entire life. God created the world and the universe and now it all exists, I was told. And I firmly believe that He did, and that it does--but my imagination had never yet tried to plummet the sheer awesomeness that those first moments, days and years must have been. Tree of Life changed that. My senses were overwhelmed with the colors and shapes and music and light that told the story of those moments. My whole self knew that even if it wasn't an exact representation of creation's history, it was at the very least an almost-tangible re-telling of what might have been. There was no speaking--no words were necessary. The sight of worlds colliding and oceans rushing and plants and animals bursting into life was enough and more than enough. The sounds of violins, pianos, cellos, trumpets, drums, and human voices worked together to show the symphony that is the beginning of existence as we know it. One specific scene caused me great longing for what was at the beginnings of time was a scene involving dinosaurs--an expected predator does not kill what we expect to be his prey, but instead walks away and lets the obviously weaker one live. What if the world still revolved around grace like that?

But what does all of this have to do with the story of the 1950s Texas family, the O'Briens? The connection and its translucence is why Tree of Life won't appeal to a wide audience--and also what makes it so valuable. The O'Briens have received news that a beloved son has unexpectedly passed away (we are never told the circumstances surrounding his death). Immediately, the mother begins to ask God the question that every mother in her situation would ask: Why? As she asks within herself, we are then swept into the grandeur of the creation scenes. The vision is so utterly immense that it *almost* swallows her question. But not quite. (I won't give more details for those of you who actually want to go see it for yourselves.) It does, however, certainly put her question into perspective.

This connection is not the other thread I wish to unravel, however. The other is, instead, the mother herself (played by Jessica Chastain). Mrs. O'Brien, as portrayed by Malick, is the woman I hope to be. She sees the beauty in each moment and gives all of herself to whatever and whoever is in front of her. Time does not dominate her existence; grace does. She plays hard, she works hard, she loves hard. The every day triumphs and challenges of being a mother and a wife--she takes them all in stride and is not dominated by anything except the sheer pleasure of existence. Plain is never plain, it is an opportunity for glorious discovery and joy. Even in the face of her beloved son's death, Mrs. O'Brien does not allow bitterness to take over. Grief? Yes, she grieves. She grieves deep and she grieves long. But in the sanctuary of creation, she understands that the purpose of it all--her life, her son's life, his death, her suffering--is literally swallowed up by Life. The genius of Malick's film is that the medium of film itself accomplishes what screenwriter's can only hope that words communicate. Mrs. O'Brien is light--and she is visibly surrounded by light at all times. Her life is a song, and her beauty is accompanied by the most exquisite symphonies.

So go see Tree of Life. You may not like it. Or it may move you as it did me: eternally.

A Tasting, #3

Welcome. It's been a too-long while since I last posted. Why is it that when I get too busy, my writing (my love!) is the first thing to go? Until I figure that out and fix it... bear with my pent-up ramblings--this time the 'wine tasting' will be through wild vineyards of California rather than staid, established vineyards of France.

#1: Road Trips

Road Trips have the potential to be awesome and wonderful and epic and scenic and unforgettably life-changing.

They simultaneously have the potential of being terrible and awful and long and hot and tired and dreadfully revealing about the true state of the human (read: my) human heart.

#2: Spinach Lasagna, and Beer

Houston is growing on me, a little bit. (Gasp!) Probably, it's for these reasons:

• Houston is where I learned my husband makes killer spinach lasagna.
• Houston has St. Arnold's beer (which, by the way, goes great with spinach lasagna--especially the summer pils variety)
• Houston is the home of Ecclesia Church.
• Houston has other people who love Jesus and want to follow Him, no matter what it costs. We got to eat lunch with a couple of those people yesterday, and it was glorious.
• Houston is yet another monument to the fact that I need to change, and that I am farther from being like Jesus than I previously thought.

#3: How to Train Your Dragon

This movie came on HBO yesterday. I'd seen it before--a wonderfully well-animated and written 'children's film.' It almost brought me to tears. Am I really that pathetic?

No. I refuse to believe that I am that pathetic. I think there really is something deep inside me (and you?) that longs for peace and reconciliation between everyone and everything--humans and humans, humans and plants, humans and animals, humans and elements, humans and themselves, humans and God. Romans 8 communicates that Creation also longs for peace and reconciliation between everyone and everything:

We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. (vv. 22-25)


#4: The Bible is not a Magic Wand


I will reflect on this more fully in (a) later post(s), but I have noticed more and more lately that many Christians use the Bible like a magic wand. My own theory is that this is based on a faulty understanding of Isaiah 55:11 ("...so is My word that goes out from My mouth: It will not return to Me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.").

The Bible is not a magic wand. It is not a tool. It is not something that we can wield and/or control.

It is the word of God. It is living, and it is powerful. But it is not a handy supply of fairy dust.

#5: This picture is cool.

I used to dream for hours on swings. And probably my favorite thing ever between the ages of 3-10 was when my dad would push me on the swing and sometimes even grab the swing, run behind it and then run under it while letting it go--gosh I was a bird in those days. Thanks, A.

fb.

I 'gave up' facebook for Lent.

Let me just say: it was long overdue.

Don't get me wrong--I love being social. I love people and I love pictures and I love faces. But facebook, for me, had become like an appendage.

