When He Speaks in Silence

It takes a while for me to process things. I got back from a week and a half in Thailand (which felt like so much closer to a month) eight days ago now. And I still don't know that I have full answers to everyone's questions about what I took away, or what hit me the most even. These things take a while for me to be able to fully identify. Maybe it's because I no longer relive the circumstances of the day every night--though usually that sort of thing, back in the day when it was indeed habit, was spent beating myself up over how I could have responded differently to moments I can never go back to, most often based on what could have made me look better in the eyes of others. Or maybe it's because I've spoken too soon after too many moments in the past and now lean more towards waiting to see what stands out after time has washed away the nearness. I guess maybe I just see better from a distance.

But there is something I know I can share, even if it's not as full an update as I'd like to offer. I can't say it's something I learned as if I mastered the knowledge during this trip (something tells me it'll be a lifetime study), but I can tell you it smacked into me like an ocean wave, and is still sloshing around in this crazy heart.

It's funny how sometimes travelling elsewhere brings up all the issues that have been buried like papers beneath the stacks of our routines at home. In a sadly-typical pattern, once we were there I promptly pressed out on things I wanted to ignore, to pretend weren't going on in my heart. But they were still there, despite my pretending, and everything comes to the surface at some point. I kinda knew it was coming, that God and I needed to have a heart-to-heart about a question that kept resurfacing in my brain. Some distractions just must be dealt with.

So one of those nights--or maybe it was an early morning thanks to the jet lag--I stole away to still my thoughts and hide from human eyes and open up my soul for a peek at what was going on in there. It opened, a little hesitantly, to the One who knows my heart better than I do, who at any given moment knows every random thought flitting through it, every emotion swelling and swirling in there, every hope and every fear and...well, just everything. And as always, He was gentle. But He still didn't do what I asked.

I wanted Him to just tell me, to speak with as much clarity as He has in the past, to give me a heads-up so my heart could stop spinning and my head could quit trying to come up with possible scenarios and answers to each one. I wanted to know. And in the midst of that demanding, part of me remembered the moments driving with a fresh license in Bartlett on a Sunday morning, when I'd held my life out in an open palm and realized it wasn't my right to know what He planned to do with it. Memory highlighted that day, when the morning's surrender set the stage for hearing Him give what I knew I didn't deserve: a glimpse into exactly what I'd just given up my sense of entitlement to. He didn't show me the entire course that day, but He did highlight some of the specifics I've known ever since would play some role in the future He had for me.

So back to Thailand: memory made me yearn for that young, easy letting go of rights that were never mine to begin with, while the observer in me pointed out the pattern that such surrender most often leads to a satisfaction of the yielded desires. But knowledge can only take you so far, and I know that by now. What I needed was more than knowledge of what I should do, which was of course surrender afresh; I needed God to do what I could not and steer my heart in that direction once more. So I asked Him to, meanwhile still pleading in the back of my head for Him to give me some kind of a sign or a signal, some hint to know what lay ahead.

His response was silence.

Truth is a potent weapon against the lies that get my heart twisted in knots. It fought skillfully that night. As much as I wanted what seemed easier--to know the answers to my questions--He wanted what was better: for me to be drawn near to Him.

It hit me, in that silence, while His Spirit spoke without words or answers, that He knows how to speak to us. He knows how to draw out the details that may spark memory in my mind but to anyone else just seem pretty or even plain. He knows when to be clear with me, when I need to know specifics in order to take the next step in faith in the direction He's leading me. And He knows when I need to hear silence. He knows when to withhold the answers to my questions, because it's best for me not to know them yet.

As much as He knows when to press on my heart so strongly that I know I have no choice but to obey, because I know without doubt what He's directing--He also knows when I need to hear and feel and see nothing, in order to know He's God.

So often I find myself caught up in doing, in seeking Him for directions more than I seek after His heart. Time feels short and close-packed and like there's never enough of it, and maybe every once in a while we all need to get hit with some sort of jet lag just to realize it's not so much about time, but the One who created it. I was convicted that night, not just of my need to know, but of my need to always be task-oriented rather than Jesus-oriented.

