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.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Saturday, January 24, 2015
Friday, December 5, 2014
Use Your Words
I'm a words person (and many friends can attest, wordy as well). Surprised? Then you may not know me very well yet. I've been putting things into words pretty much as long as I can remember...even back when I had no idea you were supposed to put space between the letters of separate words. Trying to decipher entries in the first journal of this historically-awful speller, with no spaces and very little concept of punctuation? Hilarious. But if that's what beginnings I come from, I know there's hope for anyone to grow in the giftings and talents God has designed them for.
Recently God's been bringing back up a lot of things I would've thought I'd already learned. You know how sometimes you "know" something but then find your situation where it's like you're realizing it all over again, but for the first time? There always seems to be deeper to go. And I forget that sometimes. Sometimes the student in me mentally checks topics off a list as if having the head knowledge is enough to equip me to handle any given situation. Well, unlike academia, real life doesn't so much work that way. 'Cause when you're in the middle of all the craziness and know what you should do, how things are supposed to ideally happen or be different...somehow the knowing doesn't always translate so smoothly as it would on paper.
Sometimes my words fail. There have been so many moments in my short-ish life that I will never be able to encapsulate in nouns or verbs or adjectives--not even with the best adverbs or sentence structures. The past few days--three in a row, man! It's crazy--have left me floored all over again at the immensity and the precision of a God who is so very much vaster than I'll ever know. And see, I've "known" that--I've known He's bigger than my puny mind can grasp. I've heard and read and witnessed Him do things I never could have come up with, even with the crazy imagination that lurks in this space and is constantly dragging me off into the whackiest and most outrageous adventures and fox trails. I've reminded myself He's big and awesome and mighty. But there is something infinitely different in dwelling on checked-off knowledge, and seeing the truth behind it explode into action before your eyes.
It started, like so many stories of my life have, with the same old frustration: seeing something not as it should be, knowing the right answer (at least to a degree), and being frustrated because my "knowing" didn't elicit immediate transformation. Somewhere around a decade ago, a similar frustration brought me to a series of moments weeping in my bed as the reality of who God is--that all these things I'd "known" about Him were actually true--broke into my desperation and provided the actual answer to what I'd technically "known" for a long time already. That He wasn't far off; He was near. He is near. As near as the invisible bunches of oxygen you pull into your lungs in this very moment.
A little while back, a realization hit me hard enough to leave me breathless for quite a while. A song by Shane and Shane was randomly playing in my head, and the line "Your nearness is to us our good" suddenly collided with a verse that's been tucked into my memory since I had to memorize it in grade school: Romans 8:28--"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose." Do you see it? God causes all things to work together for our good, and our ultimate good is not found in some idealistic set of circumstances; it's found in Him--the One we were created for, the One with whom we're designed and hard-wired for fellowship with. That's the good He's working all things together towards. He's drawing us to Himself.
So, back to my recent frustration: Recent situations, one right after another it felt, kept tearing me open at spots where my heart was coming out and it was not pretty. It was repulsive. It wasn't what I ever want my heart to look like, and it was coming out at people, and it was not okay. And I knew that. And I was trying to fight it, but somehow all my knowledge about the state of things was not fixing stuff. I identified the problems, and among them was the gaping lack of His heart for people around me. And I prayed, and I texted my sister and asked her to pray about one situation in particular where my nasty heart was really coming forth. I did all I could think to do to combat it, to force myself into the right state of mind and heart. But it didn't feel like anything was working.
Enter time with some dear, wonderful young women I have the privilege and opportunity to do life with. Suddenly catching up turned into confession, and I was messily spilling forth my observations of my obstinate, ugly heart which as of late had been reluctant if not completely unwilling to channel His heart for people. And in the midst of that conversation, where I found I wasn't the only broken one or the only one struggling, and where each of us began to speak words of encouragement and wisdom and truth into one another's circumstances--another checked-off truth came to the foreground: WE NEED EACHOTHER. I thought I knew that. I've taken notes often enough--right?--about how God uses us in other people's lives? About how He has chosen to dwell with us and in us, and that's us not just me. I haven't been completely oblivious or ignorant in this arena.
