What is Christmas Spirit Anyway?

Right now a piece of my heart is across the globe as one of my best friends serves Jesus in a foreign land. Tonight at our Christmas Eve service I saw the tears on her mom's face, tears of an aching heart, longing for her daughter and grandson this Christmas.

Days ago families in Newtown abruptly lost some of the ones they hold most dear. Their hearts are breaking this Christmas.

A friend will face her first Christmas without her brother on this earth. So much hurt for her and her family this Christmas.

This is a difficult time for so many. And even though I am surrounded by family and have so much blessing in my life right now, it's easy to slip into a bit of melancholy. This world is not as it  should be. I am not as I should be. Even today I found myself fretting over trivial things like gift giving, and caring far too much about thoughtless words spoken to me. I, who say I believe in this One who brings peace on earth, am so easily disquieted.

But I long for Jesus to come and fix what is broken in this world, and what is broken in me.

And sometimes the Christmas spirit, I think, is simply holding on to what is true. We can want so much to create this atmosphere of mirth, this feeling that it seems we are supposed to have, that when we don't always have it, we feel let down. But this Christmas, in the midst of so much sadness in the world, what hope is there for those who cannot possibly experience the feelings that we so often associate with the Christmas Spirit? I think part of  the hope is that we don't have to feel anything in particular for there to still be hope. Because the truth of Christmas, the truth of who Jesus is, is outside of us and transcends any feeling or experience that we have. I can't conjure up feelings of joy or mirth. But you know what does move me, what does give me hope? When I think about the fact that I am a part of a Story that is so much bigger than me, when I think about how the God of history, the God who spun this world into existence, has had a plan from the beginning of time to make a people for himself. And that He sent His Son, Jesus, into the beauty and the mess of humanity to accomplish this goal--that He was born, He lived, He died, He rose again, and He is coming again. That He is going to give us resurrected bodies and make all things new and we will spend infinity of time loving and worshiping Him and exploring and learning about Him and His world.

The fact that I don't need to make myself feel anything is liberating. When I think about this story that I have been swept up in, often feelings of joy do come. But my hope is not based upon them. My Hope is in the Person of Jesus and all that He is for me as I stake my life upon Him.

There's a wonderful account in John's Gospel of an exchange between Jesus and Simon Peter. Jesus has just fed the five thousand and presented his followers with some challenging words. Many of them can't accept the things he says and turn from following him. Jesus asks his disciples, "Do you want to go away as well?" But Simon Peter replies, rather matter-of-factly it seems,“Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God” (John 6:67-69).

I find myself echoing those words, To whom shall I go? You have the words of eternal life. There really is no other option. On my best days and on my worst days, and when the world seems like it's spinning out of control, He was and is and always has been the only one worthy of my absolute trust and confidence. I cling to Him this Christmas.

Thoughts on Today's Tragedy

Affected, yet not affected (my grief can't compare to theirs).
Moved, yet not moved (not to my core).
Shocked, yet not shocked (sadly this is so).

This is where I find myself today. It's not that I don't care; I care very much. But many are saying they are heartbroken, and honestly, I feel a little numb. How sad to live in a world in which hearing about the mass murder of multiple people is a far too common occurrence. I hear the words "another shooting" and I know I should feel such deeper grief, but it's become so common, that I don't even know how to process it anymore. It doesn't help that the first news I heard of it was shared in the break room at work. We didn't all stop what we were doing. There was no moment of silence. I sat there in sadness and some disbelief, but the news seemed like it was coming from somewhere far away. I am sure if I had children I would feel this in a deeper way. I really want to. Perhaps I am not the only one who finds herself in such a state. And maybe I'm not entirely numb. I think I'm angry. Angry that such darkness and evil can exist, and angry that we can even be robbed of the ability to be truly shocked by it. Or maybe this is just a condition of my own heart and I must fight for innocence, fight to see the world with fresh eyes and not through those jaded by time and experience, fight even to be shocked? I don't know. Please tell me if you do.

But I am sad and grieve for the families who have lost children, and for others who have lost family other members. Their lives were turned upside down today and they will never be the same. How quickly the entire course and tone of our lives can change.

I don't have any wise or profound words.

I do pray that I might be more sensitized to what has actually happened. I do pray for the families. And I do pray that His Kingdom will come and His will be done and that there might be peace on earth.

And I am thankful that this is not the end of the story.
Death does not have the final say for those who hope in Jesus.

And though we find ourselves painfully suspended between this life and the one to come,
we know there will come a day when what The Church has been praying for thousands of year--"Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done"--will finally and forever be answered in all it's fullness.
 "For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known" (1 Corinthians 13:12-13).

