Don't Tell Me Not to Hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where the Rubber Meets the Road

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Follow hard. Eternal life starts now.

Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is able to make beauty from the ashes.

ID Please?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brothers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rak khazak!
-Kala

An Open Letter to Switchfoot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why? Because y'all are my brothers. 

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

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

For His glory,
-Kala

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

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

Words like prayer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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