This Life We Share: Author Interview with Maggie Wallem Rowe

Maggie Wallem Rowe, author of
This Life We Share (NavPress)

Maggie Wallem Rowe is an extraordinary woman whose writing talent has long impressed me. Maggie's zest for life and her fierce commitment to the church are an inspiration. She has spent years in Christian publishing advocating for other writers. And her knack for cheering others on spills over into every friendship. Maggie has been one of my biggest cheerleaders and dearest friends for the whole 8 years I've known her. I am absolutely delighted that her first book is due out in just over a week!

Here's my official endorsement, which you'll find inside the cover:

"Maggie has spent decades following Jesus--as a pastor's wife, coworker, mother, daughter, and friend. Now she puts pen to page to share the wisdom she's learned along the way. Maggie has a gift for seeing the world and finding meaning in ordinary days, capturing it in delightful prose. She also has the gift of insight, the ability to harness her own self-awareness for the good of others. In this book, you'll find more than good advice; I expect you'll find a new friend."

But don't just take my word for it, This Life We Share carries endorsements by Beth Moore, Sandra McCracken, Hugh Hewitt, Carol Kent, Sandra Richter, Gail MacDonald, and Lucinda Secrest McDowell, among others. In short, a whole generation of successful writers has recognized Maggie's keen insight and skill with words, and they have lined up to tell the world all about her first book!

Sadly, my own copy of Maggie's book is held up in postal quarantine in a warehouse somewhere, awaiting clearance for international shipping. While I eagerly await its arrived, I asked Maggie if she would do us the honor of a blog interview. Here's the story behind This Life We Share:

For those who don't know you, please tell us a bit about yourself. Where have you lived and what roles have you played in these places?

I grew up on a farm in rural Illinois and met my husband at Wheaton College. We moved east for seminary and then pastored two churches in New England over a 25-year period. During those years I acted in summer stock productions and community theatre, taught speech and business writing on the college level, and directed women’s ministries for a large regional faith-based organization. We were also very active in our communities and with raising five children - three who were born to us and two more “bonus kids” who joined us through foster care and spent their teenage years with us.  When most of the kids were grown and in college, we accepted a pastorate in the Chicago area and retired from that position 16 years later. While back in Illinois I worked part-time for Wheaton College and then full-time for a Christian publishing house in Public Relations. Nearly two years ago, we relocated to the mountains of western North Carolina where I’ve been writing full-time.  I can’t remember ever being bored!

When I wrote Bearing God's Name, I had in mind a retired high school shop teacher from our church in Oregon named Earl who admitted to me that he had only ever read one book cover to cover (a welding manual, if you must know). I thought if I could help someone like Earl engage with the Old Testament while keeping his attention to the end, it would be a success. Were you picturing someone in particular as you wrote this book?

Great question, Carmen. When I was asked to submit a proposal for the book that eventually became This Life We Share, the publisher specified that he was seeking a Christian living title with devotional elements that would cover “a big waterfront.” It needed to be relevant to young women in college or early in a career as well as older women in assisted living and everyone in between! It was a tall order, but with God's help I hope we’ve succeeded.

You have! You have such a knack for communicating with women of any generation. Your book is a series of 52 devotionals, designed to be read one at a time. Is there a golden thread that runs through the book--one big idea that you want your readers to grasp?

This Life We Share is organized into four major sections: The Inner Journey, The Intentional Journey, The Relational Journey, and The God of Your Journey. While it has 52 reflections with devotional elements (scripture and points of connection for discussion), it’s actually not a conventional devotional but rather a series of essays on several dozen different topics, including those as disparate as infertility, immigration, and the imposter syndrome! My prayer is that women of faith or those who are seeking will find empathy and encouragement as well as the assurance that they are not alone on our shared journey.

What has been the most joyful part of writing this book?

I have loved writing since I was a child, but honestly I never thought anyone would pay me to publish the type of candid, confessional essays I write! Speaking and teaching is a sweet spot for me, but you can only reach so many people live and in person. To have a publisher create this beautiful gift book in hardcover has been a tremendous affirmation that I never expected.

What a blessing! One thing I admire about you is the way you've pursued your dreams and your calling at an age when some are slowing down and pulling out their knitting needles. I watched you get your MA in Biblical Studies at almost 60 and now you're publishing your first book at 65. What would you say to readers who have hung onto their dreams for decades?

Don’t pay attention to your chronological age! Honestly, I have known women who were “old” at 30 when they stopped asking questions and seeking to learn from new experiences. I have always admired women in the later seasons of life who were game for trying new things.  And what a joy to connect with a publisher who believes that older women have wisdom to share!

Maggie, you had over a decade of experience as a book publicist before you wrote your first book, so you know how this industry works. How is the CoronaVirus pandemic disrupting the normal process of your book release?

Thankfully the book was printed and bound here in the US, so it is releasing on time May 5. As with every other book published this spring, however, all physical events have been postponed. I was so looking forward to launch events here in North Carolina, back in the Chicago area and also in New England. I’ll have to wait longer for those. The pandemic has also affected book delivery as major suppliers like Amazon have prioritized shipments of household goods over new titles. Thankfully my publisher, NavPress, has an alliance with Tyndale House, the world’s largest independent faith-based publisher. The warehouse is operational and the publisher has been able to offer direct fulfillment, meaning readers who order online are actually receiving their copies early!

That is good news! How can appreciative readers help your book reach more people? What are some practical things we can do that make a difference?

I’d be grateful if readers would share your blogpost with this interview and the buy link, Carmen! They can order from Amazon here or directly from the publisher here. Book proceeds go to further the worldwide ministry of The Navigators. I also welcome visits to my online home at www.MaggieRowe.com where I share “Views From the Ridge” every week on my blog.

Perhaps readers are still looking for a Mother's Day Gift. Even if you can't see your mother due to the pandemic, you can send her your love in the form of this beautiful book! 

Maggie, do you have hopes of writing another book? If so, do you have an idea of what it will be about?

Well, I’ll share a bit of a secret. I actually submitted a new book proposal just today! A publisher reached out to me recently with a specific idea after reading one of my especially quirky blogposts. We’ll see where it leads. (You heard it here first, folks!) 

Hurrah! So delighted to hear this. Thanks, Maggie, for taking the time to tell us about your book!

Thank you for this opportunity, Carmen!