When is it ever okay for a time-wasting, privacy-destroying, ego-building, everybody-look-at-me-and-my-life-and-what-i'm-doing-and-quoting WEBSITE to become like an appendage?

Obviously, I needed a break. But now Lent is over and I can go back to facebook. Funny thing, though--now that I've experienced freedom from the burden (yes, I said it!) of facebook, I find myself truly hesitant to return, no matter how reformed my ways may now be.

So, I'm going to hold off for a bit longer. And I am going to enjoy every single minute of it.

the honesty of today.

to be bluntly honest, i am tired today. bone-and-flesh decaying, soul-wearying, mood-altering: tired.

i am tired of misunderstanding, tired of grief, tired of poverty; tired of unfulfilled desire, tired of always wanting the next thing, tired of...trying.

come, O Rest, and share Your burden with Your daughter--You promised it was light and I need You to come through.

unfair generosity

I have been starting to write this blog in my head for a few months now, but something more pressing or important always seemed to budge in front and take priority before I could actually write it.

Most days, I have a fairly substantial commute to work. Usually, I don't mind the heaviness of the traffic (although the apparent lack of intelligent drivers is disconcerting), the amount of time spent in the car or the suffocating concrete that covers pretty much everything. In fact, as long as I keep a sharp eye out for drivers who aren't keeping a sharp eye out, I generally have some good time of reflection and talking to Jesus. But no matter how lost I am in my own thoughts as I exit onto the interstate, He always points out the migrant workers that are standing underneath the mammoth concrete overpass just waiting for someone--anyone--to drive by and hire them for the day. Always. And then He always reminds me of the parable of the hired workers (in Matthew 20.1-16).

Finally, after months of driving by these men and being reminded that they teach us about the Kingdom, too, I looked up the parable and read it through in its entirety this morning.

The owner of a vineyard goes out one morning and hires a few day-laborers, agreeing to pay them a day's wage for their work. Then he goes out later in the morning and hires a few more day-laborers, agreeing to pay them what is right. Again, at noon and 3:00pm he goes out and does the same thing. Finally, at 5:00pm he once more goes in search and finds some day-laborers who still have not been hired. He asks them why they aren't doing anything and they answer simply: because no one had hired them. So, he tells them to come work for him in his vineyard.

An hour later, the day-laborers line up to receive their wages. The owner starts paying the last-hired first--and he gives them each the equivalent of a day's wages! The workers hired early in the morning begin to get excited because they think they will now receive many times more than a day's wages, as the owner has shown some extravagant generosity to the least worthy.

But the owner pays all the workers the same. The ones who have worked 12 hours get the same salary as those who have worked one hour. Those who worked all day are shocked and angry. "When they received [the day's wage], they began to grumble against the landowner.‘These who were hired last worked only one hour,’ they said, ‘and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the work and the heat of the day.’"

I admit I identify completely with the seemingly nubbed day-laborers. That is not fair. It is infuriating, it is insulting, it is unjust...it's just plain wrong. I can hear the empathetic, grumbling voice in my head. What could possibly be right about this situation? How in the world is Jesus going to pull out a 'teaching point' from this one?

But he answered one of them, ‘I am not being unfair to you, friend. Didn’t you agree to work for a denarius?Take your pay and go. I want to give the one who was hired last the same as I gave you. Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?’ 

Ouch.

My mind went two directions:

1) Have I made some sort of agreement with God to lock myself into a good deal?
and
2) I actually thought of two people that God has been generous to in ways that I consider significant. I realized that yes--I am envious of that generosity. It's not fair that they are doing things I want to and should be doing. It's not right and it's...insulting.

As I hear the grumble rising in my throat, I realize that my response reveals the true state of my heart. The point of the parable, you see, is that generosity by its very definition is unfair. Jesus reminds me that the receiver is always indebted to the Giver. And everything He gives--no matter how big or small--is unfairly generous. How could I question the Owner about the quantitative distribution of His resources?

God help me.

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

Those migrant workers are hired some days. Other days, they are still waiting when most people are driving home. But hired workers fit right into God's economy:

“So the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

The Horse Who Ran.

Sometimes the truths of Freedom and Grace overwhelm me in utterly subversive ways.

Today, for instance. (This morning to be exact.)

As my husband and I attend a Saturday evening church service, Sunday mornings are typically unhurried, restful, contemplative, joyful. This morning after we fixed our "Weekend Special" breakfast, we decided to watch a movie we had rented two days previously but had not yet found the time to enjoy: Secretariat.

If you don't know the story of this incredible racehorse, you can read about him here, or purchase his biography here.

Secretariat was a stallion owned by Penny (Chenery) Tweedy back in the 60s and 70s. In 1973, he became the first racehorse to win the Triple Crown (the Kentucky Derby, Preakness Stakes and Belmont Stakes all in one year) in twenty five years. And he did not just win all three--he won resoundingly. In fact, the records he set at the Belmont have yet to be broken.

You see, Secretariat had a rival: Sham. Sham had beaten Secretariat earlier in the season, but Secretariat came back to win with the Derby and the Preakness. However, at the start of the Belmont, Sham and Secretariat were neck-and-neck. Then, Secretariat ran.