But I tell you, no matter how many times I've been in a room with someone and sin has been confessed and the truth has been applied with genuine love and the inhuman strength of grace--that night left me awed of our God who is working in and through us, and thankful to be able to know and cherish these ladies and have opportunities like this to bare our hearts before one another and let His grace do surgery in our midst. Not than anything or everything necessarily changed over night, but there is such strength in having teammates willing to stand by you and push you to press on and support your weight when you're out of stamina.
Fast-forward to last night, when the Holy Spirit wrecked Wednesday-night youth service in the best possible way. Hearts were pierced, challenges uttered, bold steps taken to follow a road of surrender. It was worship. It was worship for those who spoke what God was laying on their hearts to say, and it was worship for those of us listening to that outflow. It was worship when we broke into groups and prayed over one another. We were worshiping the God of broken hearts, the God who is here in the right now and is walking with us through every moment, every situation, every battle. We were worshiping the God who created every single soul there for a purpose, to know Him, and that He will make Himself known through us and through our lives. A dear sister turned to me and spoke words I had no idea I needed to hear, words that sank deep and shook me to the core and broke me with renewed humility and awe at who God is and what He is doing and how He uses what is flawed for His glory. Words that made the tears flow from these eyes that only ever seem to be moved to such by the very deepest or most sudden and uncontrollable emotions.
The echoes of those words along with so many other shock waves from a refreshed heart taken two steps deeper into the infinite ocean of knowing Him, reverberated in my head and soul today. Work, though draining as usual, was tinged with joy and peace that had been a bit absent there as of late. Because my soul was beholding afresh the wonderful knowledge that He is here.
Earlier tonight I sat in a room as a bunch of friends from campus took turns sharing songs that were special or important or beautiful to them. And I was on the list of "performers." Many of us (myself included) hadn't had much or any time to invest in practicing what we wanted to share, but it was an atmosphere of laid-back enjoyment and encouragement and soft-spoken grace and cheering one another on and just plain sharing life, sharing pieces of our lives through songs, even when many of the songs were written by someone else. Nobody had to earn anything. Nervousness was soothed and wrong frets ignored; it wasn't about the performance but about the sharing.
And isn't that what we're still on this earth for? If it was an individualistic thing of God getting ahold of one heart and another, wouldn't it be just as well for us to vanish straight into the fullness of His presence rather than having to continue to live in a broken and fragmented world where it's often harder to see Him? We're not here for ourselves; I'm not here for my sake any more than you are here for yours. We were meant for fellowship, not just with God, but with eachother.
And our gifts are not for ourselves either. Right around the time I picked guitar back up and started taking it a little seriously, and around the time I started tentatively stepping into songwriting, God confronted me on my desire to hoard it to myself. Not that it was that good--the exact opposite was the very reason I wanted to keep my playing and singing and songs locked away in my room to be just between me and Him with no one overhearing. I remember clearly the first time He pressed me to share a song with somebody, and to my push-back He lovingly and a little sarcastically told me it wasn't for me--that anything He'd given me was not for my own enjoyment behind locked doors. Even back then, He was drawing shy, tentative little me out of myself into community, into fellowship. He was teaching me--and still is--that I didn't have to have some great or fantastic thing to offer, but that He wanted to use my fumbling attempts.
So tonight I found myself sharing two songs that mean something real to me; that both came from a place of desperation to see God move in the lives of people around me, and that He has since on many, many occasions used to break me with the reminder I need Him to move in my life as well. Knowing Him is so not a checklist. Every truth I think I know keeps getting opened and reopened to reveal new and greater depths. I'm not finished yet. More importantly, He's not finished with me yet. Nor is He finished with you.
I started this post off talking about my relationship with words. The title comes from the image I'm about to share with you...in words. (Surprised?) In that conversation last Tuesday, my confessions shed light on the reasons my heart was the way it was, chief of which was that I had been trying to do a lot of things in my own strength, acting as if it all relied on me and my behavior or anything I could do or control. Reality check: none of it does. All the sudden I felt like a little kid dragging a heavy backpack around by the stretched-out strap. Have you ever seen a small child hand something small like a toy to a parent and ask them to carry it for them? Sometimes we need more childlike faith. Sometimes I'm lugging around the very real stuff God's placed me in the midst of, acting like I have to be strong enough to handle it as I walk beside my Father, rather than looking up at Him and honestly saying, "This is too heavy for me. I don't want to carry it. I can't carry it."