Trust Without Borders

Spirit, lead me where my trust is without borders. 
Let me walk upon the water wherever you would call me. 
(Hillsong, "Oceans")

If your church is like ours, you've sung this song innumerable times. Did you mean it? How did God answer your prayer?

He has answered ours in a very surprising way.

In March we announced to our financial supporters that we were taking a step of faith by resigning from SIM, the mission we've served with since 2002. After 15 wonderful years of ministry with SIM, we felt God moving us into full-time teaching ministry. We hoped that a full-time job would materialize for me, but even if it didn't, we knew what we were called to do: Danny would focus on keeping our household running smoothly so that I could devote my energy to teaching. Lots of people step out in faith to become missionaries; our step of faith meant no longer raising financial support. Danny moved down to part-time with SIM while we explored possibilities.

We knew what we wanted -- to stay planted in Oregon and keep teaching (preferably with a full-time salary), to keep investing in these students and these relationships. But when no doors opened in Oregon for a full-time job, we began checking job postings in other locations. We knew this year could be a roller-coaster. Most schools post academic jobs around the beginning of the fall semester to begin the following academic year. That makes for a long season of uncertainty about what's next. How much energy would we spend imagining life in different locations, waiting for an interview?

But God had a surprise in store.

The Maxwell Center, Prairie's Main Administration Bldg

At the tail end of May, when hope in Oregon had dried up and we were buckling in for the long roller-coaster ahead, a job was posted at Prairie College in Three Hills, Alberta. Their need was urgent. They wanted to have an Old Testament professor in place by July 1st. Gulp.

They say that if you're the least bit open to taking a job, you should apply for it. I remembered having a good impression of Prairie when I was in high school, looking for a college. It's a small school well off the beaten trail with a long history of sending missionaries all over the world. Crazy as it sounded, I applied.

I figured there was little chance of an American being hired. Canadians would be given priority. But applying was a matter of due diligence. The up side was that there would be no long roller coaster with this one.

The next couple of weeks were a flurry of research. When I emerged less than 2 weeks later as the top candidate for the position, we felt the weight of the decision. We wanted to go in with our eyes wide open. This would be a major transition for the entire family -- not something to be taken lightly.

We scrambled to talk with mentors, read about the school, and explore the area online. I made a long list of questions and concerns. Danny started working on a budget. And we prayed. If we said 'yes,' we would be crossing an international border, with a complicated and expensive immigration process ahead.

Danny and Carmen, Alberta Bound

In late June, Danny and I flew up to Calgary where we were greeted by a friendly colleague and a vibrant landscape of rolling green prairie with a stunning sunset. During the 75-minute drive to Three Hills, we started in on our long list of questions. We had a number of concerns about the job, and we had asked friends to pray for confirmation and clarity. Over the next 48 hours, we were surprised as our concerns melted away one by one. We loved the little town of Three Hills. The houses were nicer. The schools were stronger. The area was more beautiful. The salary was higher than we thought. My course load was less than we thought. We thoroughly enjoyed getting to know the faculty, staff, and students on campus. In the end, we wanted the job.

Imagine my surprise to discover that God had been making arrangements for this job since birth.

Scenic View not far from Three Hills

On our final morning there, I received a text from my Dad that still floors me whenever I think of it. He was born in Canada, which I knew, but none of us had ever wondered what this meant for me and my brother. I assumed that he became a US citizen when he married my mom and that his Canadian citizenship was a thing of the past by the time I was born. But it wasn't. He waited until I was four years old to become a US Citizen. Chances are high that he is still a dual citizen, though he didn't realize it then. And the clincher: it's almost certain that my brother and I are dual citizens. We were born outside Canada to a Canadian citizen. That's all it takes. In fact, my children are likely dual citizens as well, since they were born to a dual citizen prior to 2009 (when the laws about the second generation changed).

Carmen with Mark (President) and Elaine (CFO) Maxwell

This will make the process of immigrating to Canada far less complicated and expensive. We simply need to pay a fee to have our records checked and a certificate issued that proves our citizenship.

When my official job offer came, there was another surprise -- a part-time job for Danny that fits his skill set beautifully.

So we said "yes"!  

We're in the throes of packing, selling our house, writing syllabi for fall classes, ordering passports for the kids, and saying our goodbyes.

Parable Place, where Carmen's Torah class will meet

Our God is full of surprises. We didn't expect to cross an international border again, but we're eager to see what God has in store for us in Canada. As I said in my sample lecture at Prairie, God has lessons to teach us that can only be learned in a state of dislocation. No doubt we'll have challenges ahead. But we're confident that the same God who has called us out upon the waters will be right there with us.

undone by the Psalms

Tomorrow is (barring a snow day) the last session for my Psalms class at George Fox University.

The Psalms have undone us.

They have stripped us of pretense, caught us unawares, awoken our senses, and shocked us out of our numbness. They have invited us to do the unthinkable -- to say what we really think, and to say it straight to God.

Our mentors this semester have been Walter Brueggemann and John and Kathleen Goldingay, as well as each other. The Goldingays have helped us to think about how to read the Psalms -- even the ugly ones -- as Christians, and to read them boldly.

Brueggemann has opened up new ways of thinking about the Psalms in relation to the world we inhabit. He has repeatedly issued an invitation to name reality. From his perspective, the psalms are far from tame and tepid. They are unruly and dangerous.

Even though I've come to expect this language from Brueggemann, his writings on the praise psalms caught me off guard. Praise psalms are the ones I used to think were typical, predictably cheerful. But Brueggemann woke me from my readerly slumber, highlighting five things about praise in his book, From Whom No Secrets Are Hid: Introducing the Psalms:

"First, praise is an act of imagination, not description. It sees the world through the lens of faith and dares" to suppose that there is more than meets the eye (46, bold added).

"Second, hymns of praise are acts of devotion with political and polemic overtones. . . . The very act of praise itself envisions a new world, a different world, a world alternative to the one in front of us. Indeed, hymns of praise are acts of defiance of the world that is in front of us" (47, bold added). 

 "Third, the Psalms voice and are embedded in a larger narrative in which [Yahweh] is the key character and lively agent." This narrative is necessary to the act of praise. It is not vague and spiritual but particular and embodied. "Each generation [is invited] to be a continuing participant in that narrative" (47, bold added).

