leap of faith

"Leap of Faith" by Jasmine May

This is the third of three watercolors that Jasmine May shared with me — and I'm delighted to have permission to share it with you. It grapples with another dimension of faith. "Falling Into His Hands" portrayed the strong hands of God that are ready to catch us whenever we let go of control. This painting — "Leap of Faith" — depicts the empowerment of the Holy Spirit to do what is far beyond our natural abilities. In this phase of Jasmine's walk with Jesus he was asking her not to sit back and watch Him work on her behalf, but to step out and take action on others' behalf with no guarantee of success. Jasmine explains,

"When we sensed God telling us to start an aftercare home for sex-trafficking survivors, it seemed impossible. God was saying, 'Jump off that cliff.' I asked Him, " ... so are You going to catch me?' But He answered, 'No. I gave you everything you need to fly. The wings are the Holy Spirit. The only way to experience how to fly by My Spirit is to jump!'"

The rhythm of our life with God includes both kinds of trust -- both quiet waiting and taking action. Is God prompting you to take a leap of faith? Is there an impossible task that awaits you? If God is asking you to do it, He has already supplied you with everything you need.

back to school panic

InterVarsity published a short piece I wrote for their blog for Women in the Academy and Professions. It went live this morning. Here's a preview . . .

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Photo: C. Imes

It’s that time of year. I can feel it in my bones. In just a handful of days we’ll all be climbing back on the hamster wheel, our arms loaded with books, our schedule packed to the gills. Open days on the calendar are slipping through my fingers; my ambitious summer to-do list barely dented. Panic sets in. I like “back to school” season. But I need more time! What do I have to show for these long summer hours with no classes, no assignments, no grading, no committee meetings?

I meant to be productive. I really did. This was my chance to get ahead. To knock out a chapter, an essay, a conference paper, a book review. This was the ideal time to breeze through all those books on my desk, waiting to be read. And what do I have to show for it? Nothing. At least nothing that “counts” on my C.V.

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To read the rest of this piece, visit The Well . . .

one ordinary life

The trail along the Salmon River offered cool shade that August afternoon. Countless trees, some of them wider than I am tall, others just fledglings, flanked both sides of the river. My eyes landed on a massive trunk and I craned my neck to see its towering top. If that one tree wasn't here, how different this stretch of trail would be! You could almost miss it, the expanse of dull brown bark beside the trail. But it's absence would change everything. Beside the path on either side, leafy ferns crowded together in the shade of the tallest tree, safe from the sun's scorching rays.

Salmon River, Oregon. Photo: C Imes

I climbed down the bank and walked on the stones, worn smooth by centuries of melting snow. Glancing across the water, I noticed a fallen tree. The steep bank where it once stood proudly had been washed downstream, lacking roots to trap topsoil. I stood there, pondering. You could certainly take a tree like that for granted, one of many, until it is gone. The refreshment of a hike through the woods depends on a great number of ordinary trees, growing up side by side, steadily reaching heavenward and shading the earth with their spreading limbs. (Just outside the national forest, on the drive home, lay evidence of mass destruction, several acres hacked to the ground all at once, with their bloody stumps baking in the summer sun.)

Who are the shade-givers in my life -- the ordinary people whose faithfulness makes this world a place worth living? Good neighbors blend in with their surroundings, seeming ordinary enough. But if we pause to imagine life without their stability -- their day-in-and-day-out caring for their corner of the world -- we discover what a difference they make. Subtract one tree and you have a hole in the sky, fewer branches for nesting, the topsoil washes downstream. A bleak landscape gradually replaces the forest. The exposed branches of neighboring trees grow dry and brittle...

My mind drifts back to Hudson Street, the place I called home for the first 9 years of my life. I can still smell it -- the wholesome aroma of Suzie's bread wafting across the street. It's been almost 30 years, but I can still taste the soft buttered slice, fresh from her oven on baking day. Suzie's hands and face and apron smudged with white flour as she answered the door bell. Warm lumps rising in the oven. Then punching and pulling and rolling the dough until it was just right for braiding.