He's a good Father. He delights in carrying our weights for us, delights in us trusting Him with our breakables and our unbearables alike; His burden is easy and His yoke is light. He invites us to share in His sufferings, but the ultimate purpose in even that is for us to know Him more and trust Him to carry the load and do the work, because we can't. I can't. Trust me. Yesterday, this word-girl typed out two or three paragraph-sized posts before hitting backspace until I concluded I just couldn't sum it up. I still probably can't. This has been my attempt, but words can only ever get so far. One of the most irksome things about writing is the reality that words don't always work and they're not actually fully capable of describing or depicting everything. But it's also one of the most beautiful things about writing, because in this like in so many other areas, we see the foreshadowing of the deeper reality that our God is so much bigger than we will ever fully wrap our minds around.
So here I was tonight, feeling like that toddler as it all welled up inside me and I didn't know how to express it. And like the patient, tender, courage-infusing Father He is, God seemed to whisper, "Use your words." These words, these gifts, these flailing attempts to get an idea from inside me to inside you--they're not for me. I love words and I love using them, but I wasn't created to write to myself any more than you were created to only smile at yourself. Go share that smile. Spill your guts to someone who may not fully understand (but you'd be surprised how often people actually do), but who will face your mess with Jesus even if they don't have any more answers than you do as to what steps forward are going to look like. Go ask someone how they're doing and really mean it, and listen long enough to get to the answer. Shoot someone a text to tell them why you're thankful for them. Pray for someone the way you'd want somebody to pray for you. We're not alone and we never will be. Ask God to show you ways to use what He's given you to bless and encourage and strengthen another member of His Body. Because we're all in this together This earth may not be home, but it's where a good chunk of our family is, so let's love eachother well and remember that not one of us is a self-sufficient island.
WE NEED EACHOTHER.
Over and out,
-Kala
Recently God's been bringing back up a lot of things I would've thought I'd already learned. You know how sometimes you "know" something but then find your situation where it's like you're realizing it all over again, but for the first time? There always seems to be deeper to go. And I forget that sometimes. Sometimes the student in me mentally checks topics off a list as if having the head knowledge is enough to equip me to handle any given situation. Well, unlike academia, real life doesn't so much work that way. 'Cause when you're in the middle of all the craziness and know what you should do, how things are supposed to ideally happen or be different...somehow the knowing doesn't always translate so smoothly as it would on paper.
Sometimes my words fail. There have been so many moments in my short-ish life that I will never be able to encapsulate in nouns or verbs or adjectives--not even with the best adverbs or sentence structures. The past few days--three in a row, man! It's crazy--have left me floored all over again at the immensity and the precision of a God who is so very much vaster than I'll ever know. And see, I've "known" that--I've known He's bigger than my puny mind can grasp. I've heard and read and witnessed Him do things I never could have come up with, even with the crazy imagination that lurks in this space and is constantly dragging me off into the whackiest and most outrageous adventures and fox trails. I've reminded myself He's big and awesome and mighty. But there is something infinitely different in dwelling on checked-off knowledge, and seeing the truth behind it explode into action before your eyes.
It started, like so many stories of my life have, with the same old frustration: seeing something not as it should be, knowing the right answer (at least to a degree), and being frustrated because my "knowing" didn't elicit immediate transformation. Somewhere around a decade ago, a similar frustration brought me to a series of moments weeping in my bed as the reality of who God is--that all these things I'd "known" about Him were actually true--broke into my desperation and provided the actual answer to what I'd technically "known" for a long time already. That He wasn't far off; He was near. He is near. As near as the invisible bunches of oxygen you pull into your lungs in this very moment.
A little while back, a realization hit me hard enough to leave me breathless for quite a while. A song by Shane and Shane was randomly playing in my head, and the line "Your nearness is to us our good" suddenly collided with a verse that's been tucked into my memory since I had to memorize it in grade school: Romans 8:28--"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose." Do you see it? God causes all things to work together for our good, and our ultimate good is not found in some idealistic set of circumstances; it's found in Him--the One we were created for, the One with whom we're designed and hard-wired for fellowship with. That's the good He's working all things together towards. He's drawing us to Himself.