"Fourth, doxology is the exuberant abandonment of self over to God. . . . Our self-yielding praise is a measure of our capacity to give our lives over to God" (47-48, bold added).

"Fifth and last, the hymns of praise with their exuberant self-abandonment without reservation into the God of large and particular narratives are quite in contrast with what we currently call 'praise songs' . . . [which often constitute] not a ceding of self, but a pre-occupation with self and a private religious expression that lacks depth or breadth" (48, bold added). 

If we really catch hold of this we'll turn everything upside down.
To praise God as king of all the earth relativizes the power of any human ruler.
To praise God as redeemer recognizes both pain and rescue, bondage and freedom.
To praise God as creator acknowledges a personal power behind the beauty around us.
To praise God necessarily involves all of who I am, without pretense, without reservation.

Even here, even in the psalms I thought were business-as-usual, I am undone.

Do I dare to praise?

Do you?

Do we?

"Let everything that has breath praise the LORD.
Praise the LORD." (Psalm 150:6)

Amazon's Call for Sabbath

"Sundays should come with a pause button." 

So said Amazon in the email we just received.

Was Amazon trying to make a profoundly theological statement? Probably not. (They actually wanted us to "pause" what we were doing and go shopping.) But they capitalized on our collective longing for a break from a to-do list that never seems to end. And in so doing, they pointed to the wisdom of Yahweh's command at Sinai: "Remember the Sabbath."*

The fact is that we all need a break. A rhythmic time of rest. A chance to recharge so we can re-engage our work with fresh energy.

Sabbath is less about attending a worship service (this is important for other reasons) and more about recognizing that we are not machines. We all need to hit the "pause button" or we will quickly reach burnout.

For the Israelites, just rescued from slavery to Pharaoh in Egypt, the Sabbath was a weekly reminder of their freedom (see Deuteronomy 5:12–15). Yahweh was their provider. They no longer had a harsh taskmaster who required ceaseless labor. Six days of work was sufficient. Every member of the household, even the animals, were afforded a day of rest. The very architecture of God's creative work recognized the delightful rhythm of work and rest (see Genesis 2:1–3). As a nation, Israel was to model their work week after God's (see Exodus 20:8–11).

Our problem is that we often fall to one extreme or the other. On one side are those of us living a lifestyle of laziness, doing as little work as possible and prioritizing entertainment -- social media, TV, Netflix, and computer games absorb our attention hour after hour. On the other side are those of us who never unplug from work. Task-oriented emails, income generating activity, and household chores permeate our evenings and weekends until our days are indistinguishable from one another. We never stop because if we do, we're afraid we'll be snowed under. We can't rest because we'll fall behind. We must keep pushing or we'll lose our competitive edge.

For those of us in this latter category, Sabbath saves us from ourselves. We are our own most ruthless taskmaster. For us, Sabbath signals our surrender. Jesus is Lord. Not me. God is in control. Not me. The Almighty is my provider. Not me. I can rest in his tender care.

Sabbath is more than a schedule change. It involves a radical reorientation of our perspective. 

Sundays do come with a pause button. We just have to have the discipline to push it. When we do, we'll find that it is one of God's wisest and best gifts.

Did you hit the pause button today? If so, what life-giving and restorative activity took the place of the work you set aside?

-------

*I'm aware the Sabbath falls on Saturday, not Sunday. But in keeping with the rhythm of the early church to meet for worship on Sunday, I'm thinking of that day as the Christian "Sabbath."

Remembering the Alamo: A Thanksgiving Homily

By Unknown - Frank Thompson, The Alamo (2005),
p. 106, Public Domain 

"Remember the Alamo!"

The cry, unbidden, echoed through my mind the moment I saw it. I was staring at Google Maps, locating my hotel in relation to the rest of the conference venues. And there it was: "The Alamo." Right across the street from my "home base" in San Antonio.

I paused, 5th grade history lessons distant and faded.

"Remember the Alamo?"

What exactly was I supposed to remember? Something about Texas, I think. An old fort, maybe? But that's as far as I got. Whatever happened there had long ago had been discarded as one of those "useless" facts that would not help me in real life.

Israel was also called to "Remember!" Remembering was not just the means to an "A" in history class. It was the key to the survival of their faith. Without memory, faith fades.

And here's where the Alamo comes in. Why don't I remember the Alamo? Because I only heard about it once, in a history class. In order to truly remember, in order for it to matter, the story must be consciously inscribed on my memory through recital. I don't remember the Alamo because the story has not become part of my story. I ceased to tell it as soon as the childhood test was turned in.

Psalm 135 and 136 are psalms of remembrance. They walk through Israel's history, retelling what God has done and thereby keeping those memories alive for each new generation. Psalm 136 sounds the rhythmic refrain, "his love endures forever."

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good.
His love endures forever...who by his understanding made the heavens,
His love endures forever...to him who led his people through the wilderness;
His love endures forever...and freed us from our enemies.
His love endures forever. (Psalm 136:1, 5, 16, 24)

For Israel to cultivate a faith that endured, they knew they must keep telling the story.

My quick weekend trip to San Antonio left no time for sightseeing. I attended three breakfasts, two receptions, ten paper presentations, a council meeting, seven meetings reconnecting with friends and mentors, a podcast interview, and two publisher meetings. In between all this I wove my way through the book displays, hunting for spring textbooks, pitching book ideas, and buying the books on my list.

I was told it only took a half hour to see the Alamo, but since my hotel was a 10-minute walk from the conference venue, and I was going strong from 7am to 10:45pm each day, I missed the opportunity to see it.

The Alamo (Photo: Rex Koivisto)

Ironically, though, I will always remember the Alamo. I will remember it as the place where God came through in a dramatic way for me. I arrived in San Antonio with a "hole" on my resumé. I was (essentially) unpublished. Sure, I had written several book reviews, and I had a small contribution in a student resource on the Septuagint, and I had been blogging for years, but in order to get a permanent job, I would need a book contract. This was the next crucial step in my transition from "student" to "professor"—to demonstrate that I could and would make an ongoing contribution to scholarship.

I went to San Antonio with one prayer and one goal: a book contract.

And I came home with two!

It was a miracle weekend, and we will always be grateful.

Wikipedia tells me that the Alamo was an important battle in the fight for Texan independence. It was not a victory, but a battle the Texans lost to the army of Santa Anna. That defeat became a rallying cry for Texans to join the cause and take back territory. In a sense, then, my Alamo was years ago, when I stared failure in the face and considered giving up.