He ran and he ran and he ran. He ran so fast that he was almost flying. He ran faster and faster and faster and pretty soon the television cameras could barely keep him and the next-fastest horse in the same screen. He won that race by 31 lengths.

Secretariat was running that way because he was made to run that way. He was made to run and defy the odds and take everyone by surprise and triumph.

I couldn't help it. I began to weep. And it was because I knew that I was made to run like that, and I was made to win. Sure, I stumble and fall, but Oh! to be able to run--fly--Live in the freedom and grace I've been given.

That is the race you and I were made for.

the pimp.

I teach a couple of online classes for a Bible college. Part of the structure of these classes involves required forum participation--which takes the place of normal classroom ‘face time.’ Students have to respond to an original prompt and then interact with one other after original responses have been written.

Today, as I was scanning student entries, I stumbled across this quote:

“We do at times pimp our Lord and He is not pleased with our actions.”

My first reaction was out-loud, prolonged laughter--’Seriously?!’

I have never heard someone say that in all of my years. I’ve never even heard anything come close to that.  Hil.Ar.I.Ous.

But I have to admit--part of my response was pure joy. It was honestly refreshing to be confronted with an entirely unorthodox and keenly vivid metaphor describing the way we try to elicit what we want--try to ‘skim a little off the top’--try to control or manage an utterly abysmal cycle of selfishness and greed.

‘Yes,’ I thought, ‘That is exactly what we do. We try to be nice to Him, feed Him a diet designed to keep His figure, let Him sleep in a nice, posh house with lots of entertainment, let Him ride around with us in a pimped-out car and then sell Him whenever we need a little extra cash. Of course, He’s never allowed to leave or make friends with other people or try a new line of work, because then where would we be?’

It’s sad. It’s disgusting.

It’s true. That’s what we do. And it feels good to stare it in the face and call it what it is.

The comment arose in the context of talking about symbolism in Jeremiah. One of the examples that came up was the symbolism of unfaithfulness in a marriage relationship. (Jeremiah 2 is one of the pertinent passages.) Yahweh compares His people to prostitutes, donkeys in heat, wasted slaves and corrupt vines. In fact, the more we read Jeremiah and really allow ourselves to see the pictures God has painted about His relationship with people, the more we see that placing anyone, anything, any idea, any promise, or any love above Him is essentially a defiant shout of rebellion, a bitter shaking of the fist, a manipulative attempt to control the (all-powerful) Situation, and a cleverly disguised coup on the authority and grace of Goodness.

This is our ‘pimping of God.’

And this is how we break the cycle:

“Return, faithless Israel,’ declares the LORD, ‘I will frown on you no longer, for I am faithful,’ declares the LORD, ‘I will not be angry forever. Only acknowledge your guilt—you have rebelled against the LORD your God, you have scattered your favors to foreign gods under every spreading tree, and have not obeyed me,’” declares the LORD.” (Jeremiah 3:12-13)

Return.

An Impossible, Incredible Dinner

Last week in conversation class, I gave my students the task of working with a partner to choose eight people to invite to a banquet that they (the students) would host. These eight people could include anyone dead or alive, excluding members of their families. They had to tell me why they selected these particular eight people, what kind of food they would serve to their guests and what the location of the meal would be.


Most of the students seemed to enjoy imagining this kind of opportunity and put some real thought into who they would invite. I imagine it has something to do with hospitality being an almost-universal value, regardless of culture or background. So, my dear international students--representing Korea, Angola, Saudi Arabia, Libya, Taiwan, China and Turkey--chose the following people with just a tiny bit of overlap:


The NBA Dream Team (a.k.a Michael Jordan, Derek Bird, etc.)
Michael Jackson
President Barack Obama (USA)
Oprah
President Nicolas Sarkozy (France)
Beyoncé
Li'l Wayne
Neil Armstrong
Jesus Christ
Muammar Qadhafi
President Lee Myung-bak (Korea)
Famous physicists (I can't remember their names right now)
best friends
President Abdallah ibn Khalifah Al Thani (Qatar)
Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdoğan (Turkey)
Martin Luther King, Jr. (who was originally listed as Malcolm X until I intervened)
me


I found the lists of invitees interesting, to say the least. I was surprised that the Prophet Mohammed didn't make the list (most likely there is a cultural reason to explain why he didn't and I'm just not aware of that reason). I was surprised that Oprah did make the list (in two cases: Angola/Saudi). The reasons they gave were fascinating, but they can generally be categorized into wanting to ask 'Why' a person did something or 'How' they did something or just to be in the presence of 'greatness.'


Then I got to thinking: how would I answer this question? I give my students these assignments and then shy away from doing the work myself. So, to exercise some part of my brain (whatever part it may be), I've written up a (shorter) list of invitees and why I would invite them. Disclaimer: This list could change depending on the day. :)


1. Victor Hugo: His writing has transformed not just a few people but thousands over the years. The brilliance of his style, vocabulary, ability to communicate the deepest truths of reality through storytelling are unmatched. I dream of reading Les Miserables in the original French one day.


2. Queen Elizabeth I: A woman of power, skill, bravery, intelligence and pride who lived during a time when women weren't supposed to be any of those things: I think yes.