So, back to my recent frustration: Recent situations, one right after another it felt, kept tearing me open at spots where my heart was coming out and it was not pretty. It was repulsive. It wasn't what I ever want my heart to look like, and it was coming out at people, and it was not okay. And I knew that. And I was trying to fight it, but somehow all my knowledge about the state of things was not fixing stuff. I identified the problems, and among them was the gaping lack of His heart for people around me. And I prayed, and I texted my sister and asked her to pray about one situation in particular where my nasty heart was really coming forth. I did all I could think to do to combat it, to force myself into the right state of mind and heart. But it didn't feel like anything was working.
Enter time with some dear, wonderful young women I have the privilege and opportunity to do life with. Suddenly catching up turned into confession, and I was messily spilling forth my observations of my obstinate, ugly heart which as of late had been reluctant if not completely unwilling to channel His heart for people. And in the midst of that conversation, where I found I wasn't the only broken one or the only one struggling, and where each of us began to speak words of encouragement and wisdom and truth into one another's circumstances--another checked-off truth came to the foreground: WE NEED EACHOTHER. I thought I knew that. I've taken notes often enough--right?--about how God uses us in other people's lives? About how He has chosen to dwell with us and in us, and that's us not just me. I haven't been completely oblivious or ignorant in this arena.
But I tell you, no matter how many times I've been in a room with someone and sin has been confessed and the truth has been applied with genuine love and the inhuman strength of grace--that night left me awed of our God who is working in and through us, and thankful to be able to know and cherish these ladies and have opportunities like this to bare our hearts before one another and let His grace do surgery in our midst. Not than anything or everything necessarily changed over night, but there is such strength in having teammates willing to stand by you and push you to press on and support your weight when you're out of stamina.
Fast-forward to last night, when the Holy Spirit wrecked Wednesday-night youth service in the best possible way. Hearts were pierced, challenges uttered, bold steps taken to follow a road of surrender. It was worship. It was worship for those who spoke what God was laying on their hearts to say, and it was worship for those of us listening to that outflow. It was worship when we broke into groups and prayed over one another. We were worshiping the God of broken hearts, the God who is here in the right now and is walking with us through every moment, every situation, every battle. We were worshiping the God who created every single soul there for a purpose, to know Him, and that He will make Himself known through us and through our lives. A dear sister turned to me and spoke words I had no idea I needed to hear, words that sank deep and shook me to the core and broke me with renewed humility and awe at who God is and what He is doing and how He uses what is flawed for His glory. Words that made the tears flow from these eyes that only ever seem to be moved to such by the very deepest or most sudden and uncontrollable emotions.
The echoes of those words along with so many other shock waves from a refreshed heart taken two steps deeper into the infinite ocean of knowing Him, reverberated in my head and soul today. Work, though draining as usual, was tinged with joy and peace that had been a bit absent there as of late. Because my soul was beholding afresh the wonderful knowledge that He is here.
Earlier tonight I sat in a room as a bunch of friends from campus took turns sharing songs that were special or important or beautiful to them. And I was on the list of "performers." Many of us (myself included) hadn't had much or any time to invest in practicing what we wanted to share, but it was an atmosphere of laid-back enjoyment and encouragement and soft-spoken grace and cheering one another on and just plain sharing life, sharing pieces of our lives through songs, even when many of the songs were written by someone else. Nobody had to earn anything. Nervousness was soothed and wrong frets ignored; it wasn't about the performance but about the sharing.
And isn't that what we're still on this earth for? If it was an individualistic thing of God getting ahold of one heart and another, wouldn't it be just as well for us to vanish straight into the fullness of His presence rather than having to continue to live in a broken and fragmented world where it's often harder to see Him? We're not here for ourselves; I'm not here for my sake any more than you are here for yours. We were meant for fellowship, not just with God, but with eachother.
And our gifts are not for ourselves either. Right around the time I picked guitar back up and started taking it a little seriously, and around the time I started tentatively stepping into songwriting, God confronted me on my desire to hoard it to myself. Not that it was that good--the exact opposite was the very reason I wanted to keep my playing and singing and songs locked away in my room to be just between me and Him with no one overhearing. I remember clearly the first time He pressed me to share a song with somebody, and to my push-back He lovingly and a little sarcastically told me it wasn't for me--that anything He'd given me was not for my own enjoyment behind locked doors. Even back then, He was drawing shy, tentative little me out of myself into community, into fellowship. He was teaching me--and still is--that I didn't have to have some great or fantastic thing to offer, but that He wanted to use my fumbling attempts.