I am so glad I didn't. God has carried us through thick and thin.
His love endures forever!

What has God done in your life this year? Today is the day of remembering. Tell the story as you gather with family and friends. Only in the retelling will we "remember the Alamo."

election day encouragement

It is hard to imagine a more sobering election cycle in America. I watched the primaries with interest and the nominations with alarm. I am quite simply speechless. Are these really the best candidates for President that our nation could produce? I'm tempted to list the shocking specifics that make this election unprecedented, but you've had enough of that already, and my goal is to encourage you.

I borrow the words of the prophet Micah:

"Listen, you leaders of Jacob, you rulers of Israel.

Should you not embrace justice, you who hate good and love evil?" (Micah 3:1–2a)

"Hear this, you leaders of Jacob, you rulers of Israel,

who despise justice and distort all that is right;

who build Zion with bloodshed, and Jerusalem with wickedness.

Her leaders judge for a bribe, her priests teach for a price,

and her prophets tell fortunes for money.

Yet they look for the LORD's support and say,

'Is not the LORD among us? No disaster will come upon us." (Micah 3:9–11) 

Like ancient Israel, this campaign season has been drenched with distortion and lies, wickedness and injustice, and yet the candidates vie for endorsement from religious leaders. Tomorrow as millions of Americans head to the polls, they will likely send a clear signal that it's okay to cheat your way to the top, okay to take advantage of the system, okay to abuse power to get what you want, and okay to consider yourself above the law. To be clear, I am not vilifying any single candidate. Either major party nominee will bring with them to the White House a long list of offenses. It's enough to invite despair.

But then there's the Psalms. I've just read through the "enthronement psalms" -- Psalms 93–99. These psalms are intriguing, in part because they directly follow the despair of an apparently failed Davidic covenant (Psalm 89), in a section of the book that mentions neither David nor another human king. Who's in charge? How can we have enthronement if there's no king? For those in exile, this was an urgent question.

For the enthronement psalms the answer is simple: Yahweh is king over the whole earth. And what a candidate he is!

God is utterly blameless:

"Your statutes, LORD, stand firm; holiness adorns your house for endless days." (Psalm 93:5)

God is full of loving compassion for the weak:

"When I said, 'My foot is slipping," your unfailing love, LORD, supported me." (Psalm 94:18)

God is praiseworthy:

"Great is the LORD and most worthy of praise." (Psalm 96:4a) 

 Even his foreign policy is celebrated:

"The LORD reigns, let the earth be glad; let the distant shores rejoice." (Psalm 97:1)

God will make just decisions and treat people fairly:

"He will judge the world in righteousness and the peoples with equity." (Psalm 98:9b)

Now that's a leader I can get behind.

And so on this election day, vote your conscience. Make every effort to elect leaders whose character will compel them to uphold justice and govern wisely. Choose the best you can. But remember this: our hope does not rest in humans. The one who sits enthroned above all is the God who saves.

"Exalt the LORD our God and worship at his footstool; he is holy." (Psalm 99:9)

Against the black backdrop of this election cycle, this is very good news indeed.

perspective on cape perpetua

We had clamored over the volcanic rocks along with many others, their skin tones a wide range of hues and their languages sharply distinct — Spanish, French, Arabic, Russian, Japanese. Surely others, too. We were united in our fascination with the coastline and our awe as the pounding surf was thrown back by the sharp black rocks on which we stood.

Cape Perpetua (Phtoto: C Imes)

Every dozen yards or so the water had prevailed, with its persistent pounding, slicing a trench that progressively narrowed into stubborn rock. Here the waves picked up speed with a kind of focused frenzy, hurling themselves at the obsidian walls that taunted and restricted their progress.

The surge, the deep boom, the spray, and then the clatter of droplets, thrown helpless on the solid barrier, only to slide back down and drip into the churning sea.

Innumerable mussels clung fast to the hardened lava, daring the waves to pry them free, depending on the moisture and food delivered with each flailing attempt to carve stone.

Emma on the edge (Photo: C Imes)

We—my family and I, along with at least a dozen others—took our places around a deep bowl, hollowed out by the sea, which rushed to fill it through some unseen tunnel. Again and again the water would flood the enormous bowl and then be sucked out, leaving a gaping chasm encrusted with dripping mussels. Then, just as suddenly it would swell again with seawater, splashing and churning, lapping at the toes of the most foolhardy among us, eliciting gasps and shouts from all. Flush, fill, flush, fill. We watched, awestruck, as the sun slipped toward the horizon.

A few hours in the presence of such raw, unbridled power and my life feels very small indeed.

Cape Perpetua (Photo: C Imes)

Then, like the rapidly receding ocean water, we hurried to retrace our steps and climb the path to our parked car. We had just a few minutes to make it to the top of the cape for a birds' eye view of the sunset. The road wound up and up and up for two full miles, ending at the top of a coastal mountain. We rushed to the edge of the trail to look out across the expanse. I was dumbstruck.

View of the Coastline from Cape Perpetua (Photo: C Imes)

The powerful, churning waves were so far below us now that their pounding produced little more than a whisper. The sharp black rocks that held the waves at bay—merely a fringe for the heaped blanket of coastal mountains that towered above. The endless sea lay quiet and glistening beneath us as the sun slipped at last beyond the horizon.

The lesson in the crashing surf was merely a foretaste. If my life shrank beside the surge of seawater, it nearly vanished from the tip of Cape Perpetua.

And yet—

the incomprehensible mystery—

I, though infinitesimally small, have been invited to contribute, to partner with the One who designed all this.

Cape Perpetua 2016 (Photo: C Imes)

I am to cherish and share this creation with others. Still more—I get to participate in its ongoing development. I get to speak to it, engage with it, and shape it (for good or for ill).

The Creator shares with me the joy of co-creation, the dignity of service, the delight of influence.

And so I write, hoping to capture the brilliancy of a single evening in typed words so you can join me there on the cape, awestruck. You, too, are changing the world.

a simple path to joy (part 3): faith for the bend in the road

In the first two posts of this series, I've suggested that true joy comes when we face life honestly and cultivate gratitude for what we have and where we are. These choices get us through the gate and onto joy's path, and they help us navigate each intersection.