I can still hear her voice, strong and warm, with its European lilt. Swiss neighbors, like swiss chocolate and swiss bread, are hard to forget.

Is that why I've always felt a part of me come alive at the smell of fresh bread baking? It takes me back to those innocent days -- sandboxes and swings, gardens and neighbors who cared. There were others who didn't -- who were more likely to be drunk and yelling than pulling out their knee-high weeds, but Suzie and Marion made up for the whole lot. They were the stately oaks across my Hudson who kept the rich topsoil from washing away. It was their shade under which I flourished and grew. I know Suzie prayed for us then and still does.

I braided my first loaf the other day and thought of Suzie. Her steady demeanor, her no nonsense, no drama way of life. Her long, black (now white) tresses that I only rarely saw loose, when she brushed them. Every day she braided and twisted them into a bun on the back of her head. Suzie and Marion were nosy in the kindest way. "Mare" used to let himself into our backyard each day to check our thermometer and our vegetable garden, as if he didn't have enough of his own garden, bursting with produce. My brother, John, used to stand with his toes right up to the tippy edge of the sidewalk and call for him, "Mare! Mare!"

I'm guessing Suzie canned lots of things and cooked up a storm. But all I remember is her braided bread, for me one of the most delicious smells of childhood. (I wonder -- is her kitchen valance still hanging? -- the one stuck to the wall with the chewing gum I chewed just for her?)

A cherished visit with Suzie and Marion in 2005

I realize now that some of the houses I've imagined while reading books are really Suzie's house, with its galley kitchen looking out over the back yard, its family-sized table off the living room where her children ate their meals growing up, and where John and I sat after they were grown and gone, to fill our mouths with bread still hot from the oven. The piano with a hymnal close at hand. The living room with its inviting circle of couch and chairs. The box of children's books waiting to be read.

My world was a better place because of Suzie. She may be ordinary, but without her my life would have had an empty place. Suzie sheltered us on Hudson Street, providing a safe haven in a broken world. Her bread nourished the body and her company nourished the soul.

Never underestimate the power of an ordinary life well-lived.

a note to my happy friends

I've had a lot to say over the past year about suffering. But perhaps you are in a season of celebration. If so, I rejoice with you. Lilias Trotter has a timely word for souls in springtime:

From Lilias Trotter's Travel Journal, 1900

"You are right to be glad in His April days while He gives them. Every stage of the heavenly growth in us is lovely to Him; He is the God of the daisies and the lambs and the merry child hearts! It may be that no such path of loss lies before you; there are people like the lands where spring and summer weave the year between them, and the autumn processes are hardly noticed as they come and go. The one thing is to keep obedient in spirit, then you will be ready to let the flower-time pass if He bids you, when the sun of His love has worked some more ripening. You will feel by then that to try to keep the withering blossoms would be to cramp and ruin your soul. It is loss to keep when God says 'give.'" (A Blossom in the Desert, 111, emphasis mine)

worth sharing

A friend from seminary posted this earlier today, and I couldn't help but notice how we're on the same wavelength. If life is not all tinsel and lights for you this Christmas, do take a minute to read her post -- What I really want for Christmas. I hope you'll be as challenged and encouraged as I was.

Here's a gem: "Maybe the absence of hurt is not what we really need. Maybe the presence of God in our hurt is the best gift we could receive this Christmas."

Amen to that.

Thanks, Lindsay!

naming the gifts

God has gifts to give us that can only come wrapped in suffering.

We would rather not receive them. We’d rather mark them “return to sender” and move on with things as they are. But we don’t get to choose our gifts. The Wise Gift Giver chooses for us. At first it looks like a mistake, or at least a white elephant. This? For me? Never! It must be some kind of joke. This doesn’t belong in my life! But in fact God sees far ahead, and he knows just what we’ll need to make it through the seasons to come. So he starts working well ahead of time to get us ready.

