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

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

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

"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.

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. 

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.

Kingdoms

Mind if I treat this one like a bit of a journal entry for a second and start out with some candid, honest dismissal? I should be wrapping up a homework assignment right now. That is, I "should" be according to the part of me that tends to pipe in with great insistence that I have to put a high priority on academics. That being said, here comes the dismissal bit: as you can see, I'm not doing my homework at the moment. Don't worry, I'll get to it. I'll just probably have a bit of a clearer head to do it well once I get some things transferred from mind and heart to words. I'm weird and function that way. Now, to get more to the point so I can get around to that homework and thus ease the pain for those of you who may or may not be lecturing to your screens right now as if I can hear you...

I am not my own.

I know a lot of us Christians tend to say that a lot, but lately it's been hitting me harder and harder. It's counter-cultural, in a world that tells me my life is mine, that I should do my thing and pursue my desires and do things that will better the kingdom of Me. Well, in my limited time on this planet I've come to the conclusion that the Kingdom of Me is pretty crummy and quite a bit boring and pointless. There's another kingdom, though, that I'd much rather throw my allegiance into--a kingdom that's all about a whole lot more than me.

At the heart of this other kingdom is a King who not only has all the authority there's ever been, but who deserves such authority far more than me or you or anyone else--so much so that it's a pretty pathetic comparison. There's no one to compare with this King, for not only does He have all this power, but in His sovereignty He chooses deliberately to rescue the broken and frail and helpless--basically, the people who could never have any hope of either doing or being anything close to what this holy King deserves. Not only does He rescue us, though, He turns around and chooses just as deliberately to use these broken containers to transport His message--His heart--to others who are just as broken and incapable (hint: that's all of us).

Now, I know you're not necessarily too familiar with the Kingdom of Me, but doesn't the Kingdom of Him sound a whole lot more glorious than a pitiful one-man show squeaking about its own importance amid a crowd of other solo-citizen kingdoms fighting their way through this life for their own fading glories? I think so.

I had a conversation with a friend a little while back in which we were discussing happiness, and I remarked to her that I've noticed in my own life I'm never happier than when my life is more about other people than it is about just me. There's really no quicker way to misery for me than for all my thoughts, prayers, and desired to be centered around the Kingdom of Me. Don't get me wrong; I still find myself wandering down that miserable trail sometimes--in fact, it's a lot more often than my prideful self would like me to admit. But it's still miserable. It feels empty and pointless and lonely. And it reeks of self-pity, judgmental harshness, and failure.

I don't like that path. But to get off it, I must allow Jesus to shift my thoughts, prayers, and desires toward what (who) He is thinking of and praying for and desiring. And to do that, I have to let go of the many and mini concerns of the Kingdom of Me. I have to hand it over to Him all over again and remind myself that He's a much more capable ruler than I am, and that His Kingdom will remain long after my fleeting time on this earth is ended.

But although His Kingdom is far better than mine, it still doesn't mean an easy road for its citizens. It means my life is not my own, that it's not about me, which means it's actually a whole lot about others. It's all about Jesus, but I find He very often has people on His heart, and has this tendency to put them on my heart as well. And so there are times when my own individual life may seem to be going pretty smoothly along with work and school and only the usual, rather insignificant issues or struggles of normal everyday life.

Perhaps it would be so simple and straightforward, if His Kingdom were somehow still all about the Kingdom of Me. But it's not. And because it's not, I carry around with me pieces of other people's lives. I get to rejoice in the triumphs of what God's doing in one friend's life, and meanwhile be absolutely aching for what another is going through. I get to stand hopeful and expectant, and I get to weep tears of anguish, pleading for redemption or victory or peace in the lives of people I love. It means sometimes I am compelled to say things that sheepish me would rather not bring up. Every once in a while, it even means giving a complete stranger a hug. But no matter how awkward or outright difficult the things He calls me to walk through are, I would never ever trade the beauty and glory and deep-seated joy to be found in living for His Kingdom, for the pitiful and temporary happiness of living for the Kingdom of Me.

But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For His sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I might gain Christ and be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes from faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith--that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and may share His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead. Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me His own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal of the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.  -Philippians 3:7-14

Press on.

Prove It.

The other night, I was driving home after spending time with some believers, and the tiredness started to sink in. I guess you'd even call it a happy sort of tired, or contented exhaustion. And it hit me, that in a sense God's making me eat my own words by having me carry out a challenge I issued to other Christians a while back. About a year and a half ago, I wrote a post called "Burnout?" addressing the idea that's become pretty prevalent in our generation, that spreading yourself too thin will result in your being worn down to the point you become useless. I made some pretty bold statements in that post, but they were founded on Scripture.