The third choice on the pathway to joy comes when we reach a bend in the road. It's a fact of life that we can't see what's ahead. But joy does not depend on knowing what comes next or being able to control it.  True joy cannot be seized or managed.  We don't get there by straining harder, but rather by releasing our hold on what we cannot control anyway. Christian joy comes when we recognize our own helplessness. That is, it comes through faith -- faith rooted in the reality of what God has done for us in Jesus Christ, and in what he promises to do for all creation. We await the renewal of all things. We believe it is coming. Trouble may lurk around the next bend, but the pain, sorrow, and madness of this world is not final. It is merely a symptom of our world's brokenness and need for restoration. That restoration has been promised by the God who created all things. We can count on it. And it has already begun to take effect with the resurrection of Jesus. 

The story of Jesus is powerful precisely because when he became human he entered fully into the mess and the brokenness of this world. But his life was fully surrendered to God the Father and therefore fully energized by the Holy Spirit. His mastery of being human, his perfection, is more than just a model for us to follow (though it is that). It's what qualified him to break the power of sin and death by offering himself in our place. He took the punishment we deserved. He died our death, so that we could truly live.

The New Testament calls joy a fruit — one of the character qualities that naturally arises from a life energized by the Holy Spirit. This, too, suggests that joy comes not by straining, but by surrender, not by trying, but by trust in the transforming power of God. That power is made available to us in Jesus Christ. A gift to each of us who surrenders. We can walk in this joyful reality by facing our brokenness with honesty, embracing our present with gratitude, and responding in faith to life's uncertainties. We may not know what the future holds, but we know who holds the future. And that makes all the difference.

Now for a word of warning. The pathway to joy is not a path we walk only once. Honesty, gratitude, and faith are not quick fixes for joy. They must become habits. We must continue to face life with honesty, to receive our circumstances with gratitude, and to embrace the future with faith. As one Bible scholar puts it, "Like muscles, the capacity for joy atrophies if we do not use it regularly. Those who wait for some great occasion for joy and gratitude to God are not likely to recognize it when it happens." (Ellen Davis, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes and the Song of Songs, 221; quoted in James Limburg, Encountering Ecclesiastes: A Book for our Time, 114). We begin practicing honesty, gratitude and faith right here, with whatever we're facing.

Paul was among the early Christians who traveled around the Roman world to spread the news about Jesus' resurrection from the dead. He had some utterly strange things to say about joy:

In his letter to the church in Corinth he said, "In all our troubles my joy knows no bounds." (2 Corinthians 7:4) He spoke of others who had "overflowing joy" "in the midst of a very severe trial (2 Corinthians 8:2). And Paul was not alone in noticing that joy and trials often went hand-in-hand. James, the brother of Jesus, wrote "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds." (James 1:2) Pure joy? When facing trials? Why? He goes on to say, "because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." (James 1:4) James is saying we ought to be grateful for the effects of those trials on our character. Through the eyes of faith, we know that hard times help us to grow in important ways -- provided we respond with open hands and open hearts. That brings pure joy.

We no longer need to worry about what's ahead. If something good happens, we can celebrate. If we face difficult times, we can be glad for what those experiences will do in us so that we can become who we were meant to be. We win either way! That frees us to face our present situation honestly and receive it with gratitude.

Paul discovered this. He wrote, "I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength." (Philippians 4:11–13)

And so can you!

a simple path to joy (part 2): the intersection of gratitude

In my first post in this series, I claimed that true joy is impossible to find when we are living in denial. We begin our journey to joy by facing life's messes head on and choosing to be honest. That's how we enter the gateway on the path to joy.

Next we come to an intersection, and we have to make our second choice: gratitude. We cannot be everything we might have been, have everything that can be had, go everywhere there is to go. We can only be and do and have this. Once we have faced our disappointments with brutal honesty, we are free to move on with gratitude for what our life actually holds.

Our world is full of constant reminders of what we don't have. Ads surround us incessantly, telling us all day long about the products and services that will make life easier, or sweeter, or more successful. But joy depends not on what we have but on our disposition towards what we have. The Greek philosopher Epicurus warned, "Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not." Put another way, "Happy is the woman who wants what she has." In fact, sometimes we uncover joy by having less, by simplifying our lives -- clearing out our closets and giving things away. Every item we own gets a piece of our care and attention until we have no energy left to care for the things that really matter. It is freeing to declutter, to downsize, to keep only what we actively use.

But this intersection on the pathway to joy isn't only about what we have. It's also about where we are and who we've become. There are more possibilities in life than we have time to try, more opportunities than we can pursue. When we cultivate the habit of thankfulness, our hearts are positioned for joy. We cannot take every path, but we did take this one. To spend our time wondering about all the other paths we could have taken robs us of joy. I am not an astronaut. I am not a midwife. I am not a famous singer. I am not a jungle missionary. I am not even one of those amazing stay-at-home moms who actively volunteers at the elementary school and whose kids have really creative birthday parties every year. Saying 'yes' to one path has meant saying 'no' to others.

About a year ago we realized that I would probably never finish my doctoral degree unless I started to say 'no' to good opportunities. I resolved not to say 'yes' to anything but family until I was finished. At first it was painfully difficult. The things I was asked to do were right up my alley. They were things that would energize me. Ways to plug into my church and my community for which I was uniquely suited -- lead a small group, speak in chapel, teach a college class. But after half a dozen difficult 'no's' my schedule was completely open for the task I dreaded -- revising my dissertation. And I discovered that when I had complete focus, I did much better work and enjoyed it far more than before! I relished the gift of concentration. We shoot ourselves in the foot when we try to do it all or have it all, or spend our energy wondering what would have happened or what could have been. Those things are not. This is what is. Here is where we are. So let's embrace it and move forward with gratitude. 

This is a sure way to begin to find joy. But what about the uncertainties ahead? In my next post, I'll talk about what to do when we can't see around the bend in the road.

a simple path to joy (part 1): the gateway to honesty

Last week I had the opportunity to speak at the May Festival at Evangelical Bible Church in Dallas, Oregon. My assigned topic was "Joy in Simplicity." Here's a glimpse of what I shared:

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How do we find joy? Joy is not automatic. A life free from trouble is no guarantee of joy, and a difficult life does not prevent it.