3. Enkhsaikhen: I've actually met this man before and he changed my life forever. I have so many more questions for him now. What happened that this staunch, intellectual atheist began to desperately follow the Way of Christ? What kind of opposition did he face? How good was his translation of the Bible? If he could go back to Mongolia now, what would he do there?


4. Deborah: Mostly, I want her to tell me what it's like being a recognized and valuable prophetess. What does it look like for a woman to pursue a calling, even when that calling is 'different'? What did it take for her to be able to sing through her days?


5. C.S. Lewis: The brilliance and approachability of this man's writing is admired by people inside and outside the Church and I firmly believe that this kind of mutual respect should happen more often. I want to ask him about his writing process, about The Inklings, about Oxford and about his wife.


6. Henri Nouwen: I want to see the sacrifice and love for humans written on his face. I want to hear the voice that spoke communion to hundreds of special needs people. I want to experience his words in real life.




Who would you invite?

Little House on the Prairie

When I was growing up, I got to visit my grandparents every other year or so (they lived two full days' drive away). We would stay for two weeks or so before making the long trek home. Going to their house was--and still is--like going home. In some ways, it even still feels more like home than where my parents live because they have not moved in 45 years. I can picture every corner and crevice of their home vividly and I can still taste the hot tea and Dutch biscuits that we ate daily at tea time.

In my younger years, one of our afternoon traditions was taking our tea while watching 'Little House on the Prairie.' These Michael Landon classics came on like clockwork at 4pm and we (my grandmother, mother and I) would sit in the den with our tea cups, saucers and biscuits precariously balanced on knees, pillows and end tables as we watched the unfolding drama of the Ingalls with rapt attention. I, of course, had read all of Laura Ingalls Wilder's books multiple times and was well-acquainted with the personalities of all the characters. Laura was always my favorite and I used to get lost in dreaming of my life as her.

[Aside: Often I wonder if the amount of reading I did as a child influenced me more than normal. When I think about it, I am really, scarily like the character of Laura Ingalls....]

The real Laura Elizabeth Ingalls Wilder

Today, I need to rest. So, after accomplishing a few necessary tasks, I put the tea kettle on to boil this afternoon and turned the t.v. on. Sure enough, a Little House marathon is on the Hallmark channel right now and I am immediately at Granny's house, watching the laughter light up her eyes into that familiar crinkle, listening to tea cups clink delicately as we imagine what it means to be the pioneers of yesterday even as we pioneer life today, in different ways.

The Road Not Taken

I have always loved Frost's poem.

Yesterday, I went on a walk through a delightful German wood. I stumbled across this intersection of paths and immediately was drawn into the symbolism of those paths, that poem and my life. I have always wanted to take the road less traveled by and words cannot describe how thankful I am to have stumbled across other people taking it, too.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Tom Wright: Women in Church Leadership

If you don't care about church stuff, this video is not for you. It is, however, for anyone who gives any sort of thought to how the Church reflects the gospel.



Thanks to Scot McKnight for posting this.

the promise of tomorrow.

my whole being is literally aching for tomorrow to happen.

whenever i cross an ocean, something Big starts to happen. i have been pulled in ten thousand directions over the past month so i haven't been able to revel in the fact that--

tomorrow, i am crossing an ocean. and there will be no going back to the way things are now or to the way they used to be.

tomorrow.

Lent, and Compassion

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of the Lenten season. If people know anything about Lent, they probably know that Ash Wednesday marks the start of "give something up" for forty days before the celebration of Resurrection: coffee, alcohol (wine, beer or both), chocolate, bacon, facebook, and t.v. are some examples I've heard in the past.

But Lent is not just "giving something up." It is a time of finding ways to intentionally turn our hearts toward Salvation, of celebrating Him who became nothing so that we could have Him.

One of the most remarkable things about Salvation is that He was (is) always compassionate. When He was tired, when He was trying to be alone, when He was with sinners, when He was fasting, when He was with saints-- He was the heart beating: I love you. I will give everything for you.

I was reminded of this Salvation-Compassion today by reading part of a manuscript from Brennan Manning's 1996 talk at Seattle Pacific University. I've copied and pasted the part I read below; even though it is lengthy (and I don't like lengthy blogs!), I hope that you will read it and learn as I did what it means to celebrate the One who gave everything up.

If you claim the name Christian, you must answer I exist for the sake of Christ. He is the center of reality, the reason for its existence. If any of you are in Christ, you are a new creation.

In Matthew 5:48, Jesus says be perfect as your heavenly father is perfect.

In Luke 6:36 Jesus says be compassionate as your heavenly father is compassionate.

Biblical scholars tell us that the two words, perfect and compassionate, can be reduced to the same reality. Their conclusion? To follow Jesus in his ministry of compassion precisely defines the biblical meaning of being perfect as the heavenly father is perfect. For Jesus, compassion is the central quality of God and It means to feel as God feels, act as God...means the same as the other gospel, more abstract command, ‘to love.’