So tonight I found myself sharing two songs that mean something real to me; that both came from a place of desperation to see God move in the lives of people around me, and that He has since on many, many occasions used to break me with the reminder I need Him to move in my life as well. Knowing Him is so not a checklist. Every truth I think I know keeps getting opened and reopened to reveal new and greater depths. I'm not finished yet. More importantly, He's not finished with me yet. Nor is He finished with you.
I started this post off talking about my relationship with words. The title comes from the image I'm about to share with you...in words. (Surprised?) In that conversation last Tuesday, my confessions shed light on the reasons my heart was the way it was, chief of which was that I had been trying to do a lot of things in my own strength, acting as if it all relied on me and my behavior or anything I could do or control. Reality check: none of it does. All the sudden I felt like a little kid dragging a heavy backpack around by the stretched-out strap. Have you ever seen a small child hand something small like a toy to a parent and ask them to carry it for them? Sometimes we need more childlike faith. Sometimes I'm lugging around the very real stuff God's placed me in the midst of, acting like I have to be strong enough to handle it as I walk beside my Father, rather than looking up at Him and honestly saying, "This is too heavy for me. I don't want to carry it. I can't carry it."
He's a good Father. He delights in carrying our weights for us, delights in us trusting Him with our breakables and our unbearables alike; His burden is easy and His yoke is light. He invites us to share in His sufferings, but the ultimate purpose in even that is for us to know Him more and trust Him to carry the load and do the work, because we can't. I can't. Trust me. Yesterday, this word-girl typed out two or three paragraph-sized posts before hitting backspace until I concluded I just couldn't sum it up. I still probably can't. This has been my attempt, but words can only ever get so far. One of the most irksome things about writing is the reality that words don't always work and they're not actually fully capable of describing or depicting everything. But it's also one of the most beautiful things about writing, because in this like in so many other areas, we see the foreshadowing of the deeper reality that our God is so much bigger than we will ever fully wrap our minds around.
So here I was tonight, feeling like that toddler as it all welled up inside me and I didn't know how to express it. And like the patient, tender, courage-infusing Father He is, God seemed to whisper, "Use your words." These words, these gifts, these flailing attempts to get an idea from inside me to inside you--they're not for me. I love words and I love using them, but I wasn't created to write to myself any more than you were created to only smile at yourself. Go share that smile. Spill your guts to someone who may not fully understand (but you'd be surprised how often people actually do), but who will face your mess with Jesus even if they don't have any more answers than you do as to what steps forward are going to look like. Go ask someone how they're doing and really mean it, and listen long enough to get to the answer. Shoot someone a text to tell them why you're thankful for them. Pray for someone the way you'd want somebody to pray for you. We're not alone and we never will be. Ask God to show you ways to use what He's given you to bless and encourage and strengthen another member of His Body. Because we're all in this together This earth may not be home, but it's where a good chunk of our family is, so let's love eachother well and remember that not one of us is a self-sufficient island.
WE NEED EACHOTHER.
Over and out,
-Kala
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Fiercely
Jesus,
teach me to love fiercely--
to not give up for being wounded,
to not despair when change is not instant.
To not hold back for fear
or self-preservation.
Teach me not to accept,
but to love.
To open myself to all the pain of knowing fully.
Teach me to rebel against that which is not as it should be--
in my own heart as much as in others',
if not more.
Train my hands to fight.
Help my ears to hear.
Remind me it's not up to me,
that You are stronger,
and it's You who will deliver.
Train my eyes to see
where the past and the future meet,
to know the moment that is now,
in which all our histories collide
with the only story that can change their trajectory.
Teach me to love recklessly,
to hold nothing back, nothing in reserve.
Life is not lived when my eyes are on my own supply
or my own preservation.
Teach me not to back down from a fight,
not to assume I have no part to play,
not to pretend it's not my job to pray;
not my job to love those who are broken,
no matter how well put-together they appear.
Teach me to stand
when it seems everyone else is running,
to hold the ground next to someone
whom others fear will be struck by lightning.
Not to show they're right, but to prove they're loved.
Not to let things slide, but to hold them to a standard.
Let my brokenness reflect Your light.
In my weakness, prove Your thundering might.
We all know I'm not perfect.