Hope for Clumsy Comforters

I sit across from my friend, Asia* at a table in Starbucks. I knew this would be a hard conversation, but I’m not quite prepared for how hard it will actually be. I can see the struggle worn into her face from the time she arrives. I frantically reach for something to hold onto, something to anchor me, and a bit of divine wisdom to know what to say. What do you say to your friend who carries the constant grief of infertility, who has been trying to conceive for the past few years, but still finds herself without a child? What do you say when her recent attempts to foster have only brought more heartache, when the alcohol abuse of her past (that she's free from now) caused the agency to say no when things had looked so promising? She had a room and a heart ready, and thought this would finally be her chance to nurture and love a little life. I can’t comprehend her grief.

“I don’t need sermons right now,” she says. She’s frustrated with all the attempts others make to comfort her with their words. And my mind tries to remember what I have said over the past few months, what may have been perceived as hurtful or insensitive. I remember a time, just a few weeks ago, when I had sent her a text to try to comfort her. I try to be careful and considerate with my words, especially to those who are suffering. It never occurred to me that while what I was sharing was true, it just might not be the right time. I don't even know if she's referring to what I had shared, but, I feel defensive, even a little wounded. I was just trying to help. Maybe she feels like she doesn't need truth right now, but she does! At the same time, even though I don’t understand what she’s going through, I understand just a bit of her frustration. I remember when my dad was in a deep depression, my heart already weighed down with grief, hearing someone say in my hearing that “it’s a sin to be depressed.” I know friends who have lost loved ones and then, only adding to their grief, had other “friends” say, “If you had just had more faith your [family member] would have been healed.”  When another friend lost a loved one I saw the comments on Facebook, reminding her that “He's in a better place, and "God has a plan." Yes, he is, and God does, I want to say, but how is that helpful right now? How does that even scratch the surface of mind-numbing pain? I know how unthinking we humans can be. Oh, we mean well so much of the time, but so much of the time we just need to keep quiet. 

What hurts most right now is to realize I’ve been one of them—one of the well-meaning, but perhaps-a-little- thoughtless ones. And it’s pride, I know. Pride that’s surprised that I would make a mistake. Pride that doesn’t’ want to be in the category of the clumsy comforters. But I am one of them, broken and in need of grace.

We stand in the parking lot and hug. I tell her I’m sorry if I’ve ever said anything insensitive. She assures me it’s ok, and leaves to go back to Austin.

Over the next few weeks I wrestle and grieve a little. I grieve my pride and I grieve clumsy words and I grieve for my hurting friend. I'm uncomfortable with the way things were when she left. I know my apology may have been sincere, but I’ve struggled since then with how to reconcile the need we all have to hear truth with the need to just be with people in their suffering. But it comes to me slowly, what I’ve known all along. I am not called to fix anyone. My words will never be able to heal. I am simply called to love. To love patiently. To love consistently. To love fervently. And love will take different shapes, it will look different in different seasons and for different people, depending upon their needs.

I send her an email with these words:

Just thinking of you. Praying for you. Love you.

I want to say I'm sorry again if I've ever said anything hurtful or insensitive or preachy. Sometimes I want so much to encourage, that I forget the time might not be right, even if what I share is true.

I want you to know I love you right where you are, and of course, HE does too.

If you ever want to be reminded of truth or need some kind of specific encouragement or prayer, please know I'm here. I'll leave that up to you.

For now I just want you to know you have my love and prayers. I'm thankful for you.

And her reply:

Thank you, sister. That meant a lot to me. I look back to before I struggled with infertility and the way I sometimes interacted with people in pain. I focused on sharing truth (which is good) but didn't really listen to their heart and join them in their mourning.  Sometimes we just need a presence, someone to witness our pain and love us thru it.  It is uncomfortable because it is completely out of our control.  Thank you for seeking to understand...

 

Yes, it is uncomfortable because it is completely out of our control. I think that’s why we reach for words instead of silence at times. Silence is scary. The words aren’t always for the person we are trying to comfort; we are trying to grasp for something to hold onto, something to give us a sense that the world is still alright. And sometimes, like reaching out to straighten a crooked picture on a wall, we thoughtlessly try to "straighten" others, to bend them to a place of being "all right.' But the world isn’t alright; it’s broken. And part of how we enter into others’ pain is by not trying to pretend that everything is alright when it’s not. Yes, God is still good, but right now the whole creation is groaning, waiting to be delivered from it’s bondage to decay (Romans 8:20-23). Suffering is real.