And so, rather than letting me set things forth on principle and leave it at that, it seems God has asked me, "Prove it." So there's the answer to the vague question that's been hanging around in my head for the last few months about why my life is so hectic and outright busy these days, and why it just won't seem to let up. Towards the end of last Spring semester, as finals were approaching and I was working to finish and revise final papers and portfolios and other such fun college assignments, I thought (with a decent amount of dread), "And, it's not about to slow down one bit." And it hasn't. I went from wrapping up the school semester to working full time for a few weeks, to being gone to Mexico for five weeks (which was also fairly non-stop), to coming back to preparations for my sister's wedding, to a week-long trip with the youth group, to arriving back in Memphis just in time to rush to the airport to pick up the photographers, go straight to rehearsal dinner, and the next day was the actual wedding. Then, I went back to working full-time for the rest of the summer (roughly a month), had a brief respite of a long weekend visiting relatives and a friend in Atlanta, and just as this semester started a death in the family took me out of state for a funeral in the middle of the first week of class. I'd say things are finally starting to settle into routine, but this next week my schedule shifts yet again to accommodate training that will last most of this month, and after that I honestly don't know what happens.

Life, in a word, has been busy. But although the pressure of a packed schedule tends to bring out hidden abilities to somehow get everything (or close to it, at least) done, I don't thrive well off of sheer busyness. I don't particularly like sitting still, but just running all the time wears on me and makes me start to suffocate. When I don't have time for people, I feel as though I'm not really living; just existing in a blur of wasted efforts. Because people, they matter. Grades don't. Money doesn't. Sleep, is worth less (but that one is actually somewhat necessary for life).

So here I am in the midst of much busyness, much constant strain and wear and tear on body, mind, and soul. And it's seldom easy. And I've thrown my share of pity parties bemoaning the fact that life shows no sign of slowing down anytime soon. And I've walked through many, many days (including pretty much the entirety of that youth trip and even my sister's wedding) feeling like I was running on empty, like I had absolutely nothing left within me to offer to those around me. But do you know what happened because of it? I had no choice but to fully rely upon God for strength, energy, words, and everything else. It was that, or collapse in a heap somewhere and completely give up. But I knew my God is strong even when I'm weak and depleted. And He proved Himself as exactly that, and I watched again and again as He used my weakness to demonstrate His strength.

I'm still watching Him do it. Because I still, so often, just feel tired. But do you know, our God never gets tired; He's never weary, never sleeps, never ceases to watch over us and to work all things according to His design. He does not faint, but He increases our strength when we have none to call our own.

So if I have to keep on living this out, I'll do it gladly. Because there's no greater joy than following His lead and watching Him move in this earth, even just in the simple things like carrying me past exhaustion. There's nothing like relying on Him when you know you have nothing in yourself to lean on. And there's nothing better than watching Him use even the frailest vessel to show forth His perfect strength.

Don't Tell Me Not to Hope.

When I was younger, I was presented with the sound-seeming advice, "Hope for the best; expect the worst." Mainly, I was so instructed because at that point, I did not handle any letdown in my expectations very well, and, as my parents kept telling me, needed to learn to be more flexible. Well, I guess that's changed; I'm now quite laid-back when it comes to most things, especially last-minute changes in plans.

However, there are some things I hope I never take lying down, and expecting the worst is one of them. Sure, it's a good way to avoid getting hurt. It's a great way to close yourself off into a place where emotions are easier to deal with, because that hope never gets to float very high off the sewage-infested ground level. And nine times out of ten, you will see exactly what you're expecting to see.

I overheard someone recently go on and on (and on) about how bad Memphis has gotten over the years. Every "better" neighborhood this individual has moved to has gradually gotten worse and worse until, according to this person, even their current area (which actually happens to be one of the nicest, cleanest, and safest areas in the entire city) has become "a slum." I could not make eye contact or even acknowledge that I'd overheard the comment. It made me both laugh at the level of ignorance of someone who obviously has no idea whatsoever what a slum actually is, and grieve at the level of cynicism and hypocrisy that were flowing out in those words.

It's easy to complain. It's easy to wall ourselves off from other people's pain or pretend their lives are less important than ours. It's easy to have a mindset of self-preservation and try to avoid facing things that are too hard or too scary or too awful or too hopeless. It's easy to talk yourself into just accepting that everything will stay as it is, or keep getting worse, and there's nothing that's going to change that.

But can I challenge all of us with a single verse? "Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things" (-1 Corinthians 13:7). We are not called to self-preserve. We're called to follow the example of the One who gave everything, the One who is the very definition of what love really means. We're called to love a world that's broken, because He so loved us when we were broken beyond any repair but His mighty, healing, loving hand. We're called to bear all things, not just the pleasant things or the easy things or the bearable things. We're called to believe and to hope--not to accept that the way things are or the way things are going is the way it will always be, but to set our gaze on the horizon and look to the One who makes all things new. We're called to endure the here and now that are broken, that seem hopeless, that hurt just to look at.

As C.S. Lewis once said, "To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable."

Yes, love hurts. It's not safe. It's quite often the very opposite of what we instinctively want to do. We'd much rather sit around and watch as lives shatter around us, and cry out, "I called it! I knew things would turn out this way." It feels much safer to do that, than to actually get your hands and feet dirty wading into the darkness and the brokenness. It's much easier to deal with if you close yourself off and decide it's not your problem. It's easier to judge, it's easier to criticize, and it's easier to keep your expectations exactly at the bottom so that any slight change for the better shocks you.