We both know if it's up to me it's doomed.
Because my track record is a perfect row of failures,
But Yours is an unbroken streak of wins.
I've seen You redeem what seemed unfixable.
I've watched You bring victory
where all we've ever earned is loss.
I've seen You embrace the worthless
and pour all Your worth into us.
Teach me to love like You love:
to fight, to pursue, to defend;
to break myself to spare another;
to hope when all seems lost,
to grin in the darkness,
and sing in the desert.
Teach me to love with a heart of fire,
light as dangerous as it is warm,
unafraid to risk dying out
as it reaches to spark the nearest branch.
I have one life, one fleeting flame.
And I'd bet it's better to spend
what resources and time I have
trying to spread that fire rather than quench it,
striving to burn out brightly
rather than slowly wane.
So, Father, teach me to love,
and to love fiercely.
teach me to love fiercely--
to not give up for being wounded,
to not despair when change is not instant.
To not hold back for fear
or self-preservation.
Teach me not to accept,
but to love.
To open myself to all the pain of knowing fully.
Teach me to rebel against that which is not as it should be--
in my own heart as much as in others',
if not more.
Train my hands to fight.
Help my ears to hear.
Remind me it's not up to me,
that You are stronger,
and it's You who will deliver.
Train my eyes to see
where the past and the future meet,
to know the moment that is now,
in which all our histories collide
with the only story that can change their trajectory.
Teach me to love recklessly,
to hold nothing back, nothing in reserve.
Life is not lived when my eyes are on my own supply
or my own preservation.
Teach me not to back down from a fight,
not to assume I have no part to play,
not to pretend it's not my job to pray;
not my job to love those who are broken,
no matter how well put-together they appear.
Teach me to stand
when it seems everyone else is running,
to hold the ground next to someone
whom others fear will be struck by lightning.
Not to show they're right, but to prove they're loved.
Not to let things slide, but to hold them to a standard.
Let my brokenness reflect Your light.
In my weakness, prove Your thundering might.
We all know I'm not perfect.
We both know if it's up to me it's doomed.
Because my track record is a perfect row of failures,
But Yours is an unbroken streak of wins.
I've seen You redeem what seemed unfixable.
I've watched You bring victory
where all we've ever earned is loss.
I've seen You embrace the worthless
and pour all Your worth into us.
Teach me to love like You love:
to fight, to pursue, to defend;
to break myself to spare another;
to hope when all seems lost,
to grin in the darkness,
and sing in the desert.
Teach me to love with a heart of fire,
light as dangerous as it is warm,
unafraid to risk dying out
as it reaches to spark the nearest branch.
I have one life, one fleeting flame.
And I'd bet it's better to spend
what resources and time I have
trying to spread that fire rather than quench it,
striving to burn out brightly
rather than slowly wane.
So, Father, teach me to love,
and to love fiercely.
Monday, September 29, 2014
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.
Press on.
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.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
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
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
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
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.
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.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
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:
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Speaking the Truth in Love
Oh, if you could but see the drafts of blog posts I have scattered in between ones I've actually published on here, on the topic I now find myself preparing to step into. One dates back to almost two years ago, when I had it on my heart, but after starting to write, found that the time was not yet right for me to speak up. Ever have those moments, where you have your two-cents'-worth ready to throw out there, but it seems like God sort of clears His throat and tells you, "Not yet"? And no matter how much you really want to say something, you know He's right and His timing is best, and that it wouldn't be walking in obedience to Him to go on with what you were about to say...Yeah, that's about where I've been on this topic for the past two or three years now. I haven't been silent for lack of an opinion, though there's definitely also been some wading through things and some research and a LOT of prayer going into it.
See, this is something that I am incredibly passionate about, and have been for just about as long as I can remember. And because it hits so very close to home for me, it's been a real struggle at times to keep my mouth shut and my fingers still. Most of the time, it doesn't really come up in everyday conversation that much, but even when the opportunity has presented itself, there have been so many moments where I've been chomping at the bit but God has (very wisely) held me back. And at the time, I don't think I ever understood why He was having me wait. But, as usual, hindsight reveals things with so much more clarity, and I now know it's because this crazy heart of mine had to be worked on (a. lot.) before I could say what I wanted to. Why? Because while my mouth was so ready to spout my opinion, my heart was not in the right place. And that's where this post comes in.