...There is one man whose impact on my life towers above everybody else. A man, who by the way he lived, taught me to read the scriptures in an entirely different light. He was the most Christlike man I’ve ever known. His name, Domique Wyome. He was the leader of our community, in France, the little brothers of Jesus, who live a life of manual labour by day with the poor, the nights wrapped and in silence, solitude and prayer...Dominique Wyome was the leader of our group. It was New Year’s morning. There were seven of us seated around the table. The conversation got animated when the subject turned to our daily employment. The German brother in our group remarked that our wages were substandard...I commented that our employers were never seen in the parish church on Sunday mornings. The French brother said that his boss was rude and greedy. The Spanish brother added in that they are all a bunch of hypocrites. Well, our tone got more caustic our salvos got heavier. We concluded that our avaricious bosses were nasty, self-centered Cretans who lay in bed all day on Sunday drinking wine and never once lifting their hearts or minds in thanksgiving to God.

Dominque sat at the end of the table and throughout our entire harangue he never once opened his mouth. I looked down at him and saw the tears rolling down his cheeks and I asked him, "What's the matter Dominique?" All he said was "mea cumpapa, mea compaap." "They don’t understand. They don’t understand."

How many times over the years that single sentence of Dominique’s has turned resentment of mine into compassion, how many times have I read the passion narratives in the four gospels and seen Jesus in the throes of his death agony, beaten, scourged, spit upon, and He is crying out to his father on behalf of his killers – “Father forgive them, mea culmpapa.”

It was the following year Dominique Wyome learned that he had inoperable cancer and with the permission of the community he moved from this little village up to Paris where he had some family.

He took a job as a night watchman in a factory. And every morning when he got off work at 7:00, instead of going to his little rented apartment, he went to a park directly across the street from the apartment. And hanging around in the park were all these marginal people; winos, drifters, has-beens, moral failures, dirty old men who would ogle girls as they passed by. Every morning, Dominique sat with them. He brought candy; shared it out among them.

And never once did he scold them, never once did he criticize them, never once did he reprimand them. He just gave off a peace, a serene sense of self possession that caused cynical young men, and defeated old men to gravitate toward him like bacon toward eggs. His simple witness to Christ lay in accepting others as they were, where they were without questions and allowing them to make
themselves at home in his heart.

Dominque Wyome was the most nonjudgmental man I’ve ever known in my life. He got along famously with sinners. He lived these words of Jesus in Luke 6, “Be compassionate as my heavenly father is compassionate. Don’t pick on people. Don’t jump on their failures. Don’t criticize their faults, unless of course you want the same treatment. Don’t condemn those who are down. That hardness of heart can boomerang. Be easy on people. You’ll find life a lot easier."

One day in the park, these ragtag group of losers asked Dominique to share a little bit of his own life. In five minutes he gave them a thumbnail sketch of his life. Then he walked over to a wino sitting on a park bench. He took him by the ear and he said, “Hear me and hear me well. Your heavenly father loves you so tenderly, so stubbornly, so relentlessly, so unconditionally, that he sent the only son he ever had specifically for you. Jesus didn’t come for the good guys with the white hats. He came for poor, weak, sinful men and woman with hereditary faults and limited talents. He came for moral outcasts; for marginal people like you.”

Dominique’s word was completely believable, totally credible because it was enfleshed in his bones.

Later, one of the old timers said that from that morning on the wino never took another drink, and from that morning on all the dirty jokes, the vulgar language, the leering of the girls – it all just
stopped.

One morning Dominique didn’t appear on his park bench. The guys wait a couple hours, they get concerned. They walk across the street to his apartment. The door was open. They look in. They found Dominique dead on the floor of his apartment. He died in the utter obscurity of the Parisian slum.

The Dominque Wyome I knew never tried to impress anybody. He never gave off any pretense of goodness. He never wondered if his life was useful or if his witness was meaningful. He never felt he had to do something great, some fantastic achievement for God.

What he did do, that no one knew about ,was he kept a daily journal. It was found on the nightstand by his bed after he died. And the last entry he made is one of the most astonishing things I've ever read:

“All that is not the compassion of God has no meaning for me. I can truthfully say that, by the grace of God, I have no interest in anything except sharing the compassion of the Father which is in Christ Jesus. If God wants it to, my life will be useful through my words and my witness. But the usefulness of my life is His concern, not mine, and it would be indecent of me to worry about that.”

In typical Little Brothers’ fashion, Dominique’s body was taken from Paris back down to the…village…and the body is placed on the dining room table. There are two lit candles placed at each end....

I was there that nite for the wake...7,600 people came from all over Europe.

I will never forget an elderly black guy. The entire night he stood by the dining room table with his hand on Dominique’s shoulder. So after a couple hours, I walked up to him and asked, “Did you know Dominique well?” He said, “That’s the only Jesus I ever knew.”

--------------------------------------------
...I want to emphasize this: compassion is a spirituality of meat and not of milk...Compassion requires a great deal of maturity, a big heart, a willingness to risk. It also requires enormous courage and a great deal of imagination. The compassionate lifestyle is a new way of living in which comparisons, contrasts, rivalries, competition, and power trips are left behind.

Ending prayer:
My prayer for you is that you will be graced with the courage, the wisdom, the maturity, the willingness to risk ,and the imagination and the compassion to set free the song that now sleeps in the wounded flesh of a brother or a sister. Will you gently close your eyes and join me in prayer.

As the old quaker phrase goes, just center down, sink in to the center of your soul, become aware of the indwelling presence of God, grow still and listen as Jesus says:

“My friend, I have a word for you.