I don’t mean to say that God is the author of suffering. He’s not. But he treasures the opportunity that suffering affords to meet us in a special way and to refine us.

As I look back over my life these ugly gifts are some of the most vivid, and (in time) most precious.

The gift wrapped in rejection was confidence in who I am in Christ.

The gift wrapped in the blackness of sin was a profound appreciation for God’s holiness.

The gifts wrapped in poverty were dependence on God and resourcefulness.

The gifts wrapped in illness were dependence on others and sensitivity.

The gift wrapped in the ache of homesickness and culture shock was a thirst for more of God.

2013 has been a year rich in gifts—

The gift wrapped in pressure is productivity.

The gift wrapped in spiritual conflict is heightened discernment.

The gift wrapped in mismanagement is wisdom (for next time).

The gifts wrapped in waiting are perseverance and trust.

The gift wrapped in failure is grace for others and myself.

The gift wrapped in confrontation is humility and grace.

The gift wrapped in injustice is identification with Christ.

The gift wrapped in isolation is the sweetness of His presence.

The gift wrapped in correction is growth.

The gift wrapped in suffering is empathy.

The gift wrapped in layer after layer of disappointment is a well-worn path of prayer to the throne (a path that gets easier and easier to find).

These are gifts I wouldn’t wish on anybody. They are miserable to receive. On the other hand, once we receive them with thanks we become stronger, richer, deeper, and softer. At some point we see ourselves in the mirror and realize that we are not who we once were. These gifts we didn’t want have transformed us. Most importantly, we are profoundly aware that we cannot do life on our own. We need Him. Desperately. And that’s the best place to be.

What gifts has God given you this year?

[note: If you clicked on any of the links in this post, you probably noticed that God started preparing me for 2013 a long time ago. As hard as it was, 2004 cleared out the underbrush so that I could find a path to God through suffering—a path I have trod repeatedly this year. He is a good God, and His gifts are unmatched.]

eschatology when it matters most

In the classroom it may seem like eschatology (the study of the "last things")  is a frivolous topic. Why speculate about how things will play out in the future? Don't we have enough to worry about today? It will all unfold the way God planned it, whether or not we understand what, when, or how.

But actually, eschatology does its most important work in the mess of everyday life, with its worries and fears, trials and struggles.

For the family stunned by a terminal diagnosis ...
For the one falsely accused and misunderstood ...
For the couple whose marriage is falling to pieces ...
For the addict who can't get free ...
For those whose loss is more than they can bear ...
For the one struggling to cope with mental illness ...

Eschatology is a lifeline.

There are a whole host of views about the end times, and each view has practical consequences. That's a topic for another day. The most important truth that all Christians hold in common is this: God wins in the end. Evil will be finally and decisively defeated. Truth will prevail. Hurts will be healed. Everything will be restored to its created design. In the words of the Old Testament, "each of us will sit under our own vine and our own fig tree, with no one to make us afraid" (cf. Micah 4:4). In other words, we'll be able to truly rest, to enjoy the fruits of our labor with no fear of what's to come.

For the family stunned by a terminal diagnosis ... it's ok to be angry. Cancer is not God's intention. And it's not the final word.
For the one falsely accused and misunderstood ... God will bring ultimate vindication.
For the couple whose marriage is falling to pieces ... He offers healing and full reconciliation.
For the addict who can't get free ... He will release the captive.
For those whose loss is more than they can bear ... there will be unbounded joy.
For the one struggling to cope with mental illness ... true peace, inside and out, is guaranteed.

Eschatology speaks to our brokenness, pain, and strife with the precious promise that this is not all there is. God is not finished yet with what he is doing. From our vantage point it may look like a losing battle, but he will prevail. We can bet our lives on it.

And as we cling to that truth -- that God will win in the end -- we find strength to face today.

