Fiercely

Jesus,
teach me to love fiercely--
to not give up for being wounded,
to not despair when change is not instant.
To not hold back for fear
or self-preservation.

Teach me not to accept,
but to love.
To open myself to all the pain of knowing fully.
Teach me to rebel against that which is not as it should be--
in my own heart as much as in others',
if not more.

Train my hands to fight.
Help my ears to hear.
Remind me it's not up to me,
that You are stronger,
and it's You who will deliver.

Train my eyes to see
where the past and the future meet,
to know the moment that is now,
in which all our histories collide
with the only story that can change their trajectory.

Teach me to love recklessly,
to hold nothing back, nothing in reserve.
Life is not lived when my eyes are on my own supply
or my own preservation.

Teach me not to back down from a fight,
not to assume I have no part to play,
not to pretend it's not my job to pray;
not my job to love those who are broken,
no matter how well put-together they appear.

Teach me to stand
when it seems everyone else is running,
to hold the ground next to someone
whom others fear will be struck by lightning.
Not to show they're right, but to prove they're loved.
Not to let things slide, but to hold them to a standard.

Let my brokenness reflect Your light.
In my weakness, prove Your thundering might.
We all know I'm not perfect.
We both know if it's up to me it's doomed.
Because my track record is a perfect row of failures,
But Yours is an unbroken streak of wins.

I've seen You redeem what seemed unfixable.
I've watched You bring victory
where all we've ever earned is loss.
I've seen You embrace the worthless
and pour all Your worth into us.

Teach me to love like You love:
to fight, to pursue, to defend;
to break myself to spare another;
to hope when all seems lost,
to grin in the darkness,
and sing in the desert.

Teach me to love with a heart of fire,
light as dangerous as it is warm,
unafraid to risk dying out
as it reaches to spark the nearest branch.

I have one life, one fleeting flame.
And I'd bet it's better to spend
what resources and time I have
trying to spread that fire rather than quench it,
striving to burn out brightly
rather than slowly wane.

So, Father, teach me to love,
and to love fiercely.

Kingdoms

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

I am not my own.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Press on.

Prove It.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't Tell Me Not to Hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where the Rubber Meets the Road

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Follow hard. Eternal life starts now.

Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is able to make beauty from the ashes.

ID Please?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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