I don't know about you, but I'd rather hope. I'd rather look into the eyes of hurting, confused, and broken people I know, and look for what God is planning to do in and through their lives. I don't follow a powerless, distant being, any more than I follow a distant, mighty puppeteer. I don't follow someone who sees it all and doesn't care. I follow the God who is the Father of Compassion, who holds all things in His power, and who chooses to use brokenness to bring about wholeness. Think about it: Jesus allowed Himself to be broken, so that we might be healed. He chooses to use us, without making us fully perfect (yet), to showcase His strength and perfection even in our weakness.

I'd rather look the brokenness in the face and feel the pain, feel the depth of the darkness and the weight of the odds stacked against anything good coming out of this--and listen for the whisper of a God who knows exactly how the story will play out, how healing will come, how His light will cast out the darkness and His love will conquer all the odds. I may not be the answer, but He always is. So don't tell me not to hope. Don't tell me to lay down and expect things to take a turn for the worst.

I will fight to hope, to love like He loves, until the day I die. I will let my heart be broken over and over and deeper and deeper, rather than closing it off until it becomes indifferent. I'm not on this earth for me.

"Let your love be strong, and I don't care what goes down. Let your love be strong enough to weather through the thunderclouds." -Switchfoot

Where the Rubber Meets the Road

I've thought about writing this post for a while now. I've put it off for many reasons, but tonight it just feels like it's coming out whether I like it or not. Truth is, I'm in the middle of a season that has in some ways stretched longer than I expected it to, and in others has already flown by so fast that it's a frequent reminder of how fleeting this thing called time is.

I'm still in college. And lately, that makes me smile ruefully because if I'd followed my plan heading out of high school, I could have been done by now. Don't ask me how much longer I have, because I honestly don't know. God has literally turned every plan I had for college inside-out. I haven't graduated yet; I've transferred schools and taken a semester off last year after having taken an entire year off between the end of high school and my Freshman year at my first college; while I have a major (which I was still undecided on when I graduated high school), I've slowed down in my pursuit of it, partially in order to get as much out of it as I can. I've never really loved school. I've enjoyed learning alright, but I've always wanted to be done with school as quickly and painlessly as possible. While that hasn't changed though, I'm now eager for the opportunity and excuse to stick around longer than the typical schedule would have me here. Because what I've mostly learned all throughout my college experience thus far, is that it's not so much about the grades and the classes and the education, as it is about the people, and about following Christ and seeking Him first and foremost in everything.

And, I'm still living at home. That changed for a few years, but since the college transition last year I've been back in my parents' house for the time-being. And I'll readily admit, that hasn't always been easy. But I came to grips pretty early on after I moved back that finding another living situation merely to escape issues or conflict was not the right motivation, but that I needed to work through things with my family and learn to do life with differing schedules and more communication about such things. And while we're still not always perfect with how we handle such things, things have gotten better and in hindsight I've been able to see more clearly the importance of sticking things out rather than fleeing for mere convenience's sake.

Meanwhile, my little sister (younger by a year) just got married last month to a swell guy I'm pleased to call my brother. And she's not the only one: friend after friend is getting married or engaged or having children and sending me adorable pictures of them. And while God's been clearer than He by rights ever had to be with me that all that lies ahead of me somewhere, now just doesn't seem to be it. Ironically, I find myself yearning for that time to come sooner more often in the midst of seeing divorces and struggling marriages around me--not because I think I could handle it any better, but because I yearn for the opportunity to go through the ups and downs of this life with the commitment to someone I'm one with, to wrestle through the hard stuff and see our weakness and look to the One who is able to redeem us and our own brokenness in the midst of everything.

But you know what? I would not trade this season, for all its difficulty, for all its loneliness, for all its drudgery (ahem, schoolwork), or all its length. God has given me the incredible opportunity to walk a path that doesn't necessarily make sense to the culture we live in, because I'm not reliant on an education, a career, or a significant other. Just Jesus. Because He is enough. And I wouldn't trade the opportunity I have in the right here and the right now to live this out and prove with some small portion of my life that it's not about success; it's not about an earthly romance; it's not about a ten-year plan or that family and white-picket fence ideal. You need none of these things to be whole. Just Jesus. And He's worth it. He's worth seeing my plans shattered, whether He brings new and more beautiful ones from the shards or not. He's worth trusting even when I can't see how things are going to fall into place.

I have the awesome privilege of pouring some of my time and energy into some amazing young ladies in my church family. And there's absolutely no way I would trade this season of being able to live out in front of them the fact that they don't need a guy in order to follow Jesus. That this singleness is not a drudgery of pining, but an adventure to be taken hold of, in which there is very little that needs to hold you back from learning to walk boldly, humbly, and increasingly-closely with your God. In a lot of ways, I get to spread myself thinner in this season than I will someday when I do have a husband and family to spend the majority of my energy pouring into. At the same time, this season is practice and training for what lies ahead. I've noticed God tends to be preparing us fro the next step in some way even when we're oblivious to it; later we look back and see how everything was built together to get us to this moment. Loving people well now is preparation for loving them better in the future. Learning to love like He loves is a process, and it's one none of us have reached the end of yet.