"The LORD will surely comfort Zion and will look with compassion on all her ruins;
he will make her deserts like Eden, her wastelands like the garden of the LORD.
Joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the sound of singing." (Isaiah 51:3)

"How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news,
who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation, who say to Zion,
'Your God reigns!' . . .
The LORD will lay bare his holy arm in the sight of all the nations,
and all the ends of the earth will see the salvation of our God." (Isaiah 52:7, 10)

uncharted territory

"You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.

Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked.

A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!

Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?

How much can you lose? 

How much can you win?

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right . . .

or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?

Or go around back and sneak in from behind?

Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find,

for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind."

From Dr. Seuss' Oh, the Places You'll Go!

Now that I'm ABD, I'm facing my next dissertation chapter head on. And it's all new territory.

I have a pile of pages to read two inches thick that I've photocopied from theological lexicons.
I have a to-do list at least 5 pages long.
I have a whole shelf of books quietly waiting to be read.
And I have nagging questions about the best way to frame my research.
But the clock keeps ticking, which means I can't stand around too long procrastinating.
I just need to make up my mind and get started.

The biggest challenges in life don't come with instruction manuals. But whether your uncharted territory relates to breastfeeding or sleep training, educating your kids, dealing with teenagers, applying to grad school, resolving conflict, writing a dissertation, embarking on a new career, beginning a dating relationship, settling in to a new culture, navigating doctrinal questions, or responding to the needs of aging parents, the good news is you are not alone. We have a shepherd-king who will guide us each step of the way, even when the streets are "darked."

"Yahweh is my shepherd. I lack nothing.

He makes me lie down in green pastures, 

he leads me beside quiet waters, 

he refreshes my soul.

He guides me along the paths of the righteous

for the sake of his name.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley,

I will not fear evil, for you are with me;

your rod and your staff, they comfort me."

Psalm 23:1–4*

*my translation, adapted from the NIV 2011

gifts at low tide (redivivus)

I've been thinking a lot lately about a very difficult season Danny and I went through almost 10 years ago. We were in the Philippines, desperate for resolution to our questions and longings. Thankfully, the lessons we learned in that spiritual desert prepared us to face similar seasons since then. Perhaps you, too, are at low tide. If so I hope this story (taken from my old blog) will encourage you. Our heavenly Father doesn't waste a thing.

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Photo from the Whatcom County Website

We had been driving along the coast for miles, in search of the perfect view. Washington State has a lot of beautiful coastline, but so far we had seen mostly mud littered with boats. The tide must have been at an all time low. Just when we had gone about as far as you can go without crossing the border into Canada, we stumbled upon a huge viewing deck overlooking a bay behind an exclusive resort. There were no fences or fees, so we stopped and climbed out to survey the scene. Little did we know that the treasures awaiting us would be below, not beyond the deck.

A floating dock skirted the deck, it's steep ramp nearly pitching us forward into the bay. We found the shadows below the viewing deck pungent and fishy. It took only a moment to figure out why. Rows of solid wood columns had been anchored into the ocean floor, supporting the deck above. Clinging to each log above the waterline were dozens and dozens of sea creatures - brown sea anemone, folded closed for lack of moisture; bright purple and pink starfish, each stretching a foot in diameter; mussels, clamped shut. Just under the surface hairy anemones floated and swayed in the current. Nearly transparent jellyfish pulsed past, freeform. I can't say that it was beautiful, but for someone who grew up in a landlocked state, this quick stop was proving to be quite an education! Because of the unusually low tide, we were getting a rare glimpse of the ocean's hidden life.

Photo Courtesy of This Website

Why do I bother retelling this odd experience? As we explored that day, I was reminded of my own inner searching these past months. Being at low tide emotionally and spiritually has not been fun. The odors of selfishness and impatience have often been dominant; "dying to self" does not smell (or feel!) nice. Parts of my personality that used to be vibrant have folded in upon themselves for lack of water. Gifts and skills once fully functional have clamped shut, ill-suited for life on land. But despite these 'losses', I've received blessings that rarely come at 'high tide'. Unexplored areas of my soul have been exposed. I am less self-confident, but freer. Rather than fearing what lies hidden within myself or others, I have found a new contentment, knowing that whatever is discovered there is not beyond His ability to transform into something beautiful.

I do not understand my own soul fully. I cannot pretend to have seen everything that lies beneath the surface. But I know He is there, healing and loving me. And that is making all the difference.

Spiritual Life of Missionaries: Lessons Learned from the Field

If you're new to my blog, then you might not know that Danny and I have been missionaries with SIM for the past 10 years. I was recently asked to share with undergraduate students at Wheaton on the topic of spiritual formation for missionaries. I thought that perhaps some of you would appreciate hearing our story as well. Living in the Philippines was very difficult for us spiritually, not so much because of Filipino language, culture, or climate, though learning to live there had its challenges. The biggest challenges for us were internal, related to our expectations and identity, and missional, related to our roles and opportunities for service. I hope that our story is helpful to you in some way!
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Danny and I were model candidates for missions. We were both Bible college graduates with supportive families and a strong sending church. We had experience in short-term missions and in church ministry. We were considered “strong Christians” by all who knew us. We passed our psychological and other evaluations with flying colors. We set a new record in SIM: In less than 12 months we had completed all of SIM’s pre-field training requirements, sold or stored all of our worldly goods, raised all of our support, and were on a plane bound for the Philippines. Our vision was crystal clear: we were going to see a reproducing church planted among a minority ethnic group in the Philippines.  Danny would serve our SIM team by handling the administrative tasks that bogged them down. I would engage in outreach and eventually Bible teaching and discipleship. We planned to stay a really long time.

But then we landed in Manila and reality hit. Learning Tagalog would not be easy. Sweating all the time was not fun. Our team was spread out across a sprawling metropolis with some of the worst traffic jams in the world. We were isolated, lonely, and discouraged. But worst of all, after a grueling year of language study, it was no longer clear to us how we could even help. Danny’s administrative tasks only took him a few hours per month. Our team was too small to need a full-time administrator, and SIM was actively considering whether any more westerners should even be sent to the Philippines. I tried no less than 7 different ministries inside the local neighborhood where our target people group lived. Every one of them was a flop.

We thought we were going to the Philippines use our gifts to build God’s kingdom. But we were frustrated at every turn. Danny is most fully alive when he is in some kind of helping role -- working behind the scenes to make things happen (which is why I’m here speaking while he is shuttling our kids between school and after-school activities) -- but Filipinos wouldn’t let him set up chairs or clean up after an event. Such tasks are too menial for a white man. And our western teammates didn’t actually need his help. It was very debilitating for him. I, on the other hand, had gone to teach, but for the first time in my life I sensed very strongly that God was asking me to keep my mouth shut. It was time to learn. As time dragged on my confidence gradually drained away. I began to doubt if I had anything worth saying.

I remember very distinctly one day walking in the tropical heat down a crowded street to the open market to do my shopping. I looked at the street vendors lining the sidewalk … watched them arranging their goods. I knew they would be lucky to make 50 pesos of profit in a day, and that they had left their babies home in the care of older siblings, some only 5 or 6 years old. At any moment the police could show up and clear the place out. Sidewalk vending was illegal. But it was the only way they could find to survive. Suddenly I felt very empty. What did I have to offer that these people actually needed? My sophisticated methods of Bible study were useless to them. Their modes of thinking and learning were almost entirely oral. Their focus was on survival. What’s more, they were already cheerful, generous, selfless. When I looked deep inside myself, I saw no great reserves of those qualities, or any others that would give evidence of a spirit-empowered life -- joy, faith, peace, gentleness, self-control. Spiritually-speaking I was just about bankrupt.

About a year after we arrived in the Philippines, I wrote this poem in my journal and later posted it on my (old) blog. It will give you a window on my heart in that very dry and difficult season.

empty

before I journeyed here
my heart was full
  ideas
    skills
      techniques
        strategies
now I sojourn
far from home
emptied of all I once knew
        nameless
      voiceless
    useless?
afraid that before I find
my voice in this culture
I will have nothing left to say
what was profound and meaningful before
now seems
        out-of-touch
      foreign
    irrelevant
  unneeded
so, Lord, I sit here
empty
like the jars at Cana lacking wine
thirsty for You to fill me again
with your living water
so I can pour
into the lives You've gathered
around me

Come, Lord Jesus,
do your miracle in me.

God’s answer to my prayer was not what I expected. There was no instant miracle. I hoped for overflowing joy or successful ministry opportunities or at least peace that we were on the right track. He gave us none of these. But he did give us a gift that we learned to treasure – his gift was longing. Danny and I became desperate for God. We were constantly and painfully aware of our own weaknesses, our inabilities, our absolute need for Him. We lived every day for months on end with an ache in our souls that would not go away. A craving for God to do something. A thirst for his presence. And we waited. We waited beyond what we thought we could bear and then waited some more.

During that lonely season, authors—dead ones, even—became some of my most trusted spiritual guides. Henri Nouwen, Larry Crabb, Lettie Cowman.

Henri Nouwen taught me (in his books Wounded Healer and Reaching Out) that ministers of the gospel must be unafraid to venture into the depths of their own soul so that they can lead others to wholeness in a fragmented world. Being broken is not the end of ministry, it is the surest beginning. I was certainly broken, and I did not like what I saw in my own soul. But Nouwen said this was as it should be.

Larry Crabb’s book Shattered Dreams also ministered to me deeply. In it he wrestles with the same questions we were asking. He wonders out loud why God allows suffering: "He could do something. Yet He does nothing, at least not what we ask Him to do. Why? To deepen our desire for His Presence, to strengthen our passion to pursue Him, to help us see how preoccupied we are with filling our God-shaped souls with something less than God." (121)

Crabb says, "When God seems most absent from us, He is doing His most important work in us." (157) I clung to the hope that somehow God was using our isolation and struggle to do something deep in us.

Lettie Cowman’s Streams in the Desert was also a source of hope. I learned that some of God’s most precious gifts can only come to us wrapped in suffering. There is simply no other way to receive them. God does not delight in our pain, but he delights in the deep work that he is able to do in us in the midst of that pain. "There are blessings we can never have unless we are ready to pay the price of pain. There is no way to reach them save through suffering." (Sept 19, quoting Dr. Miller)

My season of silence did not end until we came home from the Philippines. It was the longest two and a half years of our lives. Eventually SIM recommended that we change fields and serve where Danny’s skills were more critically needed. We returned to the states and moved to Charlotte, NC where Danny began working for a new ministry of SIM based out of the International office. The six years we spent there were some of our richest and happiest years. Everything seemed to go our way. Our kids had great schools, we found a great church, lived in a great house in a great neighborhood with great neighbors. I got to go to seminary, which I absolutely loved. Danny’s job with SIM was a perfect fit for his personality and gifting. After six years in Charlotte God opened the door for me to continue my education here at Wheaton. I’m working on a PhD in Old Testament under Dr. Block. Once again our situation is totally ideal – house, schools, jobs, everything. Danny has been able to continue serving in his role with SIM remotely, and this year we’re approaching our 10-year anniversary of service with SIM.

We are of course relieved to have moved out of a dry and difficult season of life and ministry. But happiness has its drawbacks. I have carried with me a deep sense of appreciation for the spiritual desert that we lived in for 2 years in the Philippines. I met God in a powerful way, ironically, through his “absence.” I discovered new things about myself, my own limitations, and my desperate need for the Savior. That gift never comes through success and victory and ease. It only comes wrapped in suffering. And it has changed me, I hope, forever.

remembering 9/11

I've been caught by surprise twice now at the depth of emotion I still feel remembering 9/11.  Eliana was an infant on that fateful day - alive, but oblivious to the horror that swept the nation as we watched the events play out.  It wasn't until she was in first grade or so that it occurred to me to tell her about that day.  As I told her I couldn't help but weep.  She was suprised to see mommy cry.  I rarely do.

Tonight at dinner it was Emma's turn to hear the story.  She's 6 now, and that must be the magic age of maturity for things like this.  Step by step we walked her through the horrifying events.  Again I cried.

Why does it still feel so raw 10 years later?  Why tears?

I guess it was the biggest world event that had happened in my adult life, or at least the biggest one I witnessed live.  (I do vaguely remember when "The Wall" came down in Germany, but I was not old enough to appreciate its significance.)  I'll never forget the call from my Dad that we should turn on the TV because a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center.  His urgency seemed odd to me.  Planes crash now and then.  It's sad when it happens, but Dad was insistent that we watch.  And watch we did, as before our very eyes the second plane hit the second tower.  It was in that horrifying moment that the sickening truth sunk to the pit of my stomach:

This was intentional.

Panic ensued.  The events unfolded too quickly for us to process them.  The Pentagon crash.  The collapse of the two towers as the pavement swallowed them whole, a living grave for hundreds and thousands of people. The 4th plane crash in a cornfield, an aborted attempt to bomb the White House.  Where will they strike next?

The stunned silence of the next few hours and days was filled with tears, pleas from family members for information on their loved ones, stories of people who should have been in the towers and were not, stories of the brave men and women who had been running up the stairs to their death when everyone else was running down to safety.

Other tragedies have happened in our lifetime, larger ones even.  Tsunamis, hurricanes, earthquakes, wars, shootings, even.  For me, 9/11 was different because it was on our soil, the effects were massive, and it was intentional.  No one knew where it would hit next.  "Terror" came home.  That day a new generation learned that humans are capable of unthinkable evil, and even the invicible United States was brought to its knees.

I'm sure you remember the groundswell of prayer that ensued.  I wish that could have been the most lasting after-effect.  Naturally it gave way to finger-pointing, blame, and a thirst for revenge.  War was inevitable, we just had to locate our enemy (a process that took nearly 10 years!).  Meanwhile, America developed a deep distrust of Muslims from any country.  For me this was equally tragic.  Unfortunately, the line between revenge and justice can be a blurry one. 

I'll always be grateful that we had the opportunity to move overseas shortly afterwards and live among people who looked different than we do.  By the time the third anniversary of 9/11 came around I could count 80 Muslims among my friends.  They gave their children names like Ishmael, Hussein, and yes, even Osama bin Laden.  But I loved them and they loved me back.  I knew I was safe in their community because they were looking out for me.  My one desire was to show them the love of Jesus. 

Did you know that Jesus loves Muslims?  He did before 9/11, and he still does.  We can let our fear or hurt or mistrust build walls between us and the Muslims in our communities, or we can cross the line, extend a hand, and offer the gift of friendship.  It's the only way to reverse the cycle of hatred and revenge.  Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me!

the speed of your soul

My devotional today reminded me of the wise words of a good friend.

First, the devotional: Charles Ringma, in Dare to Journey with Henri Nouwen, talks about "The Matter of Balance." He says, "We frequently play one priority, discipline, or grace against another. We emphasize one thing only to neglect another.  For example, we pray, but fail to work.  We serve, but fail to be inwardly renewed.  to hold together various spiritual disciplines, priorities, and emphases remains one of our biggest challenges -- and one of our most pressing needs."

Now, for the wise words: Dr. Jeff Arthurs, professor of preaching at Gordon-Conwell and a long-time friend and mentor, chastened me once by saying, "Minister at the speed of your soul."   In other words, only you know how much is too much to have on your plate.  And as soon as there is too much, your soul will suffer and you will be depleted and have nothing to give.  I like what he said because it takes the focus off of what others are able to accomplish and puts it back where it belongs, on what God has designed me to do.  We need a balance between soaking in God's love for us and pouring that love out for others.  One without the other will not do.

In my experience, life requires re-balancing on a very regular basis.  It's impossible to keep this balance at every moment, nor does God ask us to.  Urgent needs do arise, and during some seasons all efforts to minister are met with closed doors. Jesus gave and gave and gave, but he also took time away for prayer and communion with the Father. Personally, I'm relishing the opportunity to soak after an intense season of output.  My soul is catching up with me.

happy is the woman...

...who wants what she has.

A friend from my dorm section in college wrote that out in big letters and stuck it to her wall one year. Somehow it stuck with me, too. It's true, isn't it?  We can spend our energy wishing for what we don't have, or we can find joy in what God has already given us.

I went to Target the other day for a new pair of jeans.  I had been wanting to go for weeks, but couldn't find the time. My favorite jeans are getting worn out.  The knees are fading, certain other parts are getting rather threadbare.  You wanna hear something funny?  I couldn't find a single new pair of jeans to fit that did not look worse than my old ones.  After trying on about 5 pair I slipped back into my old jeans with a sign of relief.  Not only were they comfortable, but they fit just right, they looked newer than anything off the rack, and they didn't cost me a dime!  The gal working in the dressing room told me that "old" jeans are in style.  I told her I'd keep my old ones then and keep wearing them until they were in style, too.

Happy is the woman who wants what she has.  (Even jeans!)

There will always be something to complain about.
(If you don't believe me check your friends' status updates on Facebook).
But there is always something to be thankful for. Always.

And those who practice finding out what it is are truly happy.

success and failure

It's wonderfully freeing to realize that our value does not depend on our acheivements. Success does not define who we are or why we matter. The single most important thing about us is unaffected by our performance: we are deeply loved by the God who made us in His own image.

There is nothing we can do to make God love us more. 
There is nothing we can do to make God love us less.

Our greatest fulfillment will always be found by living out of that knowledge.  I am loved. God knew what he was doing when He made me. He has great things in store for me because He loves me.

While some of us can achieve success some of the time, no one can achieve success all of the time. In the end it's totally freeing to give our best efforts to God, leaving the results in his hands and knowing that He loves us no matter how things turn out. If success depends on us, then life is full of pressure to perform.  But since we're loved either way, the pressure's off!

peace in the storm

The pace of life is rather dizzying these days. Between school schedules for 3 kids, housework, schoolwork, PhD applications, and preparations to attend the annual conferences of the Evangelical Theological Society and the Society for Biblical Literature in a couple weeks, I hardly know whether I'm coming or going. Your plate may be full of other things, but I'm guessing you know the feeling.

It hit me this morning that finding peace in the midst of a crazy schedule is a lot like childbirth. During labor the goal is to breathe deeply, relax completely, and stay focused ... precisely when the pain and pressure are so great that you know you can't keep going for another minute and you think you might die. It's a very real challenge to keep our eyes on Jesus when life is hectic, but it's the most important battle we fight. Allowing stress to build and panic to set in only adds to the burden.

We serve a God who is fully in control, even when we feel out of control. He is never overwhelmed, never stressed, and never worried.

"Happy is the one who fears Yahweh,
who finds great delight in His commands...
Surely he (or she!) will never be shaken ...
He will have no fear of bad news;
his heart is steadfast, trusting in Yahweh...
His heart is secure, he will have no fear." - Psalm 112

Take a deep breath. Relax. God is on the throne.

do we live in a Christian nation?

On this most patriotic of holidays, it's worth asking the question, "What should the relationship between church and state look like?"  Consider this quote from German scholar, Theo Sorg,

"The New Testament knows nothing of a Christian state, but it knows of Christians who profess their Lord in public life and in their political responsibility, and who make every effort to realize symbolically something of his good rule.  It is not they themselves who create the coming reign of peace; God alone will bring it about.  But they have this goal before them and can therefore seek to bring about peace wherever and however that is possible, in every weakness and fallibility, but nevertheless with the breath of Christian patience."

From Theo Sorg, "Die Bibel zum Thema Frieden," Theologische Beitrage (1982): 264-265. Quoted by Helmut W. Ziefle in Modern Theological German: A Reader and Dictionary (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 1997), 243.  My translation.