I know what is inside your heart. I see your courageous impotent compassion and your fears and the tears you would cry if you could.

And I do so love you.

I feel how you hate your own selfishness. When you see my poor ones on the street, I melt as you detest your defenses against them. I feel your deep heart’s secret. You wish you wouldn’t run away but could embrace the poor, love them completely, caress their souls.

And I do so love you.

I know how you feel down deep when you lock your door to your room, feel secure, order a pizza, try to enjoy your few possessions. I know your dis-ease, your unrest. And, I drink from your discomfort and I find it good. You are so rarely aware of me. How I embrace you as you read the morning paper. How my breath is on your hair as you listen to the evening news. If you only knew how completely surrendered I am to you, you could not help but surrender to me. I have a dream for you and I’ll never let it go. Your fear says you can do so little, you can only bear so much, you simply have to cope.

And I do so love you.

Open to me, my beloved friend, in this moment and the next, surrender to my compassion and let your surrender be so complete and so utterly pure that the only thing left that is yours is the love in your heart. No plans for tomorrow, no strategies for next week, no comprehending of anything. No defenses, no coping, no adjustment, no compromise, only compassion.

Compassion...compassion delicate, compassion fierce...compassion angry, compassion triumphant, compassion aching, compassion driving you crazy.

Bear with me, when you cannot feel my presence, when I seem like nothing to you, in that moment cling to me in an ever greater trust. And know that I am with you every day until the end of time. My little one, surrender to me and I will change your name. You shall no longer be called wounded, outcast, lonely, or afraid....

King's Cake???

How sad is it that I have never heard of--much less seen!!--a 'King Cake' in my entire life? I would say: pretty sad.

I realized the depth of my embarrassing cultural ignorance only when one of my Canadian co-teachers said, 'Wow, you've never seen one of those? I'm from Canada and I know King Cake.' (Read: Are you truly an American?)

In case there are any other ignorant Americans out there, here is a picture of a King Cake so that at least you will not be caught completely unawares when accosted by one in the street:

Apparently, there is a little 'trinket' hidden inside the cake (often a Baby Jesus figurine) so that the person who gets the slice with the hidden trinket also receives special privileges and duties:

In this part of the country (i.e. anywhere within 600 miles of New Orleans), King Cake has something to do with Mardi Gras/Carnival and the arrival of the Lenten season.

So, here I go to try some King Cake. I'm not sure if I actually want the special trinket because I have no idea what 'special privileges and duties' I would receive. A ver....

walking in nature.

today, i walked. i walked for two hours. i walked in nature, away from interstates, cars and pollution. i walked with my husband. i walked on paths, paved and dirt.

there is something about breathing fresh air that is insanely freeing and alive.

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

you know something? Jesus walked. He walked on Earth; He walked on earth. He breathed it and ate it and slept it.

Yesterday, I saw video footage of the place He walked. I cried, uncontrolled, for an entire hour because I couldn't stop looking at the place where He walked. He lived there, breathed the dust, argued in the markets to get a better price for food there, celebrated there, wept there.

Jerusalem. City of Peace. Have you ever known peace?

You, O City--the center of religious worship and yet somehow conflict centuries after centuries--have embodied the futile quest of humans trying to make their own peace without involving the Prince of Peace in it.

And yet, He's chosen you, dear City, as His platform to say this:

Death, where is your victory? And where, O grave, is your sting? I've conquered you, and my loved ones are chained to you no longer. So be banished, while we sing and dance on your grave, O grave.

You can no more defeat peace than My body can decay.

A Tasting, #2

Welcome, friends. Come in, sit down and join me for a taste of wine (malbec) and bread (muesli).

So much is going on--serious first, then light-hearted.

1. This man is an absolute terror. And yet, he too is loved by God with the same, rock-solid, deep and intimate love that Jesus showed me so many years ago. My mind is still so oriented towards 'achieving' or 'earning' love that initially, cognitively, I question whether this can really be so. Deep down, I know that if it is not true, then I am just as condemned as he is. How will my thoughts, speech and behavior be changed by the fact that one of the craziest, most hated and ridiculous men on the face of the earth was worth the Son of God dying for?

2. A few thoughts from this past weekend, and excerpts I sent to a friend after:

"For the past couple of months, our church has been going through a season of reflection on heaven. it has been really amazing, because we are just surrounding ourselves with the promise of the way things ought to be and the way they WILL be. Yesterday evening there was a different guy (not our pastor) speaking. He started talking about the yearning that we have deep within us--that kind of intense desire for something Better that CS Lewis writes about--and how, if we let ourselves be affected by what's going on around us (that is, what is broken and twisted and unfair) that longing becomes even more deep so that it surprises us with its intensity. But, he said, that intensity is not just to have but to use. We know that things are not as they should be, therefore we should agitate (that's the word he used) against the way things are because then we get to be a part of Redemption making things as they should be. Endure, because as we endure, we get to taste ever more deeply of the Great Story that will soon envelope us all.

Our church uses The Voice translation (not popularly known yet but i encourage you to check out the website if you can, www.hearthevoice.com). I don't have a physical copy so I can't give you the translation of Hebrews 11:1 that was used. But here it is from The Message:

The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith, is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living. It's our handle on what we can't see.

In The Voice translation, the essence is that the strong conviction that we have in Him--that yearning that betrays our deep-down knowledge--is the certainty of living towards and in the Great Reality of His kingdom: heaven come to earth. So, my prayer for you...is this: that the way things are will only convince you more strongly to fight against the current situation and to fight for the way things should and will be one day."

3. All of the above thoughts lead to another: I am NOT crazy for being an idealist, and for feeling more disappointed than others about the way things are. It is okay--more than okay--to rage against the broken-down, tired and unfair machine.

And, to the lighthearted...

4. What is the appeal of this man? There's the obvious: First, he is British and has a British accent. Second, he is an incredible actor with a breathtaking repertoire. Third, he is incredibly witty and humble. But, there is something beyond the obvious and I think it's called Mysterious.

5. This past weekend, Randall and I got to hang out with a couple of my Saudi students. These two guys are an absolute RIOT. We watched YouTube clips of people drifting their Toyota Corollas in Saudi Arabia, driving on two wheels in their LandCruisers in Saudi Arabia and laughed till we cried watching Russell Peters' ethnic impressions of Arabs (don't go there unless you can take a little profanity). They fixed a traditional Saudi dinner for us (kepsa), which we ate the traditional way: seated on the floor and eating with our right hands. They are a little bit worried that they will catch some slack because of the Saudi guy that was arrested in northern Texas for suspected bomb plotting, but hopefully it won't be too much.

6. If you are ever having a bad day, you should do whatever it takes to find this place:

Then you should go inside and allow your senses to be overwhelmed with what I can only assume to be a literal taste of heaven, much better than any tasting I can offer you here.

Until next time....go in peace.

khongoroo.habibi.amor.dod. lover.

This is a post about the language of love.

This post is dedicated to my husband, Randall.

Normally, I shirk away from being public at all with something that may be perceived as "mushy," "gushy/girly," or otherwise annoying. But today, I give myself an exception because today we have been married for six months.

Six months ago, I woke up (if that's what you can call barely sleeping for only two hours), and I watched our wedding day unfold. It was beautiful. It could not have been better.

My father walked me down the aisle, and I was singing the whole way. I was singing that song about how He loves us, how He's jealous for us, and how His grace is an ocean that we're all sinking in. Randall cried when he saw me, and he kept crying until we had been on stage for a little while. We couldn't stop looking at each other and grinning, even though we were both so tired we could have slept forever.

Suddenly, we were married. And our ship set sail.

Listen, people. Let me tell you about the language of love. Every language has some term of endearment for those who are recipients of affection. Just in the title of this post I've listed Mongolian, Arabic, Spanish, Hebrew and English words for "sweetheart" or "beloved." But the language of love goes far deeper than words we say to each other.

I knew that Randall loved Jesus before we got married. I knew he was cool, smart and that he balanced out my imbalances, smoothed my rough, lifted my low. But I did not know that his language of love was so deep, so pure, so... like Jesus. He is the one who reminds me of Redemption. He is the one who sacrifices daily so that I might be encouraged. He is the one who anchors me in grace and forgiveness. He gives flight to my dreams and doesn't try to rein in my idealistic tendencies. Actually, he doesn't try to rein me in at all. He values me, as I am, pushing me towards the Better Life all the while. He affirms that I am his life-partner, that we share the burdens and joys of life equally. No, he is not perfect. But he is becoming love, just like His Father is Love.

Randall says love better than any language. And I get to spend the rest of my life saying it back.

Deep. Full. Wild.

Deep. Full. Wild.

This is the life that I've been beckoned into. I am utterly astounded as I walk through each day--each hour, really. I am humbled by the grace of opportunities and awed by His exquisite, hand-crafted timing.

While talking with my mother this evening, I started listing the "home" countries of people I spend significant time with every day of my work week: Kazakhstan, Chile, Honduras, America, Mexico, Venezuela, Gabon, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Brazil, Columbia, Libya, and Morocco. Every. Single. Day.

I never wanted or planned to teach English as a second language again. I am tired as hell. I live to see my students smile and feel like a failure when they don't. I fought against Houston with all my soul and might. But tonight, during a bi-weekly three-hour beginning reading class, I almost started crying as I looked out over the classroom and caught a glimpse of the Kingdom of Heaven.

I don't know why I get to do this. But I do know that for the first time in months, I am able to sincerely ask Jesus to use me however He sees fit, and to beg that somehow as His dearly loved daughter, I can imitate that Great Love that gave Himself up for us.

Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.
(-Ephesians 5:1-2)

For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision has any value. The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.
(-Galatians 5:6)

Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life....
(-Philippians 2:14-15)

Darkness, you are not welcome here.

It has become my goal to absorb so much Light that darkness has no chance.

As I wrote to a dear friend earlier today, I finally realized that I am completely content to live in Houston right now. Not just live, but be, and dwell. I think the whole meditation on "living sent" has been a big part of that. Since my sweetheart was gone last week I had some good time alone, really reflecting on life here and the absolute potential it has to be extraordinary if I just open my eyes to Today, Right Now.

Light shines that Now is valuable--that Today is eternal.
Light reveals that this moment, too, can be--and has been--redeemed.
Light pierces through the thickest armors--bitterness, anger, insecurity--
and no 'ill-timed' circumstance or unplanned happenstance can escape its rays.

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

I am an idealistic dreamer. As such I tend to live in things as I wish them to be sometime in the future. But living Light demands me to be all here, fully now. Light rewards my present existence with the beauty of reality that is most often obscured by the ugliness of reality's darkness.

Light shines that one smile can turn the tide of a student's whole day.
Light reveals that my eyes communicate caring, and truth.
Light pierces through the walls of gossip and complaint to show a weary soul in need of a soft shoulder.

And the growth of Light? It is boundless! And you, darkness, cannot capture my Light, bottle it up or contain it in any way. Darkness, you are not welcome here.

A Tasting, #1

Every so often I'd like to compose a blog that is something akin to a wine tasting of the thoughts that alternately flit, sit down, sleep and fly through my head. I remember the first time I read a blog by a friend (thanks, simplefelicity :)) who had done something similar: I really enjoyed reading it and felt like I had looked through a window into her personality that I hadn't seen before.

Just as wine comes in many colors, textures and varieties of brightness--each with a unique appeal and value--so I imagine that these thoughts will bring clarity to how my world is composed of unique layers and how I experience the world around me in all its beautiful varieties.

#4:
It started with a political earthquake in Tunisia, then into Egypt (massively); then Yemen and Jordan had similar tremors. I have been utterly fascinated by these events--sometimes more excited, sometimes more cynical and sometimes more prayerful. I see these people visibly displaying what grips them to the core; I see them, collectively, become a movement. Movements? Well, they are a part of human and cultural identity. And more than anything, I want to be a part of the Movement that is the most subversive of all: to lose my life so that it can be found by and in Him.

#3:

Good coffee is irreplaceable. Especially when it is paired with friends old and new. Today, I had a wonderfully crafted latté made by the good folks at Salento Cafe while enjoying stimulating and yet restful conversation with a new friend from work. Suddenly, that coffee, the atmosphere of that cafe and that new friendship didn't make going to the post office and the drugstore the day of the predicted Houston-snowpocalypse seem so terrible.

#2:

I just finished reading The Blue Parakeet by Scot McKnight. If you have any interest at all in the Bible, I dare you to read Dr. McKnight's book. I double dare you. His synopsis of how people (Christians, particularly) read the Bible and how people should read the Bible is absolutely approachable and compelling. It will make you think, and in my opinion that is always a good thing. I'm not going to tell you about the plot because I'm trying to string you along as much as possible.

#1:

Movies are powerful. A couple of weekends ago, I watched Eat.Pray.Love and The Dilemma. Neither of these movies were particularly good (as is obvious by their rankings on IMDb); however, because they touched on and (somewhat) developed themes that are sensitive issues for me, I found myself entering into the plots a little bit too much. Themes like insecurity, significance, trust, commitment and independence always strike a chord with me, no matter what the medium is. Film has an even more powerful influence because it employs plot, visuals and musical interpretation--all of which are significant symbols of creation in my internal world. I literally had to work through the issues those two half-baked movies brought to the surface, and that is a good thing.

That is all for this "tasting." Viva la revolucion!

Living Sent

It's no secret that I've had a hard time transitioning to life in Houston. Moving here was basically the perfect storm for Elizabeth to become depressed, angry, bitter, regretful and disillusioned. (And yes, I have given in to all of those states-of-being--sometimes all at once--at various stages over the past several months.) I had no job, no community outside of my dear husband, no school, no ministry, no...anything. I had no 'life plan,' no real direction for how to use the diversity that is my résumé and [almost] no hope. It is obvious to you, my dear readers, that I was totally lost in the world of "no."

But then--gratefulness of Grace!--I realized it had taken the stripping away of everything to get to the something of God's heart and mind. During this chiseling process, I went back to the Beginning and read Genesis. Adam, Eve, Noah, Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Rebekah, Jacob, Rachel and Joseph all play significant roles in the unfolding drama of God's love affair with women and men--all in light of the yawning chasm created by sin.

I've heard many sermons preached about or referencing Joseph; most of them trumpet the 'forgiveness' scene at the end of the book: when Jacob dies and Joseph's brothers are afraid that Joseph will now feel free to kill them, Joseph reassures them by saying, "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives" (50:20). The moral of the story/sermon is that God uses even evil situations to bring about good.

I agree with this completely; however, between Joseph's hardships in slavery and his grandiose pronouncement at the end of the book, I noticed something revolutionary that bridges the gap between living out a prison sentence and reigning over Egypt.

Then Joseph said to his brothers, “Come close to me.” When they had done so, he said, “I am your brother Joseph, the one you sold into Egypt! And now, do not be distressed and do not be angry with yourselves for selling me here, because it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you. For two years now there has been famine in the land, and for the next five years there will be no plowing and reaping. But God sent me ahead of you to preserve for you a remnant on earth and to save your lives by a great deliverance. So then, it was not you who sent me here, but God. He made me father to Pharaoh, lord of his entire household and ruler of all Egypt. (45:4-8)

Joseph was sent to slavery and prison; he was directed into the dungeon and into the palace. And he knew it. No matter where he was or what he was doing: Joseph lived sent.

Who am I--and who are you--to do otherwise?