And do you know what happens when you reach that breaking point, where all your efforts collapse like crumbling plaster and you're left staring into the eyes of the One who made you and knows you and orchestrates all things across the span of a universe too vast for you to even partially comprehend in all its complexities? Well, I don't know about you, but I sure felt small all over again. I felt a little like that teenage girl telling God she had no right to see the blueprints or the battle plans, because honestly, what can I who owes everything I am, even everything I think, to the One who gave me a mind to think with--what can I demand from Him?

If He loved me less He'd tell me. He'd answer my questions and send me running off to try to make it all happen in my own strength, and get me out of His hair. If He loved me less, He'd be fine with letting me stay centered on tasks instead of drawing me away from the busyness to deal with my messy heart. But He loves me more. He loves me enough to withhold the lesser answers because He Himself is the greater answer to my needs. He loves me enough to silence my fears and felt-need to know what lies ahead. He loves me enough to once again ask me to trust Him.

And sometimes, such communication comes in silence. He knows when to speak; He knows when to whisper; but perhaps more remarkable is the fact He knows how to lead without speaking, too. He knows our needs far better than we can even pretend to. He knows when we need to hear from Him, and what we need to hear, and how we'll respond when we do. And though He's not blind to our desires or deaf to our questions, He knows when not to answer them, when not to give us what we expect or demand or even plead for. Because He alone knows how to lead us at each step, not just in the way we are to walk physically on this earth, but in the way our hearts are to tread closer and closer to His.

Sometimes it takes the silence to better know His heart towards us. Sometimes we truly just have to be still, and know He's God. Be it jet lag or a sleepless night, or one of hundreds of other unplanned delays and holdups to our plans for our days and lives--He knows how to speak to us, how to get through to us, and how to meet our needs at every step. It was true in Thailand, and it is true on American soil. Has He answered me since then? Nope. No, He has not. But at the same time, He has--because He's answered me with a silence that I know means He's got me. He knows me. And He has me and my life and my questioning, wavering heart, in His most capable hands. Always.

"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.

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

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.

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:

Let's Be Dreamers

For as long as I can remember, I've been a dreamer. I've been able to look at something as-is, and see what could come of it, what it could turn into or become part of. The first evidences of this trait didn't bless my mom much--all kinds of crafts made of things like gum wrappers, toilet-paper tubes, leaves, and anything else I found ways to create things with. As I've grown older, it hasn't gone away; I see what most people look on as useless junk, and can often envision at least a couple good uses for it. It's the reason for a drawer in my room that holds what I term "useful stuff," but it also comes from something that runs much deeper in my soul.

We serve a God who looks at ruined and broken souls that have been completely crippled to the point of being worthless--and sees the plans He's had for us since before the world began. He did not create us to be wrecks or failures, and He is not discouraged when He sees us in our most depraved state. Why? Because He is in the business of bringing beauty out of ashes, of redeeming what seems long-gone and utterly lost, of creating again that which He has purposed for us all along. I know that because I've seen Him do it, in me and in others.

So forgive me if I get a little irritated when people try to tell me or anybody else that any of us possess any kind of beauty or power on our own, because when I came face-to-face with my Savior I also came face-to-face with the reality that He saw me at my ugliest and my weakest and my most hopeless, and He had still been pursuing me all along. He wasn't blind to my shortcomings and my sin; He knew (and knows) me better than I'll ever know or understand myself. But neither was He intimidated by my darkness.

You see, no matter how much it ever seems like the odds are stacked against redemption or hope, there has never been a moment where Light has lost to Darkness. Ever noticed that? Flip the light switch on, and you don't have to wait for the darkness in the room to retreat; the fight is over in an instant, because light trumps darkness. Even where there are shadows, they're usually not pitch dark, because the light reflects and refracts off of other things around and lightens even the shade (which is how you can still get a sunburn sitting in the shade on a sunny day). If you ask me, there is great significance to the fact that God compares Himself to light in the Bible. He is greater than every force of evil this world will ever know.

That being said, it would be easy for Him to snap His fingers and obliterate all evil in an instant, so why doesn't He? Because He has a much bigger and more beautiful design in mind, and because He sees potential where we don't.

I love rooting for the underdog. There is perhaps nothing more inspiring and victorious than seeing the most unlikely odds flipped on their head. And our God is in the business of doing just that sort of things. Let the odds be stacked against His plans; let darkness seem to gain the upper hand in the lives of man; let a turnaround look about as impossible as water springing up in the desert. We and even all creation look at that dry, cracked, crumbling ground and say it's a wasteland; nothing can grow there; there's no hope for life to happen here.