Despite the cultural norms that tell us our life will suddenly become ideal when this piece or that one falls into place (i.e., when you get that dream job, or marry your best friend, finish that degree, or move to a "better" place)--the truth is it's in the here and now that the rubber meets the road, where who you are and what you're about are tested repeatedly throughout every day. This moment prepares you for tomorrow, and whether you succeed or fail is not nearly as important as what you turn to. Because I serve a God who has picked me up after my worst mistakes and failures, and caused me to stand not because I had it in me, but because I had Him in me. I serve a God who has taken all my relative "successes" and asked me to let them go, to lean not on what my own abilities can accomplish, but on His ability to accomplish so much more.

Dad and I recently went to see Captain America 2: The Winter Soldier, and as we were driving home he shared with me that at some point during the movie it had hit him that Captain America can save so many people from dying temporarily, but only Jesus can save them from dying eternally--that what Jesus saves is saved forever. You and I can do many things to benefit others or make this world a little bit more of a nicer place to live in. But I would much rather make it a harder place to stay dead in. It's something only God can make happen, but I firmly believe He's invited us to work alongside Him and be His hands and feet to reach the people of this world with His heart.

It's not always sunshine and triumph. Many times it's years of seemingly-fruitless toil and tears and prayers, or long nights of grief over things, situations, relationships that are not right in this world. Often it's learning to love in the midst of brokenness, to respond with kindness when it would be easier and even instinct to respond with harshness or venom. It's learning to be there for someone even when you feel you have nothing to offer them, or when you feel you need that last ounce of energy for yourself and your own sanity. It's being quick to listen and slow to speak, quick to bless and slow to curse, quick to comfort and slow to lecture, quick to forgive and slow to anger, quick to lay down your life for another and slow to put your own best interest above another's.

So what do you say? Are you in? He's calling you, just as He's calling me. Let's not waste our days waiting for life to start in the future; let's be a part of the future coming to the here and now. His Kingdom will come and is coming to this broken earth. I'd rather be in the midst of the fray than on the sidelines as I watch Him transform hearts and minds for His glory. I've found it usually involves my own heart and mind being transformed as well. And isn't that the point--that we all end up looking a little more like Jesus each day? There's no better place to be than the center of His will. 

Follow hard. Eternal life starts now.

Again.

This morning, I woke up earlier than usual and couldn't quite make it back to sleep. Feeling a bit restless, and wondering if I should write, I powered on my computer, and the first thing to greet me was a friend's blog post I had opened but left unread in my browser window from yesterday (I have a bad habit of doing that--pulling up blogs and other sites/articles and leaving them to read later). I haven't heard from her in quite a while, so instead of closing the window and opening the word processor, I began to read. And it broke my heart. What she had to share seeped into cracks that hadn't quite penetrated all the way to the point where the tears flow, and opened that place of grief, of pain, of knowing more fully that this world is not as it should be.

It's partially because she's not the first. I've had other friends, even people I grew up in church with, whose parents have divorced in recent years. Just last week, I found out that two good friends are in the process of a divorce. I'm not here to judge the motives or the hearts of any of these people, because I don't know them. Every divorce I've heard about has been between people I've not been in contact with in years. And it always leaves me thinking, "What happened?" 

Because, I knew you (with the exception to the parents of the friend whose post I read earlier this morning). I saw the smiles, the laughter, heard the everyday comments that may have expressed annoyance or displeasure with something, but ultimately...I thought we were all on the same page. I thought you had committed to something that was only to be separated by death. Not by struggle, not by difficulty. Not even by sin. I thought you had, both of you, pledged to love eachother through the hard times, pledged to show Christ to one another, to walk through life together, as a team.

My heart aches for every divorce I hear about, even if those involved are complete strangers to me. Because if marriage is meant to be a representation of Christ and His Church, of two people laying down their lives for eachother just as Christ did for His Bride and just as we are called to for the sake of our King--then a separation of that just seems...unnatural. It feels like a fracture of everything our families and even our daily lives are founded upon.

We live in a broken, fallen world, and all is not as it should be.

If you don't believe me, look at the little boy joining a gang because it's the only place he's ever felt somewhat accepted; look at the girl trying to dress a certain way to feel beautiful and wanted in ways she doesn't; look at the foster kid who's been stripped of everything he's known and handed from one "home" to another because he's just too much trouble to put up with; look at the man standing on a street corner because "some bad choices" have alienated him from his family and there's no way they'll ever consider taking him back; look at the famous people overdosing on drugs or throwing their lives away on empty pursuits because not even money and acclaim can satisfy them.

I'm not saying family is the answer. I'm not even saying marriage or staying married is the answer. Because at the end of the day, there is only one answer, one solution, to this world's brokenness--and that is the One who makes all things new. The Redeemer. The Healer of broken hearts and severed lives. He will not abandoned us. He has not abandoned us. In our darkest hour, when our world caves in, He is here, He is whole, and He is able. When everything else in this world and this life fail us, He never changes. He alone is faithful. Nothing we could ever do can change Him or turn His hearts from us, because He loved us first.