Grieving with someone without saying can sometimes feel like we are standing on the edge of a cliff, about to fall into the unknown. Sometimes it feels like we're already falling. Words feel like a net, promising to catch us. But really, we don’t have to fear. We don’t have to reach for a net, because underneath it all are His everlasting arms, and our words don't hold everything together; He does. It’s not that there’s never a time to speak true words of comfort, it’s just that they fall flat sometimes when the pain is so deep. Not only that, the lack of empathy behind them can hurt more than heal. “Whoever sings songs to a heavy heart is like one who takes off a garment on a cold day, and like vinegar on soda” (Proverbs 25:20). 

I will Say I love you. I will Say I’m sorry. I will Say I’m praying for you. But after that, I will wait; I will simply be present and show my love. I'm sure I'll make mistakes again, and that's okay. The important thing is that I know the God of all Comfort, the God who became flesh and lived in our sin-stained world, is teaching a clumsy comforter what it means to incarnate his love.

*I asked Asia if I could share her story. She was glad for it to be shared if it might be able to help others. She has a heart of gold!

When Cups Overflow

I was contemplating what to make for dinner tonight. That seems to be a never-ending question, doesn't it? What to make to feed these bodies? Pulling up to our apartment, I noticed Geoff's car, and  was surprised to see him home in the middle of the afternoon. When I walked in, he informed me that a friend of ours had made us dinner and so he had come home during a break to drop it off. And just like that, dinner was taken care of. Such a small thing, but it really blessed me. It meant I didn't have to go to the grocery store, didn't have to spend time cooking, and instead could spend that time doing something else (like writing this post =).

My heart was so full; I found myself saying...man, I need a bigger cup to hold all these blessings! It seems everywhere I turn lately, I am finding some blessing, some provision, some reminder of the faithfulness and kindness of the Lord. I know the whole cup imagery is just that--imagery, but it's just so fitting. King David uses it in Psalm 23 when he says, "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows." Not only is his cup full, it overflows. And I can say that not only has the Lord given me what I need, I have more than enough.  No, we didn't win the lottery. We didn't have some big nest egg when we got married. Geoff is still a private teacher, and I don't even work full time. But we have enough...more than enough. And compared to many, we are rich indeed. But I don't need a bigger cup to hold it all. We don't need a bigger apartment, more space to hold our belongings. I don't need or want to "build barns" to store more (see Luke 12:18).

I want to stand here, drenched in these blessings, lavished not only with material goods, but with the love of Christ (I have been called a child of God--and get to call God Father!--I John 3:1), and allow blessing to overflow into the lives of others, both near and far. I don't want a bigger cup--I want open hands. I want a surrendered calendar. I want an increased capacity for loving people when the introvert in me just wants to go home and take a nap. Don't get me wrong, naps are good, and sometimes can be the most God-honoring thing we can do, but I don't have to have them. I don't have to have "me time." Perhaps I'll see the power of Jesus in me the most when I've reached my limit, but press on to hear him say, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness" (II Corinthians 12:9).

The amazing thing about that meal from our friend is that it didn't come from someone who has a lot of extra to give. I know her story. I know (some of) her struggles. I know she is a single mom who works multiple jobs to provide for her children. But she wanted to bless us, and she did.

And because of her, my cup is running over a bit more.

Questions

I want a bigger life. This one I have is small. Big with me, but too small with others--too small when it comes to being poured out. Too small when it comes to giving. I give, and the little I do give I know goes a long way, but I haven't even begun to feel that I am sacrificing at all. I still have so much. My giving is from abundance. My savings account continues to grow, but what of the little ones who will die tonight from a disease that is completely preventable, totally curable? What of the ones whose bellies swell, not from childhood obesity, but from starvation? I wrestle with these questions. This place I call "home" says that I deserve all that I have and more. With the beginning of cooler weather, I am tempted to think I "need" more wardrobe options, as if the things I wore last year are somehow now insufficient. I know looking nice is not a sin, but is buying a new shirt really all that urgent when so much could be done with that $20 to meet an actual need? Tonight I question and I ache a bit. It's not guilt, it's a deep longing for a bigger life. It's a deep knowing that there's more that I can do, but not yet knowing quite how to do it. So I will seek to be faithful with where I am and with what I have. I will ask the Lord to help me love each person that comes across my path with His love. I will ask Him to open my eyes to what and who is before me--right in front of me. I won't waste time wondering what to do; I will simply do the next thing that He has called me to, all the while asking, Lord, what else? What else would you have me do? 

Why Me?: Guilt, Gratitude, and Giving

I was putting away leftovers from dinner tonight  and after filling one container, I had to reach for a second one (and this was just the main meal--I had already put the asparagus in one container). As I was doing this the thought came to mind that we are rich. I mean, while many people in the world went to bed hungry tonight, I was filling containers with food after Geoff and I had both had our fill. Then, I had to make room in the refrigerator for our bounty. I found myself saying, Why me? Why should I be so blessed? Really, why? Perhaps the reason this juxtaposition of my abundance with the world's need had such an effect on me tonight in particular is because I have had this image in my mind for the past few days that has not wanted to leave. I ran across a picture of an extremely malnourished African boy and his mother. We've all seen pictures of starving children, but this one was different (somehow even more tragic?) The boy had the skinniest legs you could imagine, almost giving the appearance that he was standing on stilts. and you could see his ribs through his skin. His mother had a similar appearance. It was startling and unnerving and unnatural.

So, as I was scooping leftovers into containers, the image of that boy with his mom simply would not leave. Why should I be so blessed? I must have asked myself that question ten more times before and and as I was trying to go to sleep. It was a rhetorical-type question, really. I wasn't expecting some kind of an answer. It was sort of my way of driving home to myself the fact that I have so much to be grateful for. But as I was lying in bed, asking that question one more time, why should I be so blessed, the words came to me,

So you can be a blessing.

Oh.

Maybe it sounds cliche. But those words came to me tonight in a fresher way than they ever have. Of course! These blessings aren't meant for me to hoard. I don't have the ultimate answer as to why I have while others do not. I don't mean to give some pat answer for the complexities of the world's suffering. But I know what having must mean for me. It means I have a responsibility and a privilege to share with others. My blessing ought to mean blessing for others.

You see, so often our response to profound need is to feel guilt. We feel guilty for having so much, so maybe we go through a time of feeling bad about purchasing anything new, but then, after a while that feeling wears off and we're back to where we were before. But I really think that guilt is not a good motivator for change. Instead, in the face of all we have been given, our response should be deep and profound gratitude, and then with grateful hearts, our next step should be to give. Guilt paralyzes. Gratitude propels.

I'm still figuring out what being a grateful person and a giving person looks like. I'm pretty certain (know for a fact) that I don't do all that I can or ought to do. But I am learning and I'm wrestling and I'm being stretched. Will you join me on this journey of learning how to be a blessing to others, how to be wise with the bounty we have been given? This isn't about guilt. It's about gratitude. It's about shifting our perspective in how we perceive our "needs." It's about discovering the paradox that the more we give away, the richer we become, that the way to find our life has always been to lose it for the sake of others. This is the Jesus way, the way that I'm finding to be beautiful and painful, but oh, so worth it.

A Tribute to My Sister...Just Because

Today is not her birthday. It's not Mother's Day. It's not even Thanksgiving, or Christmas. It's just a plain ol' Thursday, but it's also a day for a tribute to my sister. Why? Because I love her and I think she's amazing, and because shouldn't any day and every day be one to express our appreciation for the ones we love? Life is uncertain. Today I celebrate Katie.

Katie, who for every holiday and birthday takes it upon herself to plan how to get all 13 of us family members (including the littlest ones) together. And this is no easy task, now that we're all grown up. I don't know how this became her unofficial role, but I know why it has. Because she cares about each of us and she knows if we don't make plans, then nothing will ever happen, and we'll never be together. And sometimes I stop and I realize that if she were not here anymore, there would be this huge gaping hole, and who would fill those shoes of planning, and sending out numerous texts, and assigning who will bring what? And who would fill those shoes of hospitality, since almost every birthday and holiday is celebrated at her house?

Not only is she the holiday and family birthday planner extraordinaire, my sister is always finding ways to serve other people. Whether it's cooking a meal for a new mom, watching a friend's kids, doing my parents' laundry when their washer broke, taking a little gift to a friend to brighten her day, Katie seems to constantly be looking for ways that she can make life a little better for someone else. But the beautiful thing is that she's never flashy about it. She would probably roll her eyes at what I'm telling you and say something about how there's so much more that she could be doing for other people.

And there was the time that she taught me so much about how to be a loving wife. She and her husband had an ice cream business at the time and they were constantly transporting supplies to and from their store. On one particularly stressful day for her husband, he came home and told her on top of a bunch of other things that had gone wrong,that a big container filled with melted chocolate had tipped over in the back of his SUV. He told her not to worry about it, that he would clean it later. Katie could have said something about needing to be more careful with how he loaded the chocolate, she could have been frustrated, but I remember how she didn't say anything unkind, but only encouraged him. When he left in her car, she went to the garage and began to wipe (scoop is probably a better word) chocolate from the carpet of his Nissan Xterra. She lifted up the carpet to reveal that it had soaked through and was dripping everywhere. I could see the exasperation in her face, but she didn't want Doug to have to worry about it when he got home, so she kept it together, called a friend and asked if she could borrow her wet-vac, and before he came home, she had cleaned the carpet as well as she could, filling the  wet-vac with chocolatey water. I don't think I'll ever get the image out of my mind of chocolate covering her hands and arms as she so tangibly served her husband and bore some of the burdens of his day. Katie, you taught me that marriage isn't 50/ 50; it's 100/100. You demonstrated to me that you can say I love you all the time, but what really counts is how you show I love you .You were my hero, that day, Katie. And you never seemed more beautiful than you did with that chocolate all over your arms.

And together with that man, my sister is raising two beautiful little girls. Like any mom can attest, the days are often a blur of diapers and spit-up, and laundry that never ends. And I know there are days that her life feels more frustrating than fulfilling. But in the midst of what sometimes might feel like chaos, I see so much beauty. I see a mom sacrificing sleep to care for her girls. I see that same sleep- deprived woman carry on and put dinner on the table, and often still make enough to share with another family. I see a mom who is making memories with her daughter by doing crafts and reading books, and letting her "help" in the kitchen, even when it's more work when she does. I hear the happiness in her voice when her husband calls, and the encouragement she gives, even when she's having a rough day. I see her pursue friendships, even when it's difficult. I see her hesitate to ever get on any kind of a soap box because she knows that even if she's doing ok in one area, there are so many ways in which she wants to still grow. I see her her hold her money loosely when it comes to helping someone else. I see her give grace. I see a loyalty and commitment to the specific Body of believers who she has been called to serve alongside. I see a friend who has listened to me patiently when I've overreacted, worried too much, and when I've felt alone and misunderstood. I see the person I love to share good food with, who can juice carrots and Kale and run Half-Marathons, but who knows how to enjoy cheesecake and coffee. I see her laugh at herself and how hilariously unpredictable life can be...especially with children.

I see simple faith, free from pretension. I see imperfection. I see a work in progress. I see a life being lived well.

I see Jesus.

A Twenty-Four-Hour Gift and a Tribute to Life Together

Almost a year ago, on the night before my wedding, I received a text from a sweet friend. She told me she couldn't decide what to give me for a gift (even though she had already given me a present for my shower), and after thinking about it for a long time, decided to give me the gift of prayer. She said she was setting her alarm to pray for me every hour for the next 24 hours. The next morning, on the day of my wedding, I awoke to find she had texted me throughout the night with prayers and words of encouragement. Talk about being overwhelmed with emotion! I wept tears of thankfulness for such a kind friend and for the outpouring of love I felt from her and so many others on that special day.

Now, almost a year since then, I have had the privilege (along with many others) of praying for her as her husband has been in the hospital with some alarming symptoms. After days of tests and no answers, they were given an answer today, and he should be better and home within the next three days. I am sooo thankful!!!

And today especially, I am thankful for a friend who labored all night in prayer for me and my marriage with Geoff. I am convinced that we are reaping the blessings of those prayers today, and will continue to for however many years we're given together.

It makes me sad to think that so many people pass their days in loneliness and isolation, when God has designed us for relationship. We need each other! We need each other on happy, joyous days like weddings, because commitments are not sustained by beautiful dresses and albums filled with artsy photography. And we need each other when spouses get sick and family members die and jobs are lost and when there are so many questions but seem to be no answers.

Are you living on an island? Swim on over (maybe get out of your comfort zone a bit?) to a place of community and true friendship. There's good stuff over here!

A Simple Challenge

Whoever oppresses a poor man insults his Maker, but he who is generous to the needy honors him.

                                                                                                        Proverbs 14:31

                                                                                                                                                     

While listening to the radio in the car the other day, I heard the dj say something like this: If you have children, this has probably already happened to you today. You’re child says, “Mom, I’m hungry; Can I have a piece of toast?” Or, “I’m thirsty; can you get me a drink?” Of course, you’re response is to feed them or give them something to drink. All good parents want to provide what their children need. As I listened, I thought the guy on the radio would say something like, “If that’s how you feel about your children, how much more does God want to provide for you?” And that’s true. But my prediction was wrong. What he said next really made me think. "What if you were a parent whose child asked you for something to eat, and your answer had to be “no”? What if all you could say was, “I’m sorry, sweetie, I don’t have anything to give you. We have no more food”? What if all the water you had to give them was infested with bacteria that could kill them?" I don’t think I had ever really thought about poverty from this angle. I’m not a parent yet, but I know that if I had a child and I had to tell them something like that, it would truly break my heart. 

Consider this: *more than 6 million children die from malnutrition every year. Or this: “Approximately 1.8 million children die each year as a result of diseases caused by unclean water and poor sanitation. This is around 5,000 deaths a day." I think we are so removed and insulated from poverty like this that astounding as these statistics are, it’s difficult for us to even comprehend them. We can read them, but we have no names and faces to attach to them. That’s why I would like to encourage you to visit the Compassion International site today—even now. Look through the faces of the children who need sponsors and see if God might speak to your heart about a specific child (but don't wait for a "magical" moment; they all need sponsors!). You might take time to pray over some of the faces that you see.  You will notice that some of the children’s pictures have a little red ribbon on them. This means that those children live in AIDS-affected areas. Other children (and some of the same ones) will have a little blue symbol on their pictures. This means that they live in an area with a higher risk of exploitation and abuse. If you choose to sponsor a child, your $38 a month will go a long way in helping to protect him or her from the long-term consequences of poverty. It will help relieve the burden of parents who are unable to provide for all of their children’s needs—even the simple necessities of food and clean water. You will also be able to communicate with your child through letter writing (Compassion has made this very easy for you! You can type your letters from their site and even upload pictures onto your letter. Compassion workers will translate your letter and provide your child with a hard copy. Or you can always send them the old fashioned way!)

So, visit the Compassion International site today!

*Statistics and their sources found on Compassion web site.

Why Care for the Poor? (If you've ever said, or heard someone else say, "They just need to get a job," or "The poor will always be with us," then this is for you; You are in good company)

Hello Friends!

It's not Monday, but I couldn't wait to post something that's on my heart. I don't know where you are on your journey of life, but with the post I shared before, you may be wondering, why care for the poor? To some it may be obvious, but let's face it, if you've grown up in the United States, you have most likely been influenced by narratives like The American Dream and Rags to Riches stories-- ideas that if you work hard enough and try hard enough, anything can happen--you can rise above the bleakest circumstances and make all your dreams come true. Hand in hand with these narratives is the idea of rugged individualism, a sort of every-man-for-himself mentality. Unlike many societies, American society in general is all about individualism, about expressing yourself however you want to, and about carrying your own weight. All of these can be good things, but one of the problems that arises from such ideologies is that those who can carry their own weight tend to project their own experiences onto others--people who may have not had the same advantages and successes that they have.

I am reading a book right now by Scot McKnight entitled One.Life: Jesus Calls We Follow. In his book McKnight talks about something he learned during a brief time he spent in South Africa. He says, "There is something that gives [Africans] one history, a powerful memory and identity, something that gives them hope and a dream. That something is found in the word Ubuntu." McKnight explains that the Bantu word Ubuntu is derived from the following phrase: Umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu, meaning, "A person is a person through [other] persons." McKnight goes on to say that "We are not alone, and we run the risk of ruining ourselves if we try to be alone. We are designed to connect to others who are also designed to connect." The problem with American individualism is that it fails to take into account how interconnected we all really are. How we need one another. At it's core is a pride that says, I got here on my own and I don't need anyone's help, and a selfishness that says, if I can do it, then so can you, and I don't need to help you. All the while such individualists forget that surely someone helped them along the way to get to where they have arrived. Did they have parents who raised them? Did they receive a scholarship? Was there a janitor at their schools who cleaned the toilets? Was there a whole city infrastructure that allowed them to take a bus or drive or walk on paved roads? How foolish we are to think that we ever really accomplish anything completely on our own! We as Americans could stand to learn from the African wisdom of Ubuntu. Truly, a person is a person through other persons. And other people need us just as we need them.

I have a confession to make. There was a time in my life when I looked at homeless people and thought, why don't they just get a job? I called them "bums," and even if I did help them out in some way, it was with a condescending attitude. I had no idea how complicated each of their stories could be, and I assumed that "just getting a job" would fix all their problems. I remember also when one of my close friends was very passionate about the plight of the Invisible Children in Africa, I mentally gave her a pat on the head, thinking her passion was misguided and juvenile, and after all, didn't Jesus say, "The poor will always be among you"? Raise your hand if you've ever used those words of Jesus to excuse yourself from helping the poor. If you haven't used them yourself, you've probably heard someone else do it. Where in the world do we get this idea? Was Jesus bipolar? After all, in Luke's gospel he announces his ministry by saying:

                     "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me
                     to proclaim good news to the poor.
                     He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives
                     and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty
                     those who are oppressed,
                     to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor" (Luke 4-18-19).

I'm no Bible scholar, but it seems to me that Jesus' statement about the poor always being with you (you can read about it in Matthew 26:6-13) is more of an assumption that we will always have a responsibility and opportunity to care for the poor, than it is an "out" for not caring for them. Matthew's account seems to be a special circumstance in which Jesus is honoring and defending a woman for her lavish and heart-felt worship. Much like Jesus' disciples not fasting while He was present with them in bodily form, Jesus encouraged certain behavior while He was physically with his disciples, knowing that things would change after he ascended to his Father. So, now we fast, because the Bridegroom is not here with us in human form, and now our lavish worship, is caring for the poor rather than pouring out expensive perfume on Jesus' actual feet. In fact, Jesus says as much in Matthew 25: 34-40:
          
                  Then the King will say to those on his right,
                 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father, 
                  inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation 
                 of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food,
                 I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and 
                 you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me,
                 I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.'
                Then the righteous will answer him, saying,
                'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, 
                or thirsty and give you drink? And When did we see you a stranger 
                and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? 
                And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you? 
                And the King will answer them,'Truly, I say to you, 
                as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.'

So, why should we care for the poor?

1. We need each other. Ubuntu.

2. It was part of Jesus' mission. And if we want to follow him we should be about what He was about.

3. Jesus tells us to (this should be #1), and in doing so we actually end up serving and worshiping Him.

There is a whole lot more that could be said about this issue, and many more places in the Bible that talk about caring for the poor, but these are the things that come to mind, and I think might be a good place to start. And if we had no other examples in Scripture, and no other insights into culture, I think Jesus' command to "love your neighbor as yourself" (Matthew 22:39) should be motivation enough to step down from our little thrones and to lay our lives low in love for others.

If all you knew to do was to love your neighbor as yourself, how would you respond to the needs of the world?

Compassion Blog Month

Hey Friends!

I want to tell you about an exciting opportunity that has come into my life! Just last week I signed up with Compassion International to be a blogger for their organization. What this means is simply that I will use my blog as an avenue to help raise awareness about the needs of children around the world, and the opportunity to sponsor them through Compassion's wonderful program.I will be given assignments to write about a couple times a month that will help get the creative juices flowing and hopefully help us all think a bit more about how we can help children who have become victims of poverty. This is not all that my blog will be used for, but it is one way small way that I can be a voice for children who desperately need love and hope.

 When I signed up, I had no idea that just around the corner, in September, would be what Compassion calls "Blog Month." Blog month is a concentrated time of vigorous blogging, and trying to raise up as many child sponsors as possible--3,108 to be precise! One of the "prizes" to keep us bloggers motivated is the opportunity to travel with a group of bloggers (and to blog while on the trip) to one of the countries where Compassion works. This would be an amazing chance to witness Compassion's ministry to the poor, as well as an exciting way motivate others to sponsor children! I would be absolutely THRILLED to be blessed with an opportunity like this. But more importantly, whether I "win" or not, I feel extremely excited and blessed to be a part of this effort and hope that many children will gain a loving sponsor as a result of Blog Month!!

So, every week in September, meet me here, where I will be blogging on a topic related to poverty/ child sponsorship! Will you join me? Here are four ways you can help:

 1. Read this blog!

 2. Tell others about this blog! Feel free to post links on facebook, and even share with your church or family and friends about this opportunity

 3. Consider sponsoring a child! Please feel free to ask me any questions about what sponsorship entails. If I don't know the answer, I will do my best to find an answer for you!

4. Finally, if you would like to participate in this project through your own blog, feel free to join! At the top of my page there is a banner that says, "I'm participating in blog month for Compassion. Join me." If you click on that banner, it will take you to a page where you can sign up to be a Compassion blogger for yourself!

I'm excited about this adventure!

Thick Skin and A Soft Heart

Some of my earliest memories revolve around a bean bag/stuffed bear clown. She was dressed in this purple polka dot outfit with little bells hanging from the collar, and I affectionately and appropriately christened her "Jingles," presumably on the Christmas morning that she became mine. I can still remember how, when my siblings would teasingly take her from me or when she was misplaced, my little voice would wail, "I want Jiiiiingles!!!"

In my mind, Jingles has become the symbol for my sensitivity.  I was a very sensitive child, the kind whose parent just had to look at her the wrong way and she was in tears. The kind whose feelings were constantly getting hurt. The kind who, as a teenager, would run away to her room to cry rather than talk things out (and although this may like fairly normal teenage behavior, it was less of a storming-off-to-my-room in-anger kind of thing, and more like a just-talking-about what's-wrong-causes-me-to-burst-into-tears kind of thing. I guess I was sensitive but still wanted to be private about my emotions, so most of the time I just had no idea how to handle all my feelings).

So fast forward to today. I'm an adult, but inside I am often still this very sensitive girl. And being sensitive is a double edged sword, this thing about me that I know can be seen as a gift, but often feels like a curse. This illustration might be a stretch, but I think of the scene in the second Sherlock Holmes movie where Sherlock and the gypsy character, Sim, are dancing and she asks him, "What do you see?" And after observing numerous details throughout the room, he replies, "Everything. It is my curse." I feel everything. It is my curse. Okay, pardon the hyperbole. Maybe not everything. But I do feel things deeply. And it can be a real pain because I know I get my feelings hurt over silly things. Even more seriously, though, sometimes I can blame a wrong response on my part on the fact that I'm "sensitive," as if everyone needs to cater their behavior to me delicate and fragile nature, when really my pride was just wounded. Feelings are so wrapped up in pride and sometimes it can be tricky to tell what's really going on.

I was reminded of this recently as I shared with my husband about how I felt like this woman doesn't like me. I replayed a conversation that had happened before we were even married, almost a year ago, in which this girl had harmlessly shared something that at the time bothered me a little, but really wasn't a big deal. I thought I had forgotten about it, but lately her words had been rolling through my mind and I had been using them to fuel a whole theory in my mind about why she must not like me. When I told Geoff this he said, "I forgot that had even happened. Have you been thinking about that this whole time?" And I realized that even though it wasn't on the forefront of my mind, it must have been buried there somewhere all along. And I realized also, that by holding onto the hurt that I had felt by what she said, and reading into it things that she had never meant, I was being very unloving. You see, I was believing something about her that wasn't true and allowing it to taint my view of her, as well as how much I wanted to be around her. Instead of moving towards her in friendship, I found myself wanting to distance myself from her. Immediately I thought of I Corinthians 13:7 in which Paul states that "Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things" (ESV). If that's what love is, I definitely wasn't loving this friend. I wasn't believing the best of her. I was projecting my skewed perspective onto her and her actions, and essentially placing myself above her as judge. I allowed my sensitivity to lead me down a very twisted path.

But being sensitive isn't all bad. The other side to it is that I have the capacity to feel deep compassion for people. To hurt with them when they are hurting. And (on a good day) to rejoice with them when they are rejoicing. I can empathize with others. I can pick up on the emotional temperature in a room of people and try to act accordingly. God has wired me this way, and there is tremendous potential for good...if  I recognize that sometimes my feelings distort the reality of a situation. Sometimes they turn me inward, causing me to focus on my wounds and how I've been wronged (whether or not I really have been) instead of outward, where I can see others and their hurts and needs.

So, tonight, as I was thinking through this whole sensitivity issue and what a problem it can be, especially for my poor husband, these words came to mind: I need thicker skin. But then I had this image of growing callous and building up walls around my heart, and I thought, no that's not what I want. And I realized that years of trying to stuff what I feel has had pretty negative consequences..And then this prayer formed in my heart, Lord give me thick skin, but a soft heart.

I want thick skin to be able to persevere through challenging circumstances.
I want thick skin to brush off words that hurt, but are simply misspoken--and to forgive when sometimes they are spoken to hurt
I want thick skin to bear and believe and hope all things.

But I want a soft heart that's sensitive to the voice of Jesus.
I want a soft heart to feel deeply for the hurting--and then allow those feelings to move me to deeds of mercy.
I want a soft heart to receive the love of my husband.

And maybe it's soft hearts that actually enable thick skin. Because hearts softened by Jesus operate out of truth instead of lies. Because hearts softened by Jesus have been forgiven much, and can therefore love much...the tough, persevering, best-believing, outward-seeing-kind of love.

By the way, I still have Jingles. Right now, she is making her home with my little niece, Hadley. Maybe I'll give her to my own little girl one day. And maybe I'll tell her about how the Lord can use her own double edged sword (whatever it may be), and use it fashion her into the image of her Savior.

"...My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." (II Cor. 12:9. ESV)

In Which I Try to Motivate Myself to Create (and hopefully inspire you a bit too)

I read a blog recently that talked about the need to not wait for inspiration to do something creative and it really hit home with me. When I graduated from college I thought that I would have no problem with  writing regularly. After all, I would have much more time on my hands and I would have the freedom to write whatever I wanted to without having to feel stifled in any way. Well, I failed to realize that having to write was precisely what had kept me writing regularly. There's