Enter the God who says He'll make rivers break forth in a dry and barren land (Isaiah 35) and flowers blossom in the desert wasteland. It's what He does: He brings life where before was only death. He takes lives ravaged and ruined by sin and breathes life into them, creating again a clean heart inside and reversing death's hold. He's not intimidated by the insurmountable odds we see; His vantage point is higher, and He sees the real odds: the odds that say darkness will never win out against Light when they come up against one another. He is stronger.

So in light of who He is and what He is capable of, how can we look at this world and say it's hopeless? Do you know your God? Do you know that He is aiming at redemption? Do you know that He's chosen you and me to be part of that process? If you ask me, it's amazing.

So let's not be afraid to dream. Let's not be intimidated by the darkness; let's instead lift our eyes to the Author of Light and ask Him to give us His vision for what is to come out of this desert land. And let's not shield our eyes or avert our gaze from the places--the hearts--overshadowed by darkness. Let's not pretend they're not there or that it's not our problem. If you are a child of the King, you are called to shine His light. Reflect it into that darkness. Let's not cower in fear of the darkness, giving into the apparent odds that it will swallow us too. If you have been rescued and redeemed, His Light lives in you. He is with you. And He will not be beaten. So don't fear--follow Him into the darkest dens of Hell on this earth and let His light shine until every shadow disappears. You may feel like one lonely and fleeting matchstick. Well, fire tends to spread. So burn bright.

Let's not be afraid to hope. Don't look at the situations and relationships you face and allow despair to overtake you. Look to the One who saw you at your worst and never turned away. Look to the One who never gave up on this mess, never saw my failure as proof He couldn't use me--the One who knew all along that He is more than enough for me and more than capable of somehow taking my brokenness and inability and using it for His glory, using it to draw me to Himself and show me how much I need to rely on Him and not myself.

I get sick of people cheering others on with things like, "Believe in yourself!" and "You can do it!" because the longer I live the more inescapably convinced I become of the fact that I am absolutely incapable of doing anything good or right on my own. I can't tell you how many times I've been talking to God and paused a moment to look at my own track record--a long line of mess-ups and failures and even well-intentioned blunders--and then at His track record--unending faithfulness and grace that is greater than all my sin, that is actually capable of taking all my failures and using them for good in a way only He can. He has taught me through every season, and drawn me closer to Him even in the midst of the worst storms.

I am a firm believer in the fact that I can't do anything good on my own. But I'm a firmer believer that God can do greater things in and through you and me than we can even imagine. I'm a firmer believer in His ability to redeem and restore and bring life from death, water and flowers from the desert wasteland. His Light shines into the darkness, and will not be overcome.

So let's not be afraid to believe Him, to believe in His ability to do what we cannot--that He can redeem what is lost, He can remake what is broken, He can bring life out of death.

"For everyone who has been born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that overcomes the world--our faith." -1 John 5:4

Let your faith look to Him. Rak khazak!!

Plans

Lately, I've been in or around quite a few conversations in which someone (sometimes myself) has said, "I don't know what it's gonna look like." And, believe it or not, those words have been deeply encouraging to me.

You see, I have grown up amid a culture that preached to me continually the importance of having a plan. When I was in high school, I was told I needed to set goals for myself, both short-term and long-term. I needed to have clear aims to focus on, self-imposed "deadlines," so-to-speak. Because, if you don't have a plan and don't know where you're going, you're obviously not going to get anywhere or do anything worthwhile with your life...right?

I struggled with this because at that time I honestly didn't know what my future was going to look like. There were a lot of things I could see myself doing as a job, but when it came to choosing what to pursue, I felt completely at a loss. Adults in my life told me it was okay to not have a clear picture just yet, as I still had several more years to figure it out before going to college and picking a major, etc.

But then something incredible happened. Just as I was starting to formulate my short-term goals for what would happen once I graduated college, God intervened. He started to nudge me down a different path than anything I had ever considered. As I walked a little hesitantly down this new path that started with putting college off for a year to attend Ellerslie, I tasted for the first time the sheer bliss of having only a general sense of what God was about to do in my life. I knew He had been clear that this was where and how I was supposed to spend the next few months (actually, at the time I thought I would be there for a full year), but as for what it would look like, I had no clue nor any way to predict it. Ellerslie was just starting up the summer I went there; there was no predicting just what was going to happen with students from all over coming to this tiny town in Colorado with the goal of pursuing Christ together.