He saw that divorce coming. And it grieved His fatherly heart, because no divorce comes without the unnatural pain of that severing, nor without devastating in some way all parties involved, including (and sometimes especially) the children. He does not delight in our suffering, but He most certainly walks with us through it. Because He is God. And He sees the end from the beginning. He knows it doesn't end here. He knows what He plans to reforge, and He knows how He will redeem every single sin and breakage and pain for our ultimate good and His ultimate glory.

If life were all sunshine and easy paths, if we had no obstacles and no heartbreak, we would never experience what it means to truly live. It's when we face adversity that we have a choice to make; to follow God even when we can't see where He's leading; to trust Him--or to go our own way based upon what we can see and what we feel capable of. It's when we chose the former that we see Him come through in ways we never imagined were possible. And it's when we chose the latter that we discover His grace truly is enough--that He is able to take even our worst mistakes and our most devastating failures, and forgive them, and walk with us through the consequences, and display His great love as He patiently bears with us in our weakness and shows us that He is faithful even when we repeatedly fail.

Our God is not daunted by evil. He's not terrified of our sin. He's not distant in our suffering. He is here, always. And I pray you come to know that in a deeper way, whoever you are, reading this right now. Whether you're in agony over your own life situations right now, or reeling from someone else's choices that have effected you, or simply looking for hope in a world that's so broken. Because we're all looking for hope. We're all in need of healing. We're all in need of a love that never fails.

And I for one have found what my soul longs for. There is peace in the storm and faith in the questions and hope in the pain, because Jesus Christ has proven Himself true, faithful, and able. Always. He is the Redeemer. I'm not saying it's easy; it almost never is. But it's worth it, to trust Him, to know Him, to see Him at work in this world. He is worth above and beyond all that He's ever asked me to trust Him with.

By His power at work within us and this world, one day all will be as it should be. Again.

He is able to make beauty from the ashes.

ID Please?

I live in the midst of a generation who's been told all our lives that we need to find or forge or otherwise know our identity. And I've grown up in a culture that's told us to all be uniquely who we are, no matter if that offends others or looks odd. Strangely though, the result of this supposed "uniqueness" has produced a largely monotonous picture that I feel is best summed up in a friend's observation several years back (when camo was a fad for the cool kids) : "Everybody wears camo saying they're being unique," he said, "But everybody's wearing camo. That's not unique; that's just following the crowd."

We as humans tend to find our identity by comparison. Either we compare our lives to others' we respect, or we compare our lives to others' we despise in some way or another. A few bold souls actually manage to step out of the crowd and do something actually different, but in most cases their identities are so closely tied to their art or whatever other means they've become truly unique in--that an attack on their work (or whatever their identity is wrapped up in) comes through as a direct attack on their very being.

However, there's another place for our identities to be found. It's a place where we are asked to lose our identities in order to truly find them, and in truth, it's never really so much about our identities as this crazy, messed-up world tells us identity is. See, over the past eight or so years, I've been in the process of slowly losing my identity--or the identity I once assumed was mine--and embracing who I was really created to be. I wrote in my journal quite a few years back the statement "The more you get to know Me (God), the more you get to know the person I created you to be." At the time, it was an attempt at a song lyric, but even though that never panned out, the statement has stuck with me all this time.

You see, I serve a God (the God) who created me and knows every single detail of not only my life and how I operate, but how I was meant to operate--who I was meant to be. I was born broken, maimed by sin and dead in spirit. But that's not how my story was supposed to end, and I daresay that--although you and I share the same beginning--that's not how yours is supposed to end, either.

I mostly grew up thinking I was shy and nothing out of the ordinary. Mainly, shy. And ever since the day I read 2 Timothy 1:7, that wall started to completely and utterly crumble. Because if "God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, of love, and of a sound mind," then the shyness I so liked to hide behind, wasn't really the "God made me this way" thing I liked to claim it was. God hadn't intended me to live that way. And so, in these past seven our eight years, I have been on a journey that has partially been defined by a transition from being literally the shyest person I've ever met, to currently voluntarily placing myself in a foreign country where I'm surrounded by a language I'm still consistently stumbling my way through. And I actually wasn't that nervous when I got on the plane.

How did that happen? Well, you see, that little line in my journal however-many-years-ago has rung true all this time. The more I get to know Jesus, the more I find myself transformed by Him. It's more than Him rubbing off on me; He is in the process of forging in me what He saw when He created me. The more I know His heart, the more I want mine to look like it. And that looks different in different people, because we serve a God who delights in constructing unique lives and stories with a common theme expressed in a multitude of ways. All us Christians have one calling: to follow Christ and let His love cause us to love others and treat them as more important than ourselves. And yet, that calling looks different in different believers: some are called to other countries either temporarily or long-term, some are called to stay in their hometown all their lives, some are called to write, some to teach, some to sing, some to study, some many of these things at once. God has uniquely gifted every individual, and has a plan and a purpose for them.

Which leads me to the inspiration of this post. Some friends of mine are incredibly gifted in the areas of music scoring and video production. That, combined with a tremendous passion for and pursuit of Christ, has led to the creation of a video entitled "He Is," which is a meditation on the Names of God.