As I confessed in my last post, for quite a while I suffered from a judgmental-ness that kept me from acknowledging God's ability to move on other people's hearts. So He had to show me by moving on mine. He had to show me a glimpse of His heart, to help me see beyond the legalistic boxes and categories I wanted to place things--and people--into. See, it doesn't take much to speak the truth. Anyone can do it, really, whether they believe it or not (more on that coming in a later post, I'm sure). Trouble is, when you try to separate truth from love, you usually wind up with something that doesn't really look much like truth, because it's only a broken off piece of the Truth. Ever heard someone take a Bible verse out of context? The verse is still true, but snatched out of its context, it can be distorted to where it somehow seems to communicate something it's never meant. It's the same with the truth, with fact.
Take one portion of truth--let's say, for example, the truth that "God is love" (1 John 4)--and remove it from its context (namely, the description of what love is in 1 Corinthians 13 or in 1 and 2 John, or that it's a fruit of the Spirit [Galatians 5:22] or how essential it is in the Christian's life as seen in Ephesians, etc.)...and you've got room to start twisting it any way you like. Leave out the context and the defining that context offers to this statement, and you can start warping "God is love" to mean that God is a cozy or satisfying feeling or that, if He's love, He obviously somehow can't hate anything (*cough* sin). See what I mean? With its context (the rest of the Bible), the statement "God is love" is made that much clearer because it's demonstrated and shown and defined in and by the rest of the Truth. More than that, the rest of the Truth speaks to confront misconceptions and correct them. (God does hate sin.)
So now let's talk about love. Real love doesn't puff itself up, doesn't say, "Hey! Look at me!" Why? Because love is being focused on someone else, to the exclusion of yourself and your own desires and even needs. Love doesn't envy or boast--why? Because it's not wrapped up in itself, comparing self with others or wanting another to be lower so it can be higher. Love seeks after what's best for another. That doesn't mean love wants someone else to always have their way and get everything they want, because in the case of us humans, that would not be, or result in, what's best for us. Love wants what God wants for others. Why? Because God is Love.
(And if you're looking at your screen right now with a confused frown, questioning with, "Wait, I thought you just said love is being focused on what somebody else wants"--this is where part of the awesome mystery and marvel known as the Trinity comes into play. Take a gander at John 17 for a peek into that as Jesus talks to the Father. Jesus is always focused on glorifying the Father who is always focused on exalting His Son who is always focused on the Holy Spirit having His way, who is always drawing the attention to the Father and the Son. It's mind-blowing, but such a beautiful expression of what "God is love" means. But I'll stop with that tangent for now.)
So when Paul tells us in Ephesians chapter 4 that we as Christians are to speak the truth in love as we grow into Christ together--what does that mean? It means I speak the truth to you in patience and kindness, not arrogantly. It means I don't speak the truth to you in order to put you down or try to elevate myself. It means I don't speak the truth to you without caring about you (rudely). It means I don't speak the truth to you out of selfish ambition (to manipulate you into doing what I want or to promote myself). It means I don't get to insist on having my own way, and I don't get to use the truth to try to make that happen. It means I don't speak the truth to you because I'm grumpy or irritated or am harboring resentment towards you. It means that I don't get to rejoice in your being wrong and my being right, even if that's the case. It means I don't just tell you the truth, but I rejoice with you in that truth. It means that when I speak the truth to you, I am ready to bear everything alongside you rather than leave you to go it alone. It means I have to believe in that truth with you, and stand with you to endure whatever you may face. It means I don't get to tell you something and move on with my life. It means we're in this together. It means that if I'm going to speak the truth to you, I have to be committed to loving you, regardless of how you respond to what I say.
Discovering that has been the journey I've been on for quite a while now--the journey I had to travel before I could be ready to open my mouth about the things coming up in future posts here...Stay tuned. And while you're waiting, dig in deep and ask God to teach you how to love in truth and how to speak the truth in love. We all need to keep learning that one.
Until next time,
-Kala
See, this is something that I am incredibly passionate about, and have been for just about as long as I can remember. And because it hits so very close to home for me, it's been a real struggle at times to keep my mouth shut and my fingers still. Most of the time, it doesn't really come up in everyday conversation that much, but even when the opportunity has presented itself, there have been so many moments where I've been chomping at the bit but God has (very wisely) held me back. And at the time, I don't think I ever understood why He was having me wait. But, as usual, hindsight reveals things with so much more clarity, and I now know it's because this crazy heart of mine had to be worked on (a. lot.) before I could say what I wanted to. Why? Because while my mouth was so ready to spout my opinion, my heart was not in the right place. And that's where this post comes in.