Since that summer, it seems every major step I've taken--and even the smaller steps, too--have followed a very similar pattern of knowing where God was leading me but not having any kind of a clear or easily-articulated picture of what it was going to look like. And over and over again, I've seen God work in amazing ways, doing more than I ever could have imagined. His thoughts aren't like ours; He sees the big picture, as well as every tiny and minute detail that goes into it. Consequently, His ways are different than ours--they're higher; they're better (Isaiah 55:8). And they tend to look crazy or even a little more than crazy in the eyes of the world, because they don't follow the same line of thinking as our limited point of view. His plans often cause us to take risks--risks that don't make sense, even to us at times. But they always cause us to rely on Him more and in ways that we wouldn't otherwise.

And that is why I get excited when I hear someone talking about starting something new or doing things differently, and those words, "I don't know what it's going to look like exactly," come out of that person's mouth: because in those words I recognize a sense of willingness to let God take the lead and orchestrate the steps in carrying out whatever dream or desire or "goal" the person may be talking about. It's in those times where where we don't know exactly what will happen next or what something is about to look like--what an idea will look like when it's actually being lived out--that our faith grows and our hearts begin to taste the deep joy of allowing God to have all there is of us.

"The heart of man plans his way, but the LORD establishes his steps." -Proverbs 16:9

Take Your Kid to Work Day

There is a scene in The Lion King where Mufasa takes his son, Simba, up to the top of Pride Rock at dawn and tells him, "Everything the light touches is our kingdom." 

After Simba's awed response, the young lion cub looks around and asks, "What about that shadowy place?"

"That is beyond our borders," Mufasa replies. "You must never go there, Simba."

Well, unlike Mufasa, our Father, when He shows us what all is under His dominion, does not order us to stay out of "that shadowy place" where the Light doesn't seem to be reaching. Instead, He says, "That's Mine too; they just don't know it yet." And rather than ordering us to stay put while He goes and takes care of things, our Father takes us with Him to work. He shows us the ropes. He teaches us how to defeat the enemy by relying on Him, and by training us to be like Him, enables us to reach others and win souls right alongside Him. 

I used to pray as if God preferred to do everything Himself, like a dad who would rather fix the car the right way and get it done more quickly than he would if he were showing his son what was wrong and what to do. But then God started showing me the grandeur of His plan. He is perfectly able to quickly, effectively, and effortlessly make all things as they ought to be. He could have destroyed Lucifer and the angels the moment they rebelled, could have extinguished Adam and Eve the very moment they ate of the fruit. He could have simply eliminated the sin that was trying to wreak havoc on His perfect plan for creation. But He didn't. Why?

Because He had a greater plan. He let Lucifer rebel, let him try to destroy and usurp what was rightfully His. God has been thwarting Satan's plans every day since. It started with a promise--the promise of a Messiah who would come and set His people free. And for centuries upon centuries, Satan accused God of having a double-standard. How come he was punished and cast away from God's presence, while the humans weren't? How could He forgive them? 

And then Jesus came on the scene and paid the price of sin, fixing the problem by offering Himself as the sacrifice for God's wrath, taking the just penalty of sin on our behalf. He made a way for us to be justified in the eyes of a holy God. Not only that, He adopted us as His own children. Us, who didn't even deserve to be slaves or servants, because what we really deserved was death. But He made us heirs of His Kingdom. 

But you see, our Father will never die--not in a stampede of antelope, nor by any other means. He is eternal. So we do not inherit the Kingdom by waiting until the present King dies. No, in His infinite wisdom and glory, God has made a way for something far better. We don't have to sit around and watch Him do His work. Instead, we get to be part of it! 

God uses people. It seems like a bad idea to us sometimes--why use the imperfect to represent the Perfect?--but God knows exactly what He's doing. Incredibly, He is able to better prove to this world who He is and what He is about through imperfect vessels known as human beings, because His strength is proven in our weakness, and His goodness in the midst of even our failure. And He doesn't leave us to an endless cycle of failure and forgiveness, either. He teaches and leads and builds us in His ways, after His own image, enabling us to be more like Him the more we seek His face and bear His heart for those around us. 