From 2002 to 2005 we lived in the Philippines. In spite of widespread government corruption, crippling poverty, oppressive heat, and high unemployment, we found Filipinos to be some of the happiest people we've ever met. They can fall asleep anywhere, turn a 1-year-old's birthday into a wedding-sized celebration, and laugh in the face of trouble. They are among the poorest in Asia, but arguably the happiest. Clearly, joy does not depend on circumstances. So how do we get there?

If we imagine a pathway to joy, forward movement depends on three deliberate choices. (There may be others; I'm addressing three here.) The first comes at a gateway, the second at an intersection, and the third at a bend in the road. To enter the gateway we need to choose honesty. To navigate the intersection we must choose gratitude. And to lend perspective for the bends in the path, we need faith.

We make the first deliberate choice at the gateway of honesty. We will never arrive at true joy by pretending to be happy. Denial is the enemy of joy —a closed door to joy's garden path. We cannot bypass grief and pain, guilt or unforgiveness and expect to find joy. That thing that robs us of joy must be faced head on. We must look it in the eye and name it.

In fact, psychologists tell us that when we avoid honesty, we invite poor health, both emotionally and physically. In the words of one scholar who has studied this phenomenon (Brent Strawn, on James Pennebaker's study, in Brueggemann, From Whom No Secrets Are Hid, xix), "Inhibition is hard work, and that work eventually takes its toll on the body's defenses." So you want real joy? Step one is to grieve your losses. Admit your fault. Express your anger. Own your failures. Voice your disappointment. Forgive those who have let you down.

This is a bit awkward to say in church. Most churches have lost the art of making space for this kind of honesty. We give the distinct impression that "putting on your Sunday best" always includes a bright smile. We rarely confess our sins, name our failures, face our fears, and grieve our losses in community. And so our unexpressed emotions become roadblocks to joy. One way to recover these practices is to pray the Psalms together. The Psalms let it all hang out. Every ugly emotion you can imagine.  It's like reality TV, minus the TV.

God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer! By night, but I find no rest! (22:2)

Do not be far from me, for trouble is near and there is no one to help! (22:11)

Break the arm of the wicked man; call the evildoer to account for his wickedness (10:15)

All night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears (6:6)

Heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony. My soul is in deep anguish. How long, Lord, how long? (6:2-3)

Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight. (51:4)

Troubles without number surround me; my sins have overtaken me, and I cannot see (40:12)

Let evil recoil on those who slander me; in your faithfulness destroy them (54:5)

Through prayer, all these raw and gritty realities are brought into the presence of God and given over for Him to handle. The Psalms are proof that God invites us to come as we are. To say it like it is. And by doing so, to find a new way forward. There's no way around it.

So we begin our journey to joy by choosing to be honest.

Then we come to an intersection, and we have to make our second choice: gratitude. I'll talk about that intersection in my next post on joy. 

learning how to celebrate

Eat, drink, and be merry, says Qohelet.*
And yet—
I have spent a lifetime avoiding excess, choosing moderation, working weekends, and feeling guilty when I'm unproductive.
Qohelet would have words with me.

It's not that our work doesn't matter, but he urges us to slow down, to stop taking ourselves so seriously, to spend time enjoying the fruits of our labor.
Eat, drink, and be merry.
Celebrate together.
Don't store it all up for "Someday." You may die before you can enjoy what you've earned.

This is not what I expected.
I would rather hear him say, "Give it away. Be generous with those in need. Save for the future." (Other parts of the Bible say these things. And we should listen to them, too. I'm most comfortable with these parts.)
But Qohelet says, Loosen your belt buckle and eat another helping of dessert. 
Relish what God has given.
Life.
Work—this, too, is a gift.

Do what you love and love what you do. But then stop and play. Work isn't everything.

Recognize that God has things in hand. He's in charge. You are not.
Rest in that.

Life won't always make sense. It will feel like things go round and round without progress, or those who don't deserve it get the lucky break and those who do lose everything. But don't panic.
As meaningless as it seems, God hasn't stopped ruling the world. He'll work it out eventually.
In the meantime, work, love, and . . . party.
No need to be more pious than God. He wants you to accept His gifts.

For this Dutch girl, the whole thing sounds suspicious, like a coupon that will turn out to be expired once I've driven across town and stood in line for 20 minutes ("I knew it was too good to be true"). Or like an advertisement for a beach house that looks much better on screen than in person ("You get what you pay for.").

Is this a trap? or a test of my motives? Is celebration a slippery slope that will land me in a self-indulgent mess?

I decide that frugality, taken to an extreme, is a failure to demonstrate gratitude for what God has provided. I must learn to think differently, enlarging my capacity for celebration.

I start small. We're on a date—the first in months—and I order Duck Curry instead of the usual chicken. The extra $2 tastes delicious.

Then I head to Wheaton for my dissertation defense. The weekend goes so incredibly well that I know it's just the sort of occasion Qohelet is talking about—a time to celebrate. At a dinner with friends I stay up late and "taste my first champagne" (not bad, actually!). But the real surprise, the real opportunity to test drive Qohelet's philosophy comes when I arrive home.

It's midnight, thanks to a delayed flight out of Chicago, and I am exhausted. But as we pull up to the house my jaw drops. Parked in the driveway with an enormous red bow is a car, a new car, just for me!

We'd been talking about "Someday," that time when I have a full-time job with a real salary and we can afford a newer car for my commute. But it appears that my parents have been reading Ecclesiastes, too. They felt that it was time to celebrate—that someday was now. And so they dug deep and orchestrated a surprise I will never forget. Though this extravagance cost me nothing, it will be a daily reminder of God's lavish love for me, a love  not limited by "what's on sale" or "what's practical."

He's teaching this Dutch girl how to celebrate.

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*Qohelet is the name some scholars use to refer to the "Teacher" in Ecclesiastes, since it's hard to know exactly what the translation would be. It's simply his Hebrew title rendered in English letters.

learning to see

Two events, miles apart and so very different, linked hands in plain view, inviting me to consider them side by side.

The first, a memorial service. I had only met the man once in church before a dreadful disease took hold of his mind and dragged him on a downward spiral that ended this New Year's Day. I knew only the severity of his illness and saw the sorrow and courage of his wife as she came alone on Sundays. We connected briefly, the day I learned of his condition, and I held her in my heart for the ensuing weeks. When I heard of his death, I had to be there. For Char.

... for Dear Life (Photo: C Imes)

In that hour I learned volumes about the man whose rich life was cut short. An optometrist by profession, Don spent decades helping others to see. And on weekends? He explored the outdoors — camping, fishing, hunting, hiking — toting heavy camera lenses everywhere he went. Before the service started we were treated to a sampling of his award-winning work. He had such an eye for beauty! Butterflies up close, wildebeests crossing muddy rivers, birds in flight. Anyone can whip out a cell phone and snap a picture of nice scenery. It takes a special "eye" (and sophisticated equipment) to get the angle and the lighting and the aperture just right so that the picture comes alive. Don possessed that special sight.

From the service I headed directly to Newberg to teach my class on Wisdom Literature. The order of the day was understanding how Hebrew poetry works, especially proverbs. We began by discussing a chapter from Leland Ryken's Words of Delight: A Literary Introduction to the Bible. One student spoke up, "I really like how he related proverbs to photography. That's such an interesting way of thinking about it." Aha! Indeed, Ryken refers to these "wisdom teachers" as "the photographers of the Bible" (316, paraphrasing Robert Short, A Time to Be Born—A Time to Die).

And it's true, isn't it? The writers of proverbs have an extraordinary eye for ordinary things. They look at the same ship, the same busy street, the same plants, but they see beyond the surface, making connections that enlighten our minds and dazzle our ears. Here's a glimpse through the eyes of a sage:

"The LORD tears down the house of the proud,
but he sets the widow's boundary stones in place." (Proverbs 15:25)

The images evoked by this proverb, chosen at random, are so vivid! See Yahweh himself, muscles gleaming in the hot Mediterranean sun, as he demolishes a stone house. See him cross the field with stone after plaster-crusted stone and place each deliberately as a boundary, while the grateful widow looks on, tears streaming down her face. See the proud man with arms crossed and furrowed brow, sputtering frustration, but unable to defend himself.

The sage could have said, "It is inadvisable to be proud" and "You should not take advantage of the poor." But here instead we have a living image, painted in words, that joins both ideas. Yahweh himself takes action. We watch him at work. We stand at the sidelines feeling chastened or grateful or energized -- depending on the state of our own hearts.

Captured Alive (Photo: C Imes)

And as we seek to understand this picture in words, we begin to see what the wise one sees. We are overtaken by wonder.

More than one person at the memorial service told us that they had one of Don's stunning pictures on display at home. They were grateful to have been given his eyes, to experience his love of creation, and to have had their own wonder awakened. Don, a modern sage, helped others to see the wisdom and beauty of God's handiwork.

Ironically, in the final months of his life, Don's eyesight faded until he was completely blind. His caregiver spoke about the doctor's blindness. As he lost physical sight, he began to experience vivid visions of glory. He would take the hands of those around him and ask, "Do you see it? Do you see Jesus in all of his glory?" Don was learning to see in other dimensions, and his faith grew in leaps and bounds over those dark weeks and months. The eye doctor who possessed such extraordinary vision in this life far preferred his new-found spiritual sight.

May we, too, learn to see.

leaning in

I had heard about the book a while back. All good things. It seemed like the kind of book that could illuminate my journey as a woman in academia. But the dissertation didn't leave much time for extra reading, so I tucked away the idea for a rainy day.

Months elapsed. A year or two, maybe.

In December, after turning in another revised draft of my dissertation, I decided it was time. Thanks to its popularity, it was easy to find Lean In at the public library. Some of you will chuckle that I found time to read a book by the COO of Facebook before I found time to actually join Facebook. I know. That's so like me. (However, I did finally join Facebook last week, so feel free to send me a friend request if you'd like!)

It's not supposed to be a self-help book, but I found it tremendously helpful. It's not exactly Sandberg's autobiography either, but she opens up the windows of her life and lets us all look in. How does a woman lead well? How can she balance family and career? How can she navigate a man's world without losing her femininity? (It turns out that Evangelicals are not the only ones wondering about this!) Sandberg's big idea, the one she comes back to again and again, is that women need to lean in to the opportunities in front of them. Yes, sometimes women are overlooked, at a disadvantage because of our gender, hitting glass ceilings. But Sandberg says women often sabotage our own success by holding back. We are hesitant to walk through an open door because we aren't sure how we'll manage everything on the other side. Women regularly turn down opportunities well before it's necessary (e.g., a single woman avoiding a promotion because she imagines it will interfere with her future role as wife and mother). At Google and Facebook, Sandberg has observed this time and again.

There is certainly a time for "no." But saying "no" enables us to say "yes" when the time is right.

That time came for me sooner than we expected. I was ready to lean in. Actively praying about how God would have me serve now that I'm coming to the end of my PhD. Circling that topic in prayer. But my spring semester was still relatively open. On a fluke, Multnomah didn't need me. Aside from putting the finishing touches on my dissertation and defending it, I thought I might try to publish an article or two. Maybe paint some interior trim or catch up on the family scrapbook.

Then the phone rang.

The department chair from George Fox. Wondering if I could possibly teach a class . . . immediately. One of their adjunct instructors had backed out at the last minute, leaving him with a slot to fill. School starts next week. It's not an accident that he thought of me. I've been in touch with him for over 2 years, hoping that someday something like this would develop. It didn't take us long to decide. Danny and I had both been feeling that now was the time for "yes." I was eager to lean in. For four long days I crafted a syllabus, putting on the finishing touches yesterday.

Then, this morning in church, we sang a song that harnessed Sandberg's thesis in service of our ultimate purpose as believers: worship. The lyrics jumped off the screen. Written just for me. Exquisitely timed.

Spirit of the Living God

Spirit of the Living God

We only want to hear your voice

We're hanging on every word. 

Spirit of the Living God

Spirit of the Living God

We're leaning in to who you are

Everything else can wait.

After all, it's possible to lean in to the wrong thing, at the wrong time, for the wrong reasons. Leaning in will only bring life when our deepest desires are shaped by worship.

Yes, lean in. But not just in any direction. Lean in to HIM. Let him transform your desires until the thing you want is the thing He wants.

"Take delight in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart." (Psalm 37:4)

The song continues . . .

When you come in the room

When you do what only you can do

It changes what we see and what we seek.*

This week I'm soaking in the grace of fulfilled desires. The "thing" itself pales in comparison to the presence of the Living God who has acted, and continues to act, on my behalf. 

May 2016 be a year of leaning in. Not to earthly success. But leaning in to the presence of God and embracing all He has planned. Everything else can wait.

*Vertical Church Band c.2015

life in the middle of nowhere

Does life have you doing circles in the desert?

If so, you're not alone. And God hasn't given up on you.

Last week, the summer edition of the Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary Alumni Magazine, Contact, was released. It includes the devotional I gave at the Gordon-Conwell Alumni Breakfast at SBL last November, as well as a write-up of Anne Doll's phone interview with me, where we talked about how to make it in grad school as a family of five.

For those of you who are "in between," waiting to step into a season of fulfillment, this devotional is my gift to you, the fruit of my own desert wanderings. Here's a snippet:

In those "in-between" places, we are faced with many questions. We are no longer certain about who we are. We are not sure how God is leading, or even if he's leading. In our desperation to restore a sense of order to our lives, we're always in danger of adopting the wrong narrative. But God has us right where He wants us. He has lessons to teach us that can only be learned in a state of dislocation. Lessons about who we are. About who He is. And how He's calling us to be in the world. 

Read the rest here. You can find my contribution on pages 30–33.

a scholar's prayer

My Desk (Photo: C Imes)

For those whose desks, like mine, have been swallowed by dissertation research . . .
For those in the throes of writing a book or an essay . . .
For those laboring over a new language or a new discipline . . .
For students just starting out in academia . . .

I invite you to pray this prayer with me. You can find it in full at InterVarsity's blog for Women in the Academy and Professions, but it applies just as well to men.

May He be glorified by the works of our minds!

Lord, 

as a new day dawns,

I offer thanks for the privilege of learning —

For the time, the mental acuity, and the resources at my disposal. 

Thank you for the delight of discovery. 

These are precious gifts... 

Let me love the truth 

more than I love what I have thought or said or written. 

Grant me the courage to confront falsehood, even in myself, 

to defend an unpopular position, 

or to surrender a cherished opinion found wanting...

For the rest, click here.

an open letter to Multnomah students

Last fall, one of my college professors, Ray Lubeck, invited me back to speak to his Bible Study Methods class. Ray was more than just a professor to me. He became my mentor, boss, and friend, even performing our wedding in Colorado! It was an honor to visit his class again. I just came across my notes from the message I gave that morning, and I thought I'd share it with you as well.

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18 years ago I sat where you are sitting.

I soaked in every word that Ray taught.

I poured myself into lab assignments.

And it changed my life.

Seriously, I couldn't figure out why no one had ever taught me this stuff before.

The Scriptures were opened up in a whole new way for me and the Bible came to life.

17 years ago I stood where I'm standing now, as a [Bible Study Methods] lab instructor.

It was the single most fulfilling thing I had ever done.

I kept coming back, teaching a total of 5 semesters.

12 years ago my husband Danny and I sold most of our things, packed up the rest, and headed to the Philippines as missionaries. We were more than ready. We had 4 years of the best Bible training on the planet tucked under our belts, teaching and church ministry experience, a strong team of prayer and financial supporters, a set of gifts that were a perfect match for the needs our mission advertised, and a commitment to reach Filipino Muslims with the gospel.

Weeks stretched into months as our initial enthusiasm wore off. We floundered. Ministry opportunities were not unfolding the way we had anticipated. Life in Manila was really tough. It was hot. We wilted. It was smoggy. We could hardly breathe. Language school was brutal. We were so homesick.

One day I was walking to the market to see my Muslim friends. I thought about their lives. They were immigrants from another island, far from home and trying to get along in a new language. Squatters by day and squatters by night, they sold pirated goods along the street without a permit and lived in makeshift homes on property they did not own. At any moment the police could show up and drag them off to jail for any number of infractions. The women sat pregnant in the hot sun for hour after hour selling combs and batteries and cell phone covers. After their babies were born they left them home with an older sibling and return to the market to sell again so the family could eat.

On my way to the market that day I felt so, so empty. What did I have that these friends really needed? I had come prepared to teach Bible study methods, but they could hardly read or write. We were here to reach them with the gospel, but what tangible benefit did the gospel offer them? A stable income? Reliable housing? What I knew to offer was a far cry from what they needed. As for godly character, I was depressed and discouraged, cranky and selfish, homesick and tired. I had come armed with colored pencils and an inductive Bible study method. I felt a little silly.

It was around this time that I got an email from Dr. Karl Kutz [another of my professors from Multnomah]. He was conducting a survey of graduates from the biblical languages program to find out our greatest accomplishments post-graduation. My Greek and Hebrew Bibles had made the trek across the ocean with me, but frankly, they sat untouched on my shelves getting moldy from the humidity. My greatest accomplishment? Umm… at first I groaned. There was nothing much that belonged on a resume. After some thought I decided that my most noteworthy accomplishment was that I could walk unannounced into a Muslim neighborhood climb the cement stairs of a 3-story building onto the rooftop where two families lived -- my friends from the market. Salma and Aisah and their husbands were raising their small children on that rooftop with no railings. Two lean-to shelters stood side by side, with corrugated metal roofs and walls with scrap linoleum floors. Their only furniture was a table on which the TV and a small gas stove were kept, powered with illegal gas and electricity. We sat on the floor as the pouring rain seeped through the holes in the floor and soaked our clothes. We talked and laughed, and I prayed in Filipino for Aisah's new baby, whom she had named Ishmael, or for Salma's whom she had named Eliana, after my own daughter. I longed for these friends to meet the Savior. I loved them, and I knew they loved me.

They had no pencil between them, and they could not read their copy of the Qur'an which was carefully wrapped and tucked between the wooden post and metal walls of their home. I would never have an opportunity to teach them inductive Bible study methods. That's not what they needed anyway. We all cried when Danny and I were called to move back to the US.

Yes, I've accumulated more degrees since then, and my Greek and Hebrew are not as rusty as they were in 2003. But if Dr. Kutz sent me that email again today I'm not sure that my answer should be any different. Allow me some liberties with 1 Cor 13:1–2:

If I read fluently in the languages of the ancient near east, but do not have love,

I have become a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.

If I have impressive intellectual powers, advanced degrees,

and an exegetical method than can unlock all mysteries and all knowledge, 

and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.

Soak in all you can this semester. It is valuable training, and it will shape you in profound ways. But know this: without love, we are nothing.