As I confessed in my last post, for quite a while I suffered from a judgmental-ness that kept me from acknowledging God's ability to move on other people's hearts. So He had to show me by moving on mine. He had to show me a glimpse of His heart, to help me see beyond the legalistic boxes and categories I wanted to place things--and people--into. See, it doesn't take much to speak the truth. Anyone can do it, really, whether they believe it or not (more on that coming in a later post, I'm sure). Trouble is, when you try to separate truth from love, you usually wind up with something that doesn't really look much like truth, because it's only a broken off piece of the Truth. Ever heard someone take a Bible verse out of context? The verse is still true, but snatched out of its context, it can be distorted to where it somehow seems to communicate something it's never meant. It's the same with the truth, with fact.
Take one portion of truth--let's say, for example, the truth that "God is love" (1 John 4)--and remove it from its context (namely, the description of what love is in 1 Corinthians 13 or in 1 and 2 John, or that it's a fruit of the Spirit [Galatians 5:22] or how essential it is in the Christian's life as seen in Ephesians, etc.)...and you've got room to start twisting it any way you like. Leave out the context and the defining that context offers to this statement, and you can start warping "God is love" to mean that God is a cozy or satisfying feeling or that, if He's love, He obviously somehow can't hate anything (*cough* sin). See what I mean? With its context (the rest of the Bible), the statement "God is love" is made that much clearer because it's demonstrated and shown and defined in and by the rest of the Truth. More than that, the rest of the Truth speaks to confront misconceptions and correct them. (God does hate sin.)
So now let's talk about love. Real love doesn't puff itself up, doesn't say, "Hey! Look at me!" Why? Because love is being focused on someone else, to the exclusion of yourself and your own desires and even needs. Love doesn't envy or boast--why? Because it's not wrapped up in itself, comparing self with others or wanting another to be lower so it can be higher. Love seeks after what's best for another. That doesn't mean love wants someone else to always have their way and get everything they want, because in the case of us humans, that would not be, or result in, what's best for us. Love wants what God wants for others. Why? Because God is Love.
(And if you're looking at your screen right now with a confused frown, questioning with, "Wait, I thought you just said love is being focused on what somebody else wants"--this is where part of the awesome mystery and marvel known as the Trinity comes into play. Take a gander at John 17 for a peek into that as Jesus talks to the Father. Jesus is always focused on glorifying the Father who is always focused on exalting His Son who is always focused on the Holy Spirit having His way, who is always drawing the attention to the Father and the Son. It's mind-blowing, but such a beautiful expression of what "God is love" means. But I'll stop with that tangent for now.)
So when Paul tells us in Ephesians chapter 4 that we as Christians are to speak the truth in love as we grow into Christ together--what does that mean? It means I speak the truth to you in patience and kindness, not arrogantly. It means I don't speak the truth to you in order to put you down or try to elevate myself. It means I don't speak the truth to you without caring about you (rudely). It means I don't speak the truth to you out of selfish ambition (to manipulate you into doing what I want or to promote myself). It means I don't get to insist on having my own way, and I don't get to use the truth to try to make that happen. It means I don't speak the truth to you because I'm grumpy or irritated or am harboring resentment towards you. It means that I don't get to rejoice in your being wrong and my being right, even if that's the case. It means I don't just tell you the truth, but I rejoice with you in that truth. It means that when I speak the truth to you, I am ready to bear everything alongside you rather than leave you to go it alone. It means I have to believe in that truth with you, and stand with you to endure whatever you may face. It means I don't get to tell you something and move on with my life. It means we're in this together. It means that if I'm going to speak the truth to you, I have to be committed to loving you, regardless of how you respond to what I say.
Discovering that has been the journey I've been on for quite a while now--the journey I had to travel before I could be ready to open my mouth about the things coming up in future posts here...Stay tuned. And while you're waiting, dig in deep and ask God to teach you how to love in truth and how to speak the truth in love. We all need to keep learning that one.
Until next time,
-Kala
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