Do we always get it right? No. But just like a father teaching his child how to do something, when we mess up, He makes good come of it. Sometimes He uses our failures simply as a learning experience, but He also turns those situations around and uses them for good. Through it all, He leads us to follow in His footsteps. 

Leaving Memphis...Again

In a few short hours, I will be on the road, saying goodbye to the city I love and feel so called to as I follow God's calling elsewhere for a time. It's not the first time. The first time was a little over two years ago, when I left my family, friends, hometown--pretty much everything I'd known and was used to--in order to attend a discipleship training school called Ellerslie all the way in Colorado.

I remember crossing the Memphis Bridge and feeling torn between the place I was leaving behind and what God had in store at the place I was heading to. It wasn't just the city--it was also having to leave behind my family, friends that were so close they almost might as well be family, and all the people I knew and had grown up with here--but deep down, there was a painful awareness that I had to leave Memphis for a time, the city I had grown to love while so many I knew merely tolerated, if not hated, living in.

After I came home from Ellerslie about six months later and spent the subsequent six or so months here in Memphis, I found God calling me to leave once again--this time for college. That transition was rougher than the one from Memphis to Ellerslie, not because the move held more of an unknown (when I left for Ellerslie I had no idea what I was getting into), but somewhat because of the opposite; I knew I was heading into a completely different sort of environment and that even as I was going to college, I was going against the flow of our culture. I knew I wasn't going to college for an education and wasn't called to keep my head low and simply make it through. It was going to be hard, a different kind of hard than I had ever known before. And as we left Memphis, I once again felt torn between my more long-term calling to Memphis and my current call to this college three and a half hours away.

But it was a good kind of torn, even as the extremely similar bittersweet ache I am feeling right now is a good kind of pain. It's the kind of pain that comes with leaving someone--or a group of someones--you have grown to love deeply. This summer, God brought me to some of the front lines in the battle for Memphis. Through living and working with Street Reach this summer, I have gained a better perspective of that battle, as well as getting to know specific people who are also fighting it and other specific people whose souls hang in the balance.

The good news is that I do not have to be here to continue to fight in this battle. Prayer reaches farther, deeper, and faster than any weapon of this world. Still, it is painful to physically leave Memphis. But the One who has called me is faithful, and as always, He has a plan and will not fail to carry it out as He leads me on from here. His has a purpose for taking me back to Mississippi, and He will not fail to use me there or to use this season to draw me yet closer to Him and to prepare me for what lies in store. Just as He perfectly orchestrated the timing of leading me to Street Reach this summer--from preparing me for it even when I had no idea what Street Reach even was, to walking me through every day of it this summer--He has perfectly orchestrated everything about leading me back to MC this school year.

So, as bittersweet as leaving Memphis is going to be, at the same I am excited for what lies ahead. The same God who led me from here before into adventures I never could have dreamed of, who led be back here and walked me through even more, has infinitely greater plans for what is yet to come than I can possibly imagine. It's going to be hard, but at the same time it will be infinitely rich and beautiful because my King will never leave my side nor fail to draw me closer to Himself.

Here goes.

Pray Bigger.

God's been bringing something to my attention lately. It's something He's shown me before, only this time He's being even more specific...

He's been showing me I've once again fallen into a habit of looking at the people in the world around me, and focusing on the need rather than the Answer to that need. I've been feeling overwhelmed by the magnitude of what needs to change in so many hearts and lives, if my generation is truly going to see any true, noticeable advancement of the Gospel and the Kingdom of God.

When I started college last Fall, before long I started feeling sort of like Elijah in 1 Kings 19 when he cried out to God saying he was the last of those that followed the LORD in Israel. It wasn't quite that extreme, I knew, because I have been blessed with many brothers and sisters in different parts of the country and the world who are passionately and wholeheartedly pursuing and living for Christ. But at college, I started feeling sort of like part of a dying breed, like I was one of the only people whose heart was broken over certain things I was seeing around me. But just as He did to Elijah, God spoke to me and reminded me of His great power. He told Elijah He still had seven thousand in Israel that had not bowed their knees to Baal, and in much the same way He reminded me of something He gave me a glimpse of a vision for several years ago. He wants to move mightily in my generation. He plans to. Even now, He is raising up saints and soldiers who will surrender their lives to Him and give themselves to advance His Kingdom and glory in this earth. Funny how I can forget that sometimes.

That season of broken-heartedness during my first semester was followed by one of worshipful, deeper discoveries of who God is and how infinitely big He is, how almighty and awesome. This is the God who has pulled off the impossible again and again throughout human history. Is anything too hard for Him?

Yet somehow, as humans we have this tendency at times to let our focus shift from our great God to all the mountains around us that must be moved. We forget Who must move those mountains, and begin to feel very small and incapable, to realize the utter impossibility of the task. But even though God could just pick up those mountains and toss them into the sea with less effort than it takes you or I to blink, He has chosen to work through the people He calls His own, through a very unique tool known as faith. Remember? Jesus said that faith the size of a mustard seed is enough to tell a mountain to move, and it would be moved. Is that a result of our faith--or of the One in whom our faith is placed?

Lately I've been struck by the sheer magnitude of the things that need to be overcome in my city, in America, in the world, and in the Church. I don't know why, but for some reason I've just never realized either the number of people involved or the level of delusion that has overcome so many. And once again, I started to feel like it's pretty impossible to hope for much to change for the better in this world we live in.

But then, God started reminding me of some things again... He brought up some specific memories of times He's very clearly spoken to me, or just filled me with hope and expectancy for things that, apart from Him, truly are impossible. And He aimed a rather pointed question/charge at my heart. He convicted me of not praying big enough. Of limiting my requests to the One who alone is the very Source of all power and grace. Of somehow thinking I could only pray for the small things, or that the small things were big enough.

Several years ago, God challenged me to dream bigger. It came after all my plans for my future had crumbled into dust, and for some time I had been utterly clueless as to what I wanted to be when I grew up, what I was going to do with my life. I had given up the goals I had set for myself for so long, and without them I literally had no clue what my life would look like after high school and college. Before God turned my world upside down, my dreams (in hindsight) were pretty mediocre and dull. I wanted to be a veterinarian, which I might've enjoyed to some extent, and have a husband, kids, pets, a house, etc. All the usual stuff. My idea for my future was puny, insignificant, and hollow. It was successful, perhaps, in the eyes of the world, but it lacked a driving purpose other than doing what I wanted to do in working with animals. I had let that dream go, but didn't know what to replace it with.

And that's when God told me to dream bigger. He challenged me to aim for a life filled with purpose--the very purpose I was created for, to glorify Him. Slowly, He started highlighting some areas He had gifted and called me in--most of them things I had only begun to discover after the old vision had been given up. I still had no clue what it was going to look like; I just knew some of what it would involve.

Now, revisiting that memory and others, God's been asking me if I'm willing to really trust Him to do all the things I have asked Him for--particularly in regards to my city and my generation. And if I focus on the mountains of impossibility, my heart quails and wants to shy away from ever praying the bold prayers I know my King is asking of me. But that's not where my gaze should be.

"Behold, I am the LORD, the God of all flesh: is there any thing too hard for Me?"

-Jeremiah 32:27

"What shall we say to these things? If God be for us, who can be against us?"

-Romans 8:31

In the words of Han Solo, "Never tell me the odds!" I don't care how impossible it seems to think that God could grip the hearts of an entire generation and change them, move on those hearts in such a way that the world cannot deny He is living and moving and having His being in them. He has given me a commission to pray for that, and I can much sooner bear the thought of asking Him for something this big, than the thought of holding back, of not trusting Him, and of someday realizing that the reason something didn't happen was because nobody had the guts to pray for it. "You have not, because you ask not" (James 4:2b).

"Lord, let us be a generation that seeks,
Seeks Your face, oh God of Jacob."  -Kutless

May we come to the place of faith that C.T. Studd so poignantly described: "We will a thousand times sooner die trusting only our God, than live trusting in man." I'm not claiming that I've reached a point of utter confidence as to what God intends to do in my generation just yet--but I know I need to fight for it. I know I need to pray for greater faith, and to recklessly trust Him to do what only He can. I don't know what it will look like; but I know He is able. And when it comes down to it, that's all I really need to know.

My Hope Is in You.