There's a reason when someone asks you for your ID, that identification has your name on it. Names are important; and the names God calls Himself in the Bible say much about His character. Because He can't lie, therefore each of these descriptions is true of Him. And He is so much vaster than any one descriptor can pin down for our finite minds. We can't grasp the fullness of who He is. Not in this life. And it is the grandest of all adventures to follow Him on a path of getting to know exactly who He is in deeper ways day after day.

All that being said, please give "He Is" a view and a listen, and allow yourself and your identity to shrink into a tiny, forgotten speck before the grandeur that is our God. Because He is...

Brothers.

There is probably nothing and no one on this earth that has caused my heart more joy, more tears, more excitement, and more anguish over the years than brothers. I'm not just talking about the two I'm related to, although they are definitely at the top of that list, as they're the ones I am most tied to and thankful for. But I'm also talking about quite a few guys in my life--some of whom are my true brothers in Christ, and some of whom I have for years prayed and longed to see become that. I have brothers I know personally, and brothers I more know of (a group which stretches to include some music artists whom I feel connected to in part because of their music). But for me, on a certain level, they are all, undeniably, my brothers. I care about them on a deep level, and want to see them become all they can be, all they were created to be.

God has abundantly blessed me with many awesome brothers in Christ over the past few years--men whom I'd trust with my life and who can make me smile just thinking about them. I count it an honor to be "related" to these guys, to be able to share some portion of my life with them, and to get to know them well enough to pray specifically for what I see the Lord doing in and through them. God is building some incredible men after His heart in this generation; I can vouch for that.

As for my two younger brothers (who are stuck with me 'til they die or I do), I may never have words for how deeply I love them nor how fiercely I desire to see them become the men God has called them to be. My life and my sister's would have been dull, ugly, and pretty glum without our two youngest siblings and their laughs and adventures, and even their snide remarks about being taller than me. As much as they've aggravated or frustrated me at various points over the years, they have helped shape me in ways nobody else could, and I count it among my richest joys to be their sister. Greater things are yet to come in both my brothers' lives, and I cannot wait to see it all unfold.

There are also guys I've either grown up with or come to know at some point along the way, whom I've specifically felt called to pray for. I don't believe God puts anyone on your heart for no reason. Because of that, my heart will continue to cry out for them to see Him, to know Him, to yield up their lives and find that real life begins at that point of surrender, that the plans God has for them are so much bigger and greater and harder and infinitely more worthwhile than anything anyone but Him could ever dream up. I can't pretend my heart doesn't often break when I see or think of these guys, whom in my book are still brothers though they may be distant from our Father; but beyond the pain of hurting for where they're at, I see hope. I see potential, because I know God didn't put them on this earth for nothing, any more than He laid them on my heart for no reason.

I fight for my brothers. I don't just pray for them soft and sweet. Sure, maybe I do at times, but for the most part, when I'm praying for any of my brothers, there's this sort of growl that rises up inside my soul. It's often a battle, a pleading with the One who is stronger to overthrow the attempts of enemy forces to thwart His plans for my brothers' lives, a blatant defiance towards the lies that either say there's no hope or that the place they're at is "good enough" when God's still got bigger plans for them.

Because no matter how far any of my brothers have come, the fact they're still breathing means their purpose on this earth is not finished yet. I've been blessed to the point of awe to see God answer prayers that asked Him to do more than I knew to ask in brothers' lives. There are deeper and greater and harder and more glorious things ahead.

So bros, whether I've tossed a football or a frisbee with you, played tag or "dogs" or Jedis or Nintendo with you when we were younger, worked with you, or just talked with you; whether I've known you for a month or a decade (or more)...chances are, I've prayed for you (for the vast majority of you, it's been too many times to count). And it's not that I don't pray for my sisters; but there's something that kicks into gear when it comes to praying for my brothers that's incredibly hard to describe. I want to see each of you become all you can be, but even as you are every single one of you has blessed my life in one way or another.

So run hard. Love deeply. Surrender recklessly. Look up.
God's plans for you are better than I can know, but I'll keep looking for glimpses of them. And I won't stop praying for you.

Rak khazak!
-Kala

An Open Letter to Switchfoot

{First off, let me state simply that although the term "open letter" bears the connotation (due to  a long history) of being political-type tools for sparking debates--that is not what I intend this to be. In fact, that's far from my intent with this open letter. Rather, this is partially me striving to walk out what I talk about, and partially me attempting to counteract a cycle of criticism and attack when it comes to us Christians and what we believe vs. what we think our brothers or sisters believe. I'm not saying that rebuke and correction are wrong--they are most certainly a necessary part of doing life together and pressing one another closer to Christ--but there is also a time and a place for encouragement and exhortation. More often than you might think, correction and encouragement even go hand-in-hand. As for me, this letter is meant more as a public thank-you than a critique.}

Dear Switchfoot (a.k.a. Jon, Tim, Jerome, Chad, and Drew),

Guys, I just want to say thank you for sticking it out and continuing on a road that I know hasn't always (or ever?) been easy for all these years. Thank you for your unashamed honesty and vulnerable transparency through your music, interviews, concerts, etc. I haven't seen Fading West yet, but a couple days ago I was blessed to be able to see you in concert for the first time, here in Memphis. It was an awesome time, and more encouraging than I feel able to put into words. I've been listening to your music for the past ten or so years, and God's really used it at so many points in my life--sometimes to encourage, sometimes to convict, almost always to sharpen my focus on things. There is perhaps no more vulnerable position to be in than to pour out your heart to people who don't know you, to put your art out there where anyone can see/hear it, where more than a few can (and have) come away with a wrong impression of what you're striving to communicate. Thank you for being persistent in putting yourselves outside your comfort zones and daring to continue to be honest in your lives and your music.

