It takes a while for me to process things. I got back from a week and a half in Thailand (which felt like so much closer to a month) eight days ago now. And I still don't know that I have full answers to everyone's questions about what I took away, or what hit me the most even. These things take a while for me to be able to fully identify. Maybe it's because I no longer relive the circumstances of the day every night--though usually that sort of thing, back in the day when it was indeed habit, was spent beating myself up over how I could have responded differently to moments I can never go back to, most often based on what could have made me look better in the eyes of others. Or maybe it's because I've spoken too soon after too many moments in the past and now lean more towards waiting to see what stands out after time has washed away the nearness. I guess maybe I just see better from a distance.
But there is something I know I can share, even if it's not as full an update as I'd like to offer. I can't say it's something I learned as if I mastered the knowledge during this trip (something tells me it'll be a lifetime study), but I can tell you it smacked into me like an ocean wave, and is still sloshing around in this crazy heart.
It's funny how sometimes travelling elsewhere brings up all the issues that have been buried like papers beneath the stacks of our routines at home. In a sadly-typical pattern, once we were there I promptly pressed out on things I wanted to ignore, to pretend weren't going on in my heart. But they were still there, despite my pretending, and everything comes to the surface at some point. I kinda knew it was coming, that God and I needed to have a heart-to-heart about a question that kept resurfacing in my brain. Some distractions just must be dealt with.
So one of those nights--or maybe it was an early morning thanks to the jet lag--I stole away to still my thoughts and hide from human eyes and open up my soul for a peek at what was going on in there. It opened, a little hesitantly, to the One who knows my heart better than I do, who at any given moment knows every random thought flitting through it, every emotion swelling and swirling in there, every hope and every fear and...well, just everything. And as always, He was gentle. But He still didn't do what I asked.
I wanted Him to just tell me, to speak with as much clarity as He has in the past, to give me a heads-up so my heart could stop spinning and my head could quit trying to come up with possible scenarios and answers to each one. I wanted to know. And in the midst of that demanding, part of me remembered the moments driving with a fresh license in Bartlett on a Sunday morning, when I'd held my life out in an open palm and realized it wasn't my right to know what He planned to do with it. Memory highlighted that day, when the morning's surrender set the stage for hearing Him give what I knew I didn't deserve: a glimpse into exactly what I'd just given up my sense of entitlement to. He didn't show me the entire course that day, but He did highlight some of the specifics I've known ever since would play some role in the future He had for me.
So back to Thailand: memory made me yearn for that young, easy letting go of rights that were never mine to begin with, while the observer in me pointed out the pattern that such surrender most often leads to a satisfaction of the yielded desires. But knowledge can only take you so far, and I know that by now. What I needed was more than knowledge of what I should do, which was of course surrender afresh; I needed God to do what I could not and steer my heart in that direction once more. So I asked Him to, meanwhile still pleading in the back of my head for Him to give me some kind of a sign or a signal, some hint to know what lay ahead.
His response was silence.
Truth is a potent weapon against the lies that get my heart twisted in knots. It fought skillfully that night. As much as I wanted what seemed easier--to know the answers to my questions--He wanted what was better: for me to be drawn near to Him.
It hit me, in that silence, while His Spirit spoke without words or answers, that He knows how to speak to us. He knows how to draw out the details that may spark memory in my mind but to anyone else just seem pretty or even plain. He knows when to be clear with me, when I need to know specifics in order to take the next step in faith in the direction He's leading me. And He knows when I need to hear silence. He knows when to withhold the answers to my questions, because it's best for me not to know them yet.
As much as He knows when to press on my heart so strongly that I know I have no choice but to obey, because I know without doubt what He's directing--He also knows when I need to hear and feel and see nothing, in order to know He's God.
So often I find myself caught up in doing, in seeking Him for directions more than I seek after His heart. Time feels short and close-packed and like there's never enough of it, and maybe every once in a while we all need to get hit with some sort of jet lag just to realize it's not so much about time, but the One who created it. I was convicted that night, not just of my need to know, but of my need to always be task-oriented rather than Jesus-oriented.
And do you know what happens when you reach that breaking point, where all your efforts collapse like crumbling plaster and you're left staring into the eyes of the One who made you and knows you and orchestrates all things across the span of a universe too vast for you to even partially comprehend in all its complexities? Well, I don't know about you, but I sure felt small all over again. I felt a little like that teenage girl telling God she had no right to see the blueprints or the battle plans, because honestly, what can I who owes everything I am, even everything I think, to the One who gave me a mind to think with--what can I demand from Him?
If He loved me less He'd tell me. He'd answer my questions and send me running off to try to make it all happen in my own strength, and get me out of His hair. If He loved me less, He'd be fine with letting me stay centered on tasks instead of drawing me away from the busyness to deal with my messy heart. But He loves me more. He loves me enough to withhold the lesser answers because He Himself is the greater answer to my needs. He loves me enough to silence my fears and felt-need to know what lies ahead. He loves me enough to once again ask me to trust Him.
And sometimes, such communication comes in silence. He knows when to speak; He knows when to whisper; but perhaps more remarkable is the fact He knows how to lead without speaking, too. He knows our needs far better than we can even pretend to. He knows when we need to hear from Him, and what we need to hear, and how we'll respond when we do. And though He's not blind to our desires or deaf to our questions, He knows when not to answer them, when not to give us what we expect or demand or even plead for. Because He alone knows how to lead us at each step, not just in the way we are to walk physically on this earth, but in the way our hearts are to tread closer and closer to His.
Sometimes it takes the silence to better know His heart towards us. Sometimes we truly just have to be still, and know He's God. Be it jet lag or a sleepless night, or one of hundreds of other unplanned delays and holdups to our plans for our days and lives--He knows how to speak to us, how to get through to us, and how to meet our needs at every step. It was true in Thailand, and it is true on American soil. Has He answered me since then? Nope. No, He has not. But at the same time, He has--because He's answered me with a silence that I know means He's got me. He knows me. And He has me and my life and my questioning, wavering heart, in His most capable hands. Always.
Saturday, January 24, 2015
Friday, December 5, 2014
Use Your Words
I'm a words person (and many friends can attest, wordy as well). Surprised? Then you may not know me very well yet. I've been putting things into words pretty much as long as I can remember...even back when I had no idea you were supposed to put space between the letters of separate words. Trying to decipher entries in the first journal of this historically-awful speller, with no spaces and very little concept of punctuation? Hilarious. But if that's what beginnings I come from, I know there's hope for anyone to grow in the giftings and talents God has designed them for.
Recently God's been bringing back up a lot of things I would've thought I'd already learned. You know how sometimes you "know" something but then find your situation where it's like you're realizing it all over again, but for the first time? There always seems to be deeper to go. And I forget that sometimes. Sometimes the student in me mentally checks topics off a list as if having the head knowledge is enough to equip me to handle any given situation. Well, unlike academia, real life doesn't so much work that way. 'Cause when you're in the middle of all the craziness and know what you should do, how things are supposed to ideally happen or be different...somehow the knowing doesn't always translate so smoothly as it would on paper.
Sometimes my words fail. There have been so many moments in my short-ish life that I will never be able to encapsulate in nouns or verbs or adjectives--not even with the best adverbs or sentence structures. The past few days--three in a row, man! It's crazy--have left me floored all over again at the immensity and the precision of a God who is so very much vaster than I'll ever know. And see, I've "known" that--I've known He's bigger than my puny mind can grasp. I've heard and read and witnessed Him do things I never could have come up with, even with the crazy imagination that lurks in this space and is constantly dragging me off into the whackiest and most outrageous adventures and fox trails. I've reminded myself He's big and awesome and mighty. But there is something infinitely different in dwelling on checked-off knowledge, and seeing the truth behind it explode into action before your eyes.
It started, like so many stories of my life have, with the same old frustration: seeing something not as it should be, knowing the right answer (at least to a degree), and being frustrated because my "knowing" didn't elicit immediate transformation. Somewhere around a decade ago, a similar frustration brought me to a series of moments weeping in my bed as the reality of who God is--that all these things I'd "known" about Him were actually true--broke into my desperation and provided the actual answer to what I'd technically "known" for a long time already. That He wasn't far off; He was near. He is near. As near as the invisible bunches of oxygen you pull into your lungs in this very moment.
A little while back, a realization hit me hard enough to leave me breathless for quite a while. A song by Shane and Shane was randomly playing in my head, and the line "Your nearness is to us our good" suddenly collided with a verse that's been tucked into my memory since I had to memorize it in grade school: Romans 8:28--"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose." Do you see it? God causes all things to work together for our good, and our ultimate good is not found in some idealistic set of circumstances; it's found in Him--the One we were created for, the One with whom we're designed and hard-wired for fellowship with. That's the good He's working all things together towards. He's drawing us to Himself.
So, back to my recent frustration: Recent situations, one right after another it felt, kept tearing me open at spots where my heart was coming out and it was not pretty. It was repulsive. It wasn't what I ever want my heart to look like, and it was coming out at people, and it was not okay. And I knew that. And I was trying to fight it, but somehow all my knowledge about the state of things was not fixing stuff. I identified the problems, and among them was the gaping lack of His heart for people around me. And I prayed, and I texted my sister and asked her to pray about one situation in particular where my nasty heart was really coming forth. I did all I could think to do to combat it, to force myself into the right state of mind and heart. But it didn't feel like anything was working.
Enter time with some dear, wonderful young women I have the privilege and opportunity to do life with. Suddenly catching up turned into confession, and I was messily spilling forth my observations of my obstinate, ugly heart which as of late had been reluctant if not completely unwilling to channel His heart for people. And in the midst of that conversation, where I found I wasn't the only broken one or the only one struggling, and where each of us began to speak words of encouragement and wisdom and truth into one another's circumstances--another checked-off truth came to the foreground: WE NEED EACHOTHER. I thought I knew that. I've taken notes often enough--right?--about how God uses us in other people's lives? About how He has chosen to dwell with us and in us, and that's us not just me. I haven't been completely oblivious or ignorant in this arena.
But I tell you, no matter how many times I've been in a room with someone and sin has been confessed and the truth has been applied with genuine love and the inhuman strength of grace--that night left me awed of our God who is working in and through us, and thankful to be able to know and cherish these ladies and have opportunities like this to bare our hearts before one another and let His grace do surgery in our midst. Not than anything or everything necessarily changed over night, but there is such strength in having teammates willing to stand by you and push you to press on and support your weight when you're out of stamina.
Fast-forward to last night, when the Holy Spirit wrecked Wednesday-night youth service in the best possible way. Hearts were pierced, challenges uttered, bold steps taken to follow a road of surrender. It was worship. It was worship for those who spoke what God was laying on their hearts to say, and it was worship for those of us listening to that outflow. It was worship when we broke into groups and prayed over one another. We were worshiping the God of broken hearts, the God who is here in the right now and is walking with us through every moment, every situation, every battle. We were worshiping the God who created every single soul there for a purpose, to know Him, and that He will make Himself known through us and through our lives. A dear sister turned to me and spoke words I had no idea I needed to hear, words that sank deep and shook me to the core and broke me with renewed humility and awe at who God is and what He is doing and how He uses what is flawed for His glory. Words that made the tears flow from these eyes that only ever seem to be moved to such by the very deepest or most sudden and uncontrollable emotions.
The echoes of those words along with so many other shock waves from a refreshed heart taken two steps deeper into the infinite ocean of knowing Him, reverberated in my head and soul today. Work, though draining as usual, was tinged with joy and peace that had been a bit absent there as of late. Because my soul was beholding afresh the wonderful knowledge that He is here.
Earlier tonight I sat in a room as a bunch of friends from campus took turns sharing songs that were special or important or beautiful to them. And I was on the list of "performers." Many of us (myself included) hadn't had much or any time to invest in practicing what we wanted to share, but it was an atmosphere of laid-back enjoyment and encouragement and soft-spoken grace and cheering one another on and just plain sharing life, sharing pieces of our lives through songs, even when many of the songs were written by someone else. Nobody had to earn anything. Nervousness was soothed and wrong frets ignored; it wasn't about the performance but about the sharing.
And isn't that what we're still on this earth for? If it was an individualistic thing of God getting ahold of one heart and another, wouldn't it be just as well for us to vanish straight into the fullness of His presence rather than having to continue to live in a broken and fragmented world where it's often harder to see Him? We're not here for ourselves; I'm not here for my sake any more than you are here for yours. We were meant for fellowship, not just with God, but with eachother.
And our gifts are not for ourselves either. Right around the time I picked guitar back up and started taking it a little seriously, and around the time I started tentatively stepping into songwriting, God confronted me on my desire to hoard it to myself. Not that it was that good--the exact opposite was the very reason I wanted to keep my playing and singing and songs locked away in my room to be just between me and Him with no one overhearing. I remember clearly the first time He pressed me to share a song with somebody, and to my push-back He lovingly and a little sarcastically told me it wasn't for me--that anything He'd given me was not for my own enjoyment behind locked doors. Even back then, He was drawing shy, tentative little me out of myself into community, into fellowship. He was teaching me--and still is--that I didn't have to have some great or fantastic thing to offer, but that He wanted to use my fumbling attempts.
So tonight I found myself sharing two songs that mean something real to me; that both came from a place of desperation to see God move in the lives of people around me, and that He has since on many, many occasions used to break me with the reminder I need Him to move in my life as well. Knowing Him is so not a checklist. Every truth I think I know keeps getting opened and reopened to reveal new and greater depths. I'm not finished yet. More importantly, He's not finished with me yet. Nor is He finished with you.
I started this post off talking about my relationship with words. The title comes from the image I'm about to share with you...in words. (Surprised?) In that conversation last Tuesday, my confessions shed light on the reasons my heart was the way it was, chief of which was that I had been trying to do a lot of things in my own strength, acting as if it all relied on me and my behavior or anything I could do or control. Reality check: none of it does. All the sudden I felt like a little kid dragging a heavy backpack around by the stretched-out strap. Have you ever seen a small child hand something small like a toy to a parent and ask them to carry it for them? Sometimes we need more childlike faith. Sometimes I'm lugging around the very real stuff God's placed me in the midst of, acting like I have to be strong enough to handle it as I walk beside my Father, rather than looking up at Him and honestly saying, "This is too heavy for me. I don't want to carry it. I can't carry it."
He's a good Father. He delights in carrying our weights for us, delights in us trusting Him with our breakables and our unbearables alike; His burden is easy and His yoke is light. He invites us to share in His sufferings, but the ultimate purpose in even that is for us to know Him more and trust Him to carry the load and do the work, because we can't. I can't. Trust me. Yesterday, this word-girl typed out two or three paragraph-sized posts before hitting backspace until I concluded I just couldn't sum it up. I still probably can't. This has been my attempt, but words can only ever get so far. One of the most irksome things about writing is the reality that words don't always work and they're not actually fully capable of describing or depicting everything. But it's also one of the most beautiful things about writing, because in this like in so many other areas, we see the foreshadowing of the deeper reality that our God is so much bigger than we will ever fully wrap our minds around.
So here I was tonight, feeling like that toddler as it all welled up inside me and I didn't know how to express it. And like the patient, tender, courage-infusing Father He is, God seemed to whisper, "Use your words." These words, these gifts, these flailing attempts to get an idea from inside me to inside you--they're not for me. I love words and I love using them, but I wasn't created to write to myself any more than you were created to only smile at yourself. Go share that smile. Spill your guts to someone who may not fully understand (but you'd be surprised how often people actually do), but who will face your mess with Jesus even if they don't have any more answers than you do as to what steps forward are going to look like. Go ask someone how they're doing and really mean it, and listen long enough to get to the answer. Shoot someone a text to tell them why you're thankful for them. Pray for someone the way you'd want somebody to pray for you. We're not alone and we never will be. Ask God to show you ways to use what He's given you to bless and encourage and strengthen another member of His Body. Because we're all in this together This earth may not be home, but it's where a good chunk of our family is, so let's love eachother well and remember that not one of us is a self-sufficient island.
WE NEED EACHOTHER.
Over and out,
-Kala
Recently God's been bringing back up a lot of things I would've thought I'd already learned. You know how sometimes you "know" something but then find your situation where it's like you're realizing it all over again, but for the first time? There always seems to be deeper to go. And I forget that sometimes. Sometimes the student in me mentally checks topics off a list as if having the head knowledge is enough to equip me to handle any given situation. Well, unlike academia, real life doesn't so much work that way. 'Cause when you're in the middle of all the craziness and know what you should do, how things are supposed to ideally happen or be different...somehow the knowing doesn't always translate so smoothly as it would on paper.
Sometimes my words fail. There have been so many moments in my short-ish life that I will never be able to encapsulate in nouns or verbs or adjectives--not even with the best adverbs or sentence structures. The past few days--three in a row, man! It's crazy--have left me floored all over again at the immensity and the precision of a God who is so very much vaster than I'll ever know. And see, I've "known" that--I've known He's bigger than my puny mind can grasp. I've heard and read and witnessed Him do things I never could have come up with, even with the crazy imagination that lurks in this space and is constantly dragging me off into the whackiest and most outrageous adventures and fox trails. I've reminded myself He's big and awesome and mighty. But there is something infinitely different in dwelling on checked-off knowledge, and seeing the truth behind it explode into action before your eyes.
It started, like so many stories of my life have, with the same old frustration: seeing something not as it should be, knowing the right answer (at least to a degree), and being frustrated because my "knowing" didn't elicit immediate transformation. Somewhere around a decade ago, a similar frustration brought me to a series of moments weeping in my bed as the reality of who God is--that all these things I'd "known" about Him were actually true--broke into my desperation and provided the actual answer to what I'd technically "known" for a long time already. That He wasn't far off; He was near. He is near. As near as the invisible bunches of oxygen you pull into your lungs in this very moment.
A little while back, a realization hit me hard enough to leave me breathless for quite a while. A song by Shane and Shane was randomly playing in my head, and the line "Your nearness is to us our good" suddenly collided with a verse that's been tucked into my memory since I had to memorize it in grade school: Romans 8:28--"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose." Do you see it? God causes all things to work together for our good, and our ultimate good is not found in some idealistic set of circumstances; it's found in Him--the One we were created for, the One with whom we're designed and hard-wired for fellowship with. That's the good He's working all things together towards. He's drawing us to Himself.
So, back to my recent frustration: Recent situations, one right after another it felt, kept tearing me open at spots where my heart was coming out and it was not pretty. It was repulsive. It wasn't what I ever want my heart to look like, and it was coming out at people, and it was not okay. And I knew that. And I was trying to fight it, but somehow all my knowledge about the state of things was not fixing stuff. I identified the problems, and among them was the gaping lack of His heart for people around me. And I prayed, and I texted my sister and asked her to pray about one situation in particular where my nasty heart was really coming forth. I did all I could think to do to combat it, to force myself into the right state of mind and heart. But it didn't feel like anything was working.
Enter time with some dear, wonderful young women I have the privilege and opportunity to do life with. Suddenly catching up turned into confession, and I was messily spilling forth my observations of my obstinate, ugly heart which as of late had been reluctant if not completely unwilling to channel His heart for people. And in the midst of that conversation, where I found I wasn't the only broken one or the only one struggling, and where each of us began to speak words of encouragement and wisdom and truth into one another's circumstances--another checked-off truth came to the foreground: WE NEED EACHOTHER. I thought I knew that. I've taken notes often enough--right?--about how God uses us in other people's lives? About how He has chosen to dwell with us and in us, and that's us not just me. I haven't been completely oblivious or ignorant in this arena.
But I tell you, no matter how many times I've been in a room with someone and sin has been confessed and the truth has been applied with genuine love and the inhuman strength of grace--that night left me awed of our God who is working in and through us, and thankful to be able to know and cherish these ladies and have opportunities like this to bare our hearts before one another and let His grace do surgery in our midst. Not than anything or everything necessarily changed over night, but there is such strength in having teammates willing to stand by you and push you to press on and support your weight when you're out of stamina.
Fast-forward to last night, when the Holy Spirit wrecked Wednesday-night youth service in the best possible way. Hearts were pierced, challenges uttered, bold steps taken to follow a road of surrender. It was worship. It was worship for those who spoke what God was laying on their hearts to say, and it was worship for those of us listening to that outflow. It was worship when we broke into groups and prayed over one another. We were worshiping the God of broken hearts, the God who is here in the right now and is walking with us through every moment, every situation, every battle. We were worshiping the God who created every single soul there for a purpose, to know Him, and that He will make Himself known through us and through our lives. A dear sister turned to me and spoke words I had no idea I needed to hear, words that sank deep and shook me to the core and broke me with renewed humility and awe at who God is and what He is doing and how He uses what is flawed for His glory. Words that made the tears flow from these eyes that only ever seem to be moved to such by the very deepest or most sudden and uncontrollable emotions.
The echoes of those words along with so many other shock waves from a refreshed heart taken two steps deeper into the infinite ocean of knowing Him, reverberated in my head and soul today. Work, though draining as usual, was tinged with joy and peace that had been a bit absent there as of late. Because my soul was beholding afresh the wonderful knowledge that He is here.
Earlier tonight I sat in a room as a bunch of friends from campus took turns sharing songs that were special or important or beautiful to them. And I was on the list of "performers." Many of us (myself included) hadn't had much or any time to invest in practicing what we wanted to share, but it was an atmosphere of laid-back enjoyment and encouragement and soft-spoken grace and cheering one another on and just plain sharing life, sharing pieces of our lives through songs, even when many of the songs were written by someone else. Nobody had to earn anything. Nervousness was soothed and wrong frets ignored; it wasn't about the performance but about the sharing.
And isn't that what we're still on this earth for? If it was an individualistic thing of God getting ahold of one heart and another, wouldn't it be just as well for us to vanish straight into the fullness of His presence rather than having to continue to live in a broken and fragmented world where it's often harder to see Him? We're not here for ourselves; I'm not here for my sake any more than you are here for yours. We were meant for fellowship, not just with God, but with eachother.
And our gifts are not for ourselves either. Right around the time I picked guitar back up and started taking it a little seriously, and around the time I started tentatively stepping into songwriting, God confronted me on my desire to hoard it to myself. Not that it was that good--the exact opposite was the very reason I wanted to keep my playing and singing and songs locked away in my room to be just between me and Him with no one overhearing. I remember clearly the first time He pressed me to share a song with somebody, and to my push-back He lovingly and a little sarcastically told me it wasn't for me--that anything He'd given me was not for my own enjoyment behind locked doors. Even back then, He was drawing shy, tentative little me out of myself into community, into fellowship. He was teaching me--and still is--that I didn't have to have some great or fantastic thing to offer, but that He wanted to use my fumbling attempts.
So tonight I found myself sharing two songs that mean something real to me; that both came from a place of desperation to see God move in the lives of people around me, and that He has since on many, many occasions used to break me with the reminder I need Him to move in my life as well. Knowing Him is so not a checklist. Every truth I think I know keeps getting opened and reopened to reveal new and greater depths. I'm not finished yet. More importantly, He's not finished with me yet. Nor is He finished with you.
I started this post off talking about my relationship with words. The title comes from the image I'm about to share with you...in words. (Surprised?) In that conversation last Tuesday, my confessions shed light on the reasons my heart was the way it was, chief of which was that I had been trying to do a lot of things in my own strength, acting as if it all relied on me and my behavior or anything I could do or control. Reality check: none of it does. All the sudden I felt like a little kid dragging a heavy backpack around by the stretched-out strap. Have you ever seen a small child hand something small like a toy to a parent and ask them to carry it for them? Sometimes we need more childlike faith. Sometimes I'm lugging around the very real stuff God's placed me in the midst of, acting like I have to be strong enough to handle it as I walk beside my Father, rather than looking up at Him and honestly saying, "This is too heavy for me. I don't want to carry it. I can't carry it."
He's a good Father. He delights in carrying our weights for us, delights in us trusting Him with our breakables and our unbearables alike; His burden is easy and His yoke is light. He invites us to share in His sufferings, but the ultimate purpose in even that is for us to know Him more and trust Him to carry the load and do the work, because we can't. I can't. Trust me. Yesterday, this word-girl typed out two or three paragraph-sized posts before hitting backspace until I concluded I just couldn't sum it up. I still probably can't. This has been my attempt, but words can only ever get so far. One of the most irksome things about writing is the reality that words don't always work and they're not actually fully capable of describing or depicting everything. But it's also one of the most beautiful things about writing, because in this like in so many other areas, we see the foreshadowing of the deeper reality that our God is so much bigger than we will ever fully wrap our minds around.
So here I was tonight, feeling like that toddler as it all welled up inside me and I didn't know how to express it. And like the patient, tender, courage-infusing Father He is, God seemed to whisper, "Use your words." These words, these gifts, these flailing attempts to get an idea from inside me to inside you--they're not for me. I love words and I love using them, but I wasn't created to write to myself any more than you were created to only smile at yourself. Go share that smile. Spill your guts to someone who may not fully understand (but you'd be surprised how often people actually do), but who will face your mess with Jesus even if they don't have any more answers than you do as to what steps forward are going to look like. Go ask someone how they're doing and really mean it, and listen long enough to get to the answer. Shoot someone a text to tell them why you're thankful for them. Pray for someone the way you'd want somebody to pray for you. We're not alone and we never will be. Ask God to show you ways to use what He's given you to bless and encourage and strengthen another member of His Body. Because we're all in this together This earth may not be home, but it's where a good chunk of our family is, so let's love eachother well and remember that not one of us is a self-sufficient island.
WE NEED EACHOTHER.
Over and out,
-Kala
Saturday, November 29, 2014
Racism Is Not the Heart of the Issue.
As a rule, I stay out of most political debates. It's not always because I have no opinion, though sometimes I don't know enough about various situations or the individuals involved to have an educated stance on the matter. More often, it's because I have completely given up hope that politics will ever be able to change what's wrong with this world. There was once a king in ancient history who made death the penalty for everything from murder on down to lying. Think it fully stopped people from lying? I doubt it. The existence of some form of rules or laws are necessary for groups of people to live and function; however, that doesn't mean any legal system in the history of humankind has been completely fully fair. Governments are made up of humans, and if humans are sinful and therefore not perfect, no government can ever be perfect, either. I'm not saying that means either that we should overthrow any or every government; and I'm also not saying that means we need to just let things go because nobody's perfect. I am here to say, however, that Jesus laid it out pretty clearly that we are to submit to the authorities over us, and to pray for them. He said that about the Roman government that was far more brutal than almost any I know of in our day and age. I think He meant it, and I don't think there are exceptions.
Now that that's been put out there, I'm about to step into some dangerous territory...
There is no governmental system, no protest, no speech, no kind of political movement or activism or whatever-you-want-to-call-it, that can fix the issue of racism in our country or elsewhere. Words won't do the trick, laws won't do the trick, and guns (or lack thereof) certainly won't do the trick. Reasoning only goes so far, especially when minds (on all sides of the equation) come with their own experiences and stigmas and upbringings on the matter. Some people will never listen. Laws and law enforcement and even the judicial system can only control so much; that's why there's still such a thing as crime. Violence won't do anything either, unless you're planning to just wipe out everyone, and then you'd be right: no people = no racism. But is that really a solution?
Racism has been around a lot longer than some people realize. Go all the way back to some of the first skirmishes and battles between people groups, and you'll find a "we" and "them" mentality. The root of the word racism actually dates back to Hitler's Nazi propaganda, where all kinds of atrocities were justified by the idea that this group or that group of people were less important or less perfect or less fit to live than the one in control. Racism does not and never will boil down to simply white and black. The British Empire was extremely racist towards basically every country they ever took over: from the Native Americans to Africans to Indians, and the list goes on. It wasn't just the British Empire, either. If you want to know about what happened with Belgium's relationship with the Congo, go find the book King Leopold's Ghost. But, people, it didn't start there.
Before Britain was an empire, the Romans (hey, look, same government Jesus said to submit to) were racist towards the peoples they took over as well: they made slaves of Brits and Germanians and basically everyone they conquered, and thought of anyone who wasn't raised like them as barbaric. Asia was in on it too: see China, Japan, and Mongolia, among others. India has for centuries been steeped in racism among its own people with the caste system. Look into European history and you'll see all kinds of racism among "whites"--Germans and Anglos and Saxons and Norsemen, Scots, Franks, Irishmen, vikings...everybody. Everybody thought they were better than everyone else, that their way of life was the only right one, and that others were a threat to it. Look into American history pre-Columbus, and you'll see the majority of the Native American tribes making war on one another and even enslaving each other as well.
It is absolutely ridiculous to me that anybody in the America that has been for centuries a "melting pot" of so many ethnicities and cultures and skin tones, can think that just because any one group of people look "alike" means the individuals with common external attributes are alike inwardly or think the same, or even talk the same. We are all collectively and individually this: human. NOBODY is better than anyone. None of us. So stop acting like it.
We are all depraved and self-seeking and capable of the very worst sins. All of us. You are not an exception, and neither am I. So if anyone is going to play the race card, I have one condition: play all of them.
Can I get really picky here for a sec? Saying that I'm white is really just as ignorant as calling someone else black in the sense of our skin color determining our culture and heritage. Firstly, my skin is not the same color as that sheet of paper, just as she's not the same color as the ink in a classic Sharpie. Secondly, I am a mixture of a lot of "races" (which I don't think even deserves to be a word, because it's completely and historically based in the myth that one group of people is somehow superior or inferior to another). Most of my ancestors as far back as I can trace were Germans on my dad's side, while on my mom's its a mixture of some German also, with Scottish, possibly some Irish, definite Osage (Native Americans--a very brutal tribe in particular, by the way), and probably some "English"--though that's a relative term as well, if you go back far enough. Guess what though? Most "blacks" in America aren't 100% descended from Africans (which is really a huge generalization as well, and don't get me started on the fact that African tribes fought and enslaved each other too, even long before Britian or anyone else ventured there.). There's been a lot of "mixture" with Native Americans, French-Canadians in some parts, "whites," Mexicans, Brazilians, etc.
Nobody's pure anything. So please stop trying to act like one group is so different from any other. I'm not saying different people don't grow up differently; I'm saying once you get beneath the skin, we are all the same, and not one of us (or our ancestors) are righteous. I'm also not saying this racism stuff is okay; it's not, and quite frankly I'm sick of it. But I'm sick of it on all sides. I'm sick of anyone--regardless of their skin tone--thinking they can make a judgment on anyone--regardless of that person's skin color--based upon skin color or any other form of outward appearance.
But as I said in the intro here, governments and talk are not going to fix this. So why am I writing, then? I guess I'm writing in hopes that this will pierce someone's heart. That the walls will drop, and you won't necessarily stop seeing things as black vs. white or white vs. black or white vs. Hispanic or Hispanic vs. black or what-have-you...but that you'll somehow see that racism is still not the heart of the issue. The heart of the issue is your heart; it's my heart; it's all our hearts. And our hearts are sinful. And this world is broken. Racism is just a symptom, and treating it with some kind of medicine will only temporarily block the pain; what we need is healing.
What we need is a new heart in place of this calloused, hateful, vengeful thing. I said we for a reason there. I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to stand beside someone I love and care about and punch someone else in the face for treating my friend with less dignity than they would others. You have no idea how often I hear of situations and in my heart, my instinctive reaction is a vengeance that is not justice. I could go knock someone's teeth out, I really could. But would that change their mind, or their heart? It's easy to spew hatred at hatred, to return anger with fury, to let even a noble cause burn within us til it singes the divider between good and evil and justifies taking justice into my own hands when the Lord has said vengeance belongs to Him.
There will be justice. God is not blind to the hurts and happenings in this world, and He has sworn not to let the guilty go unpunished. But that includes you, and me, and even the people we'd like to call innocent. Not one of us is without sin, and sin is sin. It's damning. It holds the power of death, and having it fester in our hearts will only turn them stone cold.
Jesus came into a broken, unjust, tumultuous world and said to live differently. He said to respond to evil with love, to hatred with kindness, to anger with patience He told His disciples to pay taxes to--and thereby help support--a brutal government that would soon be killing His followers by the droves. The same government that had Jesus Himself unjustly tried. But you know what? God used it. Jesus hung on that cross and willingly, knowingly took a penalty He did not deserve, so that others could live. So that God's vow to punish evil could be fulfilled--on the head of the only One who could atone for all of our sins.
This is the power that overcomes the world, the light that drives out the darkness, that heals what sin has broken and torn down. It's found in forgiveness and love, in responding to all kinds of evil with grace. And it's not something we can do on our own. Believe me, I've tried. We cannot do this on our own, for our strength and determination will run out. We need His heart. We need Him to surgically remove our hearts of stone and replace them with one that pumps oxygen and life through us. One that reminds us it's not on our shoulders to change people. That's His job, and though He will undoubtedly use us, in practice that often looks a lot more like submitting to people we don't always agree with, loving people who spew hatred at us and at people we love, forgiving people that revile us, as well as those we can't understand.
Because as often as I want to get on my high horse and shout at people on all sides about racism, I am convicted at heart-level by the fact that apart from a few pivotal factors in my own story, I could easily have come to the same conclusions some of the people I want to shout at have. I am no better, and I have no right to elevate myself above anyone else. We are all in equal, desperate need of having our minds renewed by Jesus's, and having our hearts transformed by His.
I'm not here to say who's right and who's wrong and exactly what happened in Ferguson. I'm here to point the fingers back at every single one of us, and ask all of us (and by us, I mean us humans) where our hearts are at with all of this. Do we really think that sharing the right articles or quotes or making a public statement in one way or another is going to change the way our society functions? I'm not saying it won't have any impact, but I am questioning how deep that impact can go. Social reforms can only go so far to change people's minds and hearts. Outlawing moonshine back in the day didn't make people stop drinking (or brewing), anymore than gun restrictions erase crime. We went through the Civil Rights Movement not all too long ago, but there are still issues that have been festering in people's hearts for decades even since then.
The answer is not in protests and arguments, not even in eloquence. The answer is in the only thing that can break a prideful heart and shape it into something useful: bold, humble, loving forgiveness. This is the truth that turns the world upside down, tilts social norms on their heads, and transforms hearts and minds that could be reached no other way. This is the way of the Kingdom to which we belong if we are Christians. If Christ is our King, let us follow His commands:
"You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' But I say to you, Do not resist the one that is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also... You have heard that it is said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect." -Matthew 5:38-39, 43-48
Now that that's been put out there, I'm about to step into some dangerous territory...
There is no governmental system, no protest, no speech, no kind of political movement or activism or whatever-you-want-to-call-it, that can fix the issue of racism in our country or elsewhere. Words won't do the trick, laws won't do the trick, and guns (or lack thereof) certainly won't do the trick. Reasoning only goes so far, especially when minds (on all sides of the equation) come with their own experiences and stigmas and upbringings on the matter. Some people will never listen. Laws and law enforcement and even the judicial system can only control so much; that's why there's still such a thing as crime. Violence won't do anything either, unless you're planning to just wipe out everyone, and then you'd be right: no people = no racism. But is that really a solution?
Racism has been around a lot longer than some people realize. Go all the way back to some of the first skirmishes and battles between people groups, and you'll find a "we" and "them" mentality. The root of the word racism actually dates back to Hitler's Nazi propaganda, where all kinds of atrocities were justified by the idea that this group or that group of people were less important or less perfect or less fit to live than the one in control. Racism does not and never will boil down to simply white and black. The British Empire was extremely racist towards basically every country they ever took over: from the Native Americans to Africans to Indians, and the list goes on. It wasn't just the British Empire, either. If you want to know about what happened with Belgium's relationship with the Congo, go find the book King Leopold's Ghost. But, people, it didn't start there.
Before Britain was an empire, the Romans (hey, look, same government Jesus said to submit to) were racist towards the peoples they took over as well: they made slaves of Brits and Germanians and basically everyone they conquered, and thought of anyone who wasn't raised like them as barbaric. Asia was in on it too: see China, Japan, and Mongolia, among others. India has for centuries been steeped in racism among its own people with the caste system. Look into European history and you'll see all kinds of racism among "whites"--Germans and Anglos and Saxons and Norsemen, Scots, Franks, Irishmen, vikings...everybody. Everybody thought they were better than everyone else, that their way of life was the only right one, and that others were a threat to it. Look into American history pre-Columbus, and you'll see the majority of the Native American tribes making war on one another and even enslaving each other as well.
It is absolutely ridiculous to me that anybody in the America that has been for centuries a "melting pot" of so many ethnicities and cultures and skin tones, can think that just because any one group of people look "alike" means the individuals with common external attributes are alike inwardly or think the same, or even talk the same. We are all collectively and individually this: human. NOBODY is better than anyone. None of us. So stop acting like it.
We are all depraved and self-seeking and capable of the very worst sins. All of us. You are not an exception, and neither am I. So if anyone is going to play the race card, I have one condition: play all of them.
Can I get really picky here for a sec? Saying that I'm white is really just as ignorant as calling someone else black in the sense of our skin color determining our culture and heritage. Firstly, my skin is not the same color as that sheet of paper, just as she's not the same color as the ink in a classic Sharpie. Secondly, I am a mixture of a lot of "races" (which I don't think even deserves to be a word, because it's completely and historically based in the myth that one group of people is somehow superior or inferior to another). Most of my ancestors as far back as I can trace were Germans on my dad's side, while on my mom's its a mixture of some German also, with Scottish, possibly some Irish, definite Osage (Native Americans--a very brutal tribe in particular, by the way), and probably some "English"--though that's a relative term as well, if you go back far enough. Guess what though? Most "blacks" in America aren't 100% descended from Africans (which is really a huge generalization as well, and don't get me started on the fact that African tribes fought and enslaved each other too, even long before Britian or anyone else ventured there.). There's been a lot of "mixture" with Native Americans, French-Canadians in some parts, "whites," Mexicans, Brazilians, etc.
Nobody's pure anything. So please stop trying to act like one group is so different from any other. I'm not saying different people don't grow up differently; I'm saying once you get beneath the skin, we are all the same, and not one of us (or our ancestors) are righteous. I'm also not saying this racism stuff is okay; it's not, and quite frankly I'm sick of it. But I'm sick of it on all sides. I'm sick of anyone--regardless of their skin tone--thinking they can make a judgment on anyone--regardless of that person's skin color--based upon skin color or any other form of outward appearance.
But as I said in the intro here, governments and talk are not going to fix this. So why am I writing, then? I guess I'm writing in hopes that this will pierce someone's heart. That the walls will drop, and you won't necessarily stop seeing things as black vs. white or white vs. black or white vs. Hispanic or Hispanic vs. black or what-have-you...but that you'll somehow see that racism is still not the heart of the issue. The heart of the issue is your heart; it's my heart; it's all our hearts. And our hearts are sinful. And this world is broken. Racism is just a symptom, and treating it with some kind of medicine will only temporarily block the pain; what we need is healing.
What we need is a new heart in place of this calloused, hateful, vengeful thing. I said we for a reason there. I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to stand beside someone I love and care about and punch someone else in the face for treating my friend with less dignity than they would others. You have no idea how often I hear of situations and in my heart, my instinctive reaction is a vengeance that is not justice. I could go knock someone's teeth out, I really could. But would that change their mind, or their heart? It's easy to spew hatred at hatred, to return anger with fury, to let even a noble cause burn within us til it singes the divider between good and evil and justifies taking justice into my own hands when the Lord has said vengeance belongs to Him.
There will be justice. God is not blind to the hurts and happenings in this world, and He has sworn not to let the guilty go unpunished. But that includes you, and me, and even the people we'd like to call innocent. Not one of us is without sin, and sin is sin. It's damning. It holds the power of death, and having it fester in our hearts will only turn them stone cold.
Jesus came into a broken, unjust, tumultuous world and said to live differently. He said to respond to evil with love, to hatred with kindness, to anger with patience He told His disciples to pay taxes to--and thereby help support--a brutal government that would soon be killing His followers by the droves. The same government that had Jesus Himself unjustly tried. But you know what? God used it. Jesus hung on that cross and willingly, knowingly took a penalty He did not deserve, so that others could live. So that God's vow to punish evil could be fulfilled--on the head of the only One who could atone for all of our sins.
This is the power that overcomes the world, the light that drives out the darkness, that heals what sin has broken and torn down. It's found in forgiveness and love, in responding to all kinds of evil with grace. And it's not something we can do on our own. Believe me, I've tried. We cannot do this on our own, for our strength and determination will run out. We need His heart. We need Him to surgically remove our hearts of stone and replace them with one that pumps oxygen and life through us. One that reminds us it's not on our shoulders to change people. That's His job, and though He will undoubtedly use us, in practice that often looks a lot more like submitting to people we don't always agree with, loving people who spew hatred at us and at people we love, forgiving people that revile us, as well as those we can't understand.
Because as often as I want to get on my high horse and shout at people on all sides about racism, I am convicted at heart-level by the fact that apart from a few pivotal factors in my own story, I could easily have come to the same conclusions some of the people I want to shout at have. I am no better, and I have no right to elevate myself above anyone else. We are all in equal, desperate need of having our minds renewed by Jesus's, and having our hearts transformed by His.
I'm not here to say who's right and who's wrong and exactly what happened in Ferguson. I'm here to point the fingers back at every single one of us, and ask all of us (and by us, I mean us humans) where our hearts are at with all of this. Do we really think that sharing the right articles or quotes or making a public statement in one way or another is going to change the way our society functions? I'm not saying it won't have any impact, but I am questioning how deep that impact can go. Social reforms can only go so far to change people's minds and hearts. Outlawing moonshine back in the day didn't make people stop drinking (or brewing), anymore than gun restrictions erase crime. We went through the Civil Rights Movement not all too long ago, but there are still issues that have been festering in people's hearts for decades even since then.
The answer is not in protests and arguments, not even in eloquence. The answer is in the only thing that can break a prideful heart and shape it into something useful: bold, humble, loving forgiveness. This is the truth that turns the world upside down, tilts social norms on their heads, and transforms hearts and minds that could be reached no other way. This is the way of the Kingdom to which we belong if we are Christians. If Christ is our King, let us follow His commands:
"You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' But I say to you, Do not resist the one that is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also... You have heard that it is said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect." -Matthew 5:38-39, 43-48
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Longing for Home
Within the past three months, at least three people/families I care about have lost grandparents. I just found out about the third; and one was my family. In fact, I lost my third grandparent this year--sixth if you count great-grandparents that have died within my lifetime. And death is still a weird concept for me. Having someone here breathing one day and gone the next...is never going to feel normal.
There is a crazy amount of peace in the knowledge that all three of the grandparents I know of who have passed away in the past few months--loved Jesus, and are now united with Him, fully seeing the One who has forever fully known them. They are rejoicing in His presence, no longer in pain, no longer weary, no longer hindered by broken bodies. And as one of my friends who recently lost her grandpa related to me, "I'm jealous." More than a little. Because my grandpas and grandma, and her grandpa, and my other friend's granddaddy--they are all in the place my soul longs to be.
But the fact that I am still here on this earth, breathing, means I'm here for a purpose. I'm here for the same purpose these departed loved ones were: to follow Jesus and be His hands and feet on this earth, to somehow be one small part of seeing His Kingdom come more fully to this Earth as it is in Heaven. To love and go after the people within my reach who don't know the One my soul loves, the One who has placed me here to brokenly point them to Him. May they see Him in me as through a mirror darkly, past all my smudges and cracks and failings--so that one day they too may see Him face-to-face in His full glory.
There's a song by Phil Wickham that I had forgotten about until a friend recently posted some of its lyrics online. It's called "Heaven Song," and you should look it up if you've got a sec. The song is about a yearning to be Home. A couple years ago, there were times when I'd retreat to the farthest parking lot at the very edge of my college campus, turn this song up loud, and sing at the top of my lungs. And there at the end of the chorus, where it says, "my soul is getting restless for the place where I belong. I can't wait to join the angels and sing my heaven song," there was a cry and a yearning in my heart, to be able to sing just one note of that song here on the earth.
That's what we're here for. We don't have to wait until we depart from this world to be a foretaste of it. We don't have to do this life alone; Jesus is Emmanuel--He is God with us--and we are present with Him now even if it's not as fully as it shall be one day.
All three of these grandparents we've lost recently have left a legacy and a tremendous impact on the lives of their kids and grandkids. The grief of them no longer being here with us on this earth will never be able to drown that out. Loss hurts because there was something there to begin with. So let's follow in their footsteps--not out of a desire to be remembered, but a desire to live all-out the life we've been entrusted with, to follow God wherever He leads us, to look forward to the day He brings us fully Home.
There's a battle going on. It's not one that can be won with human hands, but one in which the King of Kings has chosen to use our hands anyway. It's amazing, still so overwhelmingly to me, the way He chooses to accomplish His will in this earth. It's not often an easy road, but let us remember the pain is indeed temporary, and it's leading us to something that will last forever. The time for prophecy and teaching and knowledge will pass away, "For we know in part, and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away...For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then shall I know fully, even as I have been fully known. So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three: but the greatest of these is love" (1 Corinthians 13:9-10, 12-13).
"The aim of our charge is love that issues from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith" (1 Timothy 1:5). So let's love in earnest. Let's fight this fight knowing how the war ends, and who sits on throne even now. Let's live with abandon and recklessness, not acting like this life is all that matters. The world needs to see that glimpse of Jesus; they need to hear that broken, fragmented note of the song that is forever issuing forth around His throne.
In the words of Switchfoot, "If we've only got one shot, if we've only got one life, if time was never on our side, then before I die I want to burn out bright." A candle lit on both ends may burn up quicker, but it also burns more brightly. No matter how much longer each of us has on this earth, let's not lose sight of Home. Let's run this race with endurance, sprinting harder everytime we remember what lies at the end. We are here temporarily, passing through on our way to the place we belong. Let's take some other folks with us! Let's join hands and take a stand against the darkness, even if it means we burn out.
We're a reflection of the Light; we are not the source. His light will never stop shining. Thanks be to God that it does not rely on us! Yet still He chooses to use us, to make us living reflections of His Light, of His glory. So let us sing in the night. Let our hearts cry out for Home, because Home is truly where the heart is; it's where the One our souls desire to be with, resides. Let's savor the journey He has us on, soaking up every minute of it. For He's not far. He's but a breath away. And as the old adage goes, you never know which breath will be your last.
"For we, we are not long here. Our time is but a breath. And so we'd better breathe it. And I, I was made to live. I was made to love. I was made to know You." -Brooke Fraser
There is a crazy amount of peace in the knowledge that all three of the grandparents I know of who have passed away in the past few months--loved Jesus, and are now united with Him, fully seeing the One who has forever fully known them. They are rejoicing in His presence, no longer in pain, no longer weary, no longer hindered by broken bodies. And as one of my friends who recently lost her grandpa related to me, "I'm jealous." More than a little. Because my grandpas and grandma, and her grandpa, and my other friend's granddaddy--they are all in the place my soul longs to be.
But the fact that I am still here on this earth, breathing, means I'm here for a purpose. I'm here for the same purpose these departed loved ones were: to follow Jesus and be His hands and feet on this earth, to somehow be one small part of seeing His Kingdom come more fully to this Earth as it is in Heaven. To love and go after the people within my reach who don't know the One my soul loves, the One who has placed me here to brokenly point them to Him. May they see Him in me as through a mirror darkly, past all my smudges and cracks and failings--so that one day they too may see Him face-to-face in His full glory.
There's a song by Phil Wickham that I had forgotten about until a friend recently posted some of its lyrics online. It's called "Heaven Song," and you should look it up if you've got a sec. The song is about a yearning to be Home. A couple years ago, there were times when I'd retreat to the farthest parking lot at the very edge of my college campus, turn this song up loud, and sing at the top of my lungs. And there at the end of the chorus, where it says, "my soul is getting restless for the place where I belong. I can't wait to join the angels and sing my heaven song," there was a cry and a yearning in my heart, to be able to sing just one note of that song here on the earth.
That's what we're here for. We don't have to wait until we depart from this world to be a foretaste of it. We don't have to do this life alone; Jesus is Emmanuel--He is God with us--and we are present with Him now even if it's not as fully as it shall be one day.
All three of these grandparents we've lost recently have left a legacy and a tremendous impact on the lives of their kids and grandkids. The grief of them no longer being here with us on this earth will never be able to drown that out. Loss hurts because there was something there to begin with. So let's follow in their footsteps--not out of a desire to be remembered, but a desire to live all-out the life we've been entrusted with, to follow God wherever He leads us, to look forward to the day He brings us fully Home.
There's a battle going on. It's not one that can be won with human hands, but one in which the King of Kings has chosen to use our hands anyway. It's amazing, still so overwhelmingly to me, the way He chooses to accomplish His will in this earth. It's not often an easy road, but let us remember the pain is indeed temporary, and it's leading us to something that will last forever. The time for prophecy and teaching and knowledge will pass away, "For we know in part, and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away...For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then shall I know fully, even as I have been fully known. So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three: but the greatest of these is love" (1 Corinthians 13:9-10, 12-13).
"The aim of our charge is love that issues from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith" (1 Timothy 1:5). So let's love in earnest. Let's fight this fight knowing how the war ends, and who sits on throne even now. Let's live with abandon and recklessness, not acting like this life is all that matters. The world needs to see that glimpse of Jesus; they need to hear that broken, fragmented note of the song that is forever issuing forth around His throne.
In the words of Switchfoot, "If we've only got one shot, if we've only got one life, if time was never on our side, then before I die I want to burn out bright." A candle lit on both ends may burn up quicker, but it also burns more brightly. No matter how much longer each of us has on this earth, let's not lose sight of Home. Let's run this race with endurance, sprinting harder everytime we remember what lies at the end. We are here temporarily, passing through on our way to the place we belong. Let's take some other folks with us! Let's join hands and take a stand against the darkness, even if it means we burn out.
We're a reflection of the Light; we are not the source. His light will never stop shining. Thanks be to God that it does not rely on us! Yet still He chooses to use us, to make us living reflections of His Light, of His glory. So let us sing in the night. Let our hearts cry out for Home, because Home is truly where the heart is; it's where the One our souls desire to be with, resides. Let's savor the journey He has us on, soaking up every minute of it. For He's not far. He's but a breath away. And as the old adage goes, you never know which breath will be your last.
"For we, we are not long here. Our time is but a breath. And so we'd better breathe it. And I, I was made to live. I was made to love. I was made to know You." -Brooke Fraser
Monday, October 27, 2014
"Se."
A few years back, when I was in the midst of a situation I was completely unsure how to handle, and desperately needing God to direct me clearly, one early morning I found a message written in the sunrise-pinkened clouds. It was one word, and that in a foreign language, but it's the only foreign language I know any of. There in the east, where He knew I'd be looking, was the word se. In Spanish, it means, "I know."
In that moment, in the midst of all the questions raging through my heart and mind, all the uncertainty and nervousness and even doubt that I'd be able to discern God's voice amid the storm of my own emotions, that one word spoke volumes to my soul.
It was a reminder that He knew both my heart, and my situation. He knew. He knows. Intimately, at levels only He could ever understand, the levels I can just never seem to get into words or music or any other means of expression--He knows. Always. Se is present tense; and our God is ever-present.
It was a reminder that He was aware of more than I could be. He knew not only where I was, but what lay ahead of me. He knew every moment leading in and out of things, all the ways He was preparing my heart and setting the stage to speak to me in ways that would be undeniable.
It was a reminder that I didn't need to know it all--that my role was to trust Him. The more often I find myself in circumstances where I must deliberately give up my desire to know all the answers, the more often I wind up realizing later that if I'd known, I either would have fainted and given up, or my brain would have exploded. Either way, not very pretty. God's ways are truly higher than ours, and His thoughts are as far above ours as the heavens are above this tiny blue-green planet we call home for now.
So if you don't know what comes next, or how you're even supposed to make it through today, find your rest in the One who knows. He is our answer. Trust me, I've been there, in that place of fear and uncertainty and complete cluelessness, feeling like a shipwreck about to happen. But He's been there with me, every step. It's not that I've never faltered, but that He's never let me go.
He has walked with me through seasons I soon looked back on with anguish and regret, wondering how I could have been so blind and foolish, and certain that nothing beautiful could ever come of these ashes. But despite my certainty and my desire that such periods be erased from my history, He has used them. He's used them in ways that continue to blow me away, for He was not oblivious to things even when I was. He knew. He always knows.
There is nothing on this earth that ever happens without Him knowing about it, without Him seeing it happen. It may seldom make sense to us, why He allows so many things to happen, if He knows. But that's the thing: He knows what's at the end of it. He sees our pain, but He also sees how it will be worked together for good in the end. Miraculously, He takes even such darkness as sin and death, and uses them to beat Satan at his own game. Our Father is never caught off His guard by anything that happens. But in His sovereignty, He works all things together for the good of those who love Him--those He's called according to His purposes. And you know what our good looks like? Being ever nearer to Him.
So whatever you may be going through right now, know this: He knows. And not just that, but He knows how He intends to use it all for His glory and your good. Those things are oddly one and the same, for our very purpose, the thing we were created for, is to glorify Him; and His glory is manifest in the way He causes all things to come together to draw us unto Him. He knows. He's got this. Trust Him.
In that moment, in the midst of all the questions raging through my heart and mind, all the uncertainty and nervousness and even doubt that I'd be able to discern God's voice amid the storm of my own emotions, that one word spoke volumes to my soul.
It was a reminder that He knew both my heart, and my situation. He knew. He knows. Intimately, at levels only He could ever understand, the levels I can just never seem to get into words or music or any other means of expression--He knows. Always. Se is present tense; and our God is ever-present.
It was a reminder that He was aware of more than I could be. He knew not only where I was, but what lay ahead of me. He knew every moment leading in and out of things, all the ways He was preparing my heart and setting the stage to speak to me in ways that would be undeniable.
It was a reminder that I didn't need to know it all--that my role was to trust Him. The more often I find myself in circumstances where I must deliberately give up my desire to know all the answers, the more often I wind up realizing later that if I'd known, I either would have fainted and given up, or my brain would have exploded. Either way, not very pretty. God's ways are truly higher than ours, and His thoughts are as far above ours as the heavens are above this tiny blue-green planet we call home for now.
So if you don't know what comes next, or how you're even supposed to make it through today, find your rest in the One who knows. He is our answer. Trust me, I've been there, in that place of fear and uncertainty and complete cluelessness, feeling like a shipwreck about to happen. But He's been there with me, every step. It's not that I've never faltered, but that He's never let me go.
He has walked with me through seasons I soon looked back on with anguish and regret, wondering how I could have been so blind and foolish, and certain that nothing beautiful could ever come of these ashes. But despite my certainty and my desire that such periods be erased from my history, He has used them. He's used them in ways that continue to blow me away, for He was not oblivious to things even when I was. He knew. He always knows.
There is nothing on this earth that ever happens without Him knowing about it, without Him seeing it happen. It may seldom make sense to us, why He allows so many things to happen, if He knows. But that's the thing: He knows what's at the end of it. He sees our pain, but He also sees how it will be worked together for good in the end. Miraculously, He takes even such darkness as sin and death, and uses them to beat Satan at his own game. Our Father is never caught off His guard by anything that happens. But in His sovereignty, He works all things together for the good of those who love Him--those He's called according to His purposes. And you know what our good looks like? Being ever nearer to Him.
So whatever you may be going through right now, know this: He knows. And not just that, but He knows how He intends to use it all for His glory and your good. Those things are oddly one and the same, for our very purpose, the thing we were created for, is to glorify Him; and His glory is manifest in the way He causes all things to come together to draw us unto Him. He knows. He's got this. Trust Him.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Singing Ugly
There I was in a roomful of mostly teenage boys, all of them belting out the words to "Blessed Be Your Name" as I strummed my guitar and sang it out with them. We'd sung it the past three or four weeks in a row, but they still weren't tired of it. Not in the way many people would be by that point. In fact, they were the ones who'd requested we sing it. Sometimes singing sounds a bit more like shouting, though. And although some music majors I know might have cringed had they heard it, I would never have traded those minutes of hearing our guys sing out passionately to Jesus, much less the privilege of singing to Him with them.
To some, it may have sounded overly-boisterous. To others, perhaps a bit off-key. But for me and the other youth leaders present (if I am allowed to speak for them), it was beautiful. True, a few of the boys may have only been singing so loud simply because they knew the words to this one, and one or two might have been attempting to show off (or goof off). But many of them, you could tell, were truly worshiping.
Very, very few things in my twenty-two years of living have ever impacted me quite the way those moments did. My heart wanted to burst inside me with joy and thankfulness and awe, just seeing glimpses of what God was doing in these kids I love (and now miss terribly. I still pray for you.), how He was drawing their hearts after Him. It felt like I got a sneak-peek in that moment of His Fatherly heart, for He delights to hear His children sing.
God doesn't demand a series of perfect notes; more often I think He wants to hear our broken dissonance. Anyone can practice and train until they can mechanically produce just the right sounds, but is it just me or does flawless performance sometimes seem to be lacking in feeling? Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying you shouldn't work at singing "better." But I can tell you that after hearing students of music hurl all their disgust at a Christmas concert because at one point the audience was invited to join in and they "weren't singing it right" or were way off key, my heart was not pressed much towards worship; it was broken, because all they could see were the notes and not the far more priceless souls of the people uttering them.
There's this theory I've run into at times, that some people can't sing. I, personally, think it's hogwash. I invite and even plea with you to sing ugly. Please. Do it for me. Because on the days when I'm focusing more on hitting the appropriate notes than on the One I'm singing to, I need to hear you behind or beside me crying from an earnest heart like some of those youth-group boys in Jackson were that night. I need to be reminded it's less about my perfect performance (though I dare say I've never given one of those anyway), and more about the One we're singing to.
I very much look forward to the day when all God's people are gathered together in one place to worship the one true King and desire of our hearts. I don't know whether we'll all be able to sing perfectly then or what, but I have a feeling we won't so much care what we might sound like individually at that point. Our eyes, our ears, our hearts--they will be focused elsewhere. They'll be focused where they should be in the here and now.
So if singing beautifully comes more naturally to you, don't look down on someone else for singing off-key. Learn to find delight in their willingness to sing anyway, even if perhaps its a more humbling experience than it is for you; or maybe it's not because they can't hear themselves. Maybe none of us should care to hear ourselves. I for one sing best (I think) when I'm not focusing on the singing, but on Jesus. I can't say that for sure, because honestly when it happens I'm not really listening to myself. Because it's not about me. It's not about my voice, or yours for that matter. It's about the One who gave us a reason to sing--who is the reason why we sing.
There's just something about hearing multiple voices raised in praise and surrender to Him. It's beautiful. It's encouraging. It's a teeny, tiny piece of heaven here on this earth. So don't sacrifice that by putting overmuch emphasis on how you or anyone around you is singing. Just worship; get lost in awe and joy and the sovereignty of the One who is our hope, our King, our Redeemer. He's worthy of all our praise, and then some. Let's put the emphasis where it's due.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Fiercely
Jesus,
teach me to love fiercely--
to not give up for being wounded,
to not despair when change is not instant.
To not hold back for fear
or self-preservation.
Teach me not to accept,
but to love.
To open myself to all the pain of knowing fully.
Teach me to rebel against that which is not as it should be--
in my own heart as much as in others',
if not more.
Train my hands to fight.
Help my ears to hear.
Remind me it's not up to me,
that You are stronger,
and it's You who will deliver.
Train my eyes to see
where the past and the future meet,
to know the moment that is now,
in which all our histories collide
with the only story that can change their trajectory.
Teach me to love recklessly,
to hold nothing back, nothing in reserve.
Life is not lived when my eyes are on my own supply
or my own preservation.
Teach me not to back down from a fight,
not to assume I have no part to play,
not to pretend it's not my job to pray;
not my job to love those who are broken,
no matter how well put-together they appear.
Teach me to stand
when it seems everyone else is running,
to hold the ground next to someone
whom others fear will be struck by lightning.
Not to show they're right, but to prove they're loved.
Not to let things slide, but to hold them to a standard.
Let my brokenness reflect Your light.
In my weakness, prove Your thundering might.
We all know I'm not perfect.
We both know if it's up to me it's doomed.
Because my track record is a perfect row of failures,
But Yours is an unbroken streak of wins.
I've seen You redeem what seemed unfixable.
I've watched You bring victory
where all we've ever earned is loss.
I've seen You embrace the worthless
and pour all Your worth into us.
Teach me to love like You love:
to fight, to pursue, to defend;
to break myself to spare another;
to hope when all seems lost,
to grin in the darkness,
and sing in the desert.
Teach me to love with a heart of fire,
light as dangerous as it is warm,
unafraid to risk dying out
as it reaches to spark the nearest branch.
I have one life, one fleeting flame.
And I'd bet it's better to spend
what resources and time I have
trying to spread that fire rather than quench it,
striving to burn out brightly
rather than slowly wane.
So, Father, teach me to love,
and to love fiercely.
teach me to love fiercely--
to not give up for being wounded,
to not despair when change is not instant.
To not hold back for fear
or self-preservation.
Teach me not to accept,
but to love.
To open myself to all the pain of knowing fully.
Teach me to rebel against that which is not as it should be--
in my own heart as much as in others',
if not more.
Train my hands to fight.
Help my ears to hear.
Remind me it's not up to me,
that You are stronger,
and it's You who will deliver.
Train my eyes to see
where the past and the future meet,
to know the moment that is now,
in which all our histories collide
with the only story that can change their trajectory.
Teach me to love recklessly,
to hold nothing back, nothing in reserve.
Life is not lived when my eyes are on my own supply
or my own preservation.
Teach me not to back down from a fight,
not to assume I have no part to play,
not to pretend it's not my job to pray;
not my job to love those who are broken,
no matter how well put-together they appear.
Teach me to stand
when it seems everyone else is running,
to hold the ground next to someone
whom others fear will be struck by lightning.
Not to show they're right, but to prove they're loved.
Not to let things slide, but to hold them to a standard.
Let my brokenness reflect Your light.
In my weakness, prove Your thundering might.
We all know I'm not perfect.
We both know if it's up to me it's doomed.
Because my track record is a perfect row of failures,
But Yours is an unbroken streak of wins.
I've seen You redeem what seemed unfixable.
I've watched You bring victory
where all we've ever earned is loss.
I've seen You embrace the worthless
and pour all Your worth into us.
Teach me to love like You love:
to fight, to pursue, to defend;
to break myself to spare another;
to hope when all seems lost,
to grin in the darkness,
and sing in the desert.
Teach me to love with a heart of fire,
light as dangerous as it is warm,
unafraid to risk dying out
as it reaches to spark the nearest branch.
I have one life, one fleeting flame.
And I'd bet it's better to spend
what resources and time I have
trying to spread that fire rather than quench it,
striving to burn out brightly
rather than slowly wane.
So, Father, teach me to love,
and to love fiercely.
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