I've listened to a lot of bands/artists over the years, but I have to say Switchfoot holds a unique role in my journey. The first song of y'all's I ever heard was "Dare You to Move," and when you played that one at the concert it took me back to so many moments it's been instrumental in--from the comforting and peaceful effect it had as the only familiar song coming over the radio to a nervous twelve-year-old in a doctor's office, to various moments waking up to it during high school and reminding me that "Today never happened before." I can't tell you how many times any one of your songs has pushed me to think through things more intentionally.

And I have to tell you that it hasn't always resulted in a better stance on my part. I must admit that for a season (specifically after I first bought and listened to Nothing Is Sound) I was really disheartened by your music, because it felt like you were emphasizing so much the darkness and the disconnect, the things so wrong with this world we live in--that you didn't have enough emphasis on the hope that exists on the flip-side of all that. I felt letdown, in a way (no pun intended), because it seemed to me that y'all had gotten overly cynical. At that point in my life, letdowns like that felt irreversible; I was under the impression that once someone I respected started to show signs of faltering, it was only the beginning of an inevitable, downward spiral.

But you see, that is exactly why you guys ended up with this unique and special role. I can't remember specifically which song or album I was listening to, but the moment still stands out in my memory, alone in my backyard with a portable CD player and a pair of headphones, gazing up into a starry sky and expressing to God my feelings disappointment. And He responded. He answered my despair with a gentle, loving rebuke: "So pray for them." It was no audible voice, and not even something that can necessarily completely fit into words, but He impressed on my heart that night a glimpse into the reality He has since been leading and training me in, that my position is not that of a helpless bystander, and that my job is not merely to applaud or disapprove of anyone else's actions (or music). That night was when God first started teaching me not to give up on people.

So I kept listening to Switchfoot. And I kept praying. And this has been one of the most significant instances in my life that I can point to and testify that prayer doesn't just change who or what you're praying for; it changes you. And more often than not, it's been my heart that needs to change, moreso than the circumstances I'm praying about. That's been the story of this journey with my encounter(s) with your music. I admit, I've been arrogant at times, judged myself capable of knowing where y'all's hearts were at through hearsay and a handful of song fragments; thinking I could guess your motives when I heard about your "going mainstream" and facing much of the same fierce debate and criticism Lecrae is presently wading through. But over and over again, God kept pressing me back to my knees about it. I didn't know exactly what I was praying for, what it would look like if and when those prayers were answered; I just knew that I wasn't allowed to throw my hands up and walk away. I knew that even when I didn't agree with every line of every song (and to be honest, there are still some I disagree with), it was not left to me to frown, condemn, and turn away.

Why? Because y'all are my brothers. 

I may not know you, may never have a conversation with any of you, but I am bound to you with blood that runs thicker than any merely-human blood ever could. Even if we don't see completely eye-to-eye on everything, even if we have completely different lifestyles and schedules and routines, we're all following the same King. We're all learning to walk out His love more truly day by day, seeing more and more clearly that, indeed, "Love alone is worth the fight." We're all learning to see ourselves and others more like He sees us and less like the world does. We're all in this thing together.

So thank you. Thank you for being honest in a world that pushes for fake images...for daring to walk a path of risk and adventure and discomfort...for pouring your hearts and lives out night after night to share your songs with strangers and friends alike...for demonstrating love in the face of animosity...for being humble in your honesty and down-to-earth in your presentation...for directing the loudest applause toward someone else...for speaking (and singing) the truth in love. After all these years, I have to say you guys have proven yourselves and your message by how you have walked it all out. Keep changing the world, one step, one song, one smile at a time. And know that I'm still in your corner, and still praying for you. Keep living it out!

For His glory,
-Kala

Notes on Music, Part 2: What Prayer Has to Do with It

I feel like I'm more or less stumbling through this series on music and worship. Despite my attempts to plan out the order of what to bring up when and how to arrange the topics of all that's been welling up within me and germinating for so long, it seems I just have to take things one step at a time and let it build upon itself as I go. Left to myself, I'd be prone to wander off and leave it unfinished, but God's not letting me off the hook with this one, and He keeps pressing things on my heart which inevitably force themselves out through typed words on a screen.

Words like prayer. 

I don't know what connotation that word has for you, but for me it pulls at the corners of my eyes and mouth as it stirs up memories of thousands of moments over the past few years of my life in which God has drastically altered and deepened my perspective on what prayer is, where its purpose lies, and why it's important. It's been a journey (one I'm more than a little certain is still far from over). Among all those moments that trace it are sprinkled tears...laughter...fear...joy...anguish...wonder...trust...timid faith...surrender...confidence...uncertainty...desperation...expectancy...awe...and triumph (and probably a lot more descriptors/emotions, but you get the idea). 

So what is prayer? The simplest definition is that it's a conversation. And I know I can't be the only one who's ever convinced myself with my flawed reasoning that there's no need to pray because God already knows what you're thinking, what you've done, and what will happen. It's true, He's all-knowing and fully aware of all that (so often much more aware than we even are). So maybe some other terminology will help clarify: prayer is communion. I know, I know--that's a religious term. But I think it gets to the heart of the matter a little better. See, prayer is more than just words. Sometimes prayer has no words; sometimes it's an internal groaning or longing or a song in your soul that can't even be put into melody. Sometimes it's an expression of things only He can understand. Sometimes it's a plea, sometimes a praise.

Prayer is where your heart, mind, and soul collide with God's. 

 So what does prayer have to do with worship? Everything. Prayer is worship. The point of prayer, ultimately, is worship. Because when your heart is laid bare before the One who made it, when you get a glimpse into His heart for you or for someone else, it results in worship. When you pour your thoughts out to Him and let His Word change the way you think and the way you reason, it inevitably drives you to a deeper adoration of the One whose thoughts will always be higher than yours. When your soul is engaged in His mission on this earth, your will surrendered to His, your eyes watching for His promises to be fulfilled--you experience His greatness on a deeper level, and it produces worship. 

Prayer changes things. I serve a God who is perfectly capable to do absolutely whatever He wants and who doesn't have to include us in any way at all to do it. And yet He chose to let us take part in His work. He didn't have to. He is perfectly able to be God. He's good at it. So good at it that He chose to work in this world in a way that no one but Him would ever have even considered. I mean, seriously, would you give somebody a job to do when you already knew they didn't have the ability to carry it out? Would you hire a preschooler as a college professor? A high-school dropout as a foreign diplomat? A teenage pop singer as a war general? We as people look for the most highly qualified to fill a position. But God takes a position only He can fill--the role of representing Him in this earth--and chooses to use broken, helpless human beings who are utterly incapable of doing anything without Him (He supplies us with the very air we breathe, for crying out loud!). Are we a perfect representation of what He's like? Not even close. Which is how we become an even more perfect demonstration of who He is. 

You see, if I could be perfect by my own willpower or ability or know-how, I wouldn't need to know God, much less depend on Him. If being His representative on this earth meant that I never failed or faltered or in any way fell short of His excellence, nobody would ever see His power, His glory, or His redemption. Because if that were the case, people wouldn't see Him; they'd just see me, being perfect. If I never wronged anyone, no one would be able to glimpse God changing my heart and causing me to come back to them asking forgiveness. If my feelings were never hurt by another's words or actions, no one would see the fingerprint of His forgiveness in my life. If I never failed, no one would see the story of His grace in my life, redeeming my failures and proving God's might in my life as He enables me to overcome. If I never had to wrestle with sin, there would be no victory over it. And if I could walk this life out perfectly all by myself, nobody would ever glimpse the incredible beauty of the Church as one Body made up of many members and parts, working together, forgiving one another, helping each other, serving one another as we all serve Him.

Prayer emphasizes our dependence on God. It reminds our souls of their position: unworthy but loved, helpless but empowered by His Spirit, finite in the presence of the One who is infinite, broken but in the hands of the One who makes all things new. It reminds us Whose we are, draws us to worship, and sets our lives on a trajectory of accomplishing His will in this earth. 

Ever notice how often praying for God to change someone or something around you more often results in Him changing you? In a way that's central to much of what I have to say in upcoming posts. When we hear terms like revival or think of God's intentions for this world, we have a tendency to think in terms of others. We zoom out to a larger scale, of how much better life would be if other people would conform to His will. What we (myself very much included) so often fail to consider is the fact that when it comes down to it, no one really wants to be left on the sidelines as an onlooker while all the action happens, do we? If everyone around you experienced the transforming power of the Gospel in ways that turned their lives upside down in the best possible way and sent them running hard after God, living for His glory...would you want to be on the outside looking in? I know I don't. I want to be in the middle of the action. And that's where all of us--each and every one of us, if you call yourself by His Name--are meant to be.

We get to participate in His plans for this world and how they play out. 

God didn't give you a front-row seat to the big game. He chose you to play on His team. It's not all about you, nor is it meant to be, but you are meant to be a part of it. And that too, should lead us straight into worship of the One whom it is all about. 

Prayer increases faith. When you ask God to do something, you're also placing your dependence on Him. You're placing your trust in His ability to cause everything in your life to work together for your good and His glory in the end. You're placing your hope in His love and faithfulness. You're placing your faith in Him even when you can't wrap your mind around how things could possibly work out. You're submitting your will to His and acknowledging that He knows better than you do how things should go. The more your heart and mind gradually become transformed to look more like His, the more your prayers will start to look like His (yes, God Himself prays for you.). And when you see prayer answered? It leads to worship. 

It feels appropriate to finish this post with a song, yet again. Not sure if this will become a pattern for this series, but this song pretty well sums up the desire and purpose of our hearts being made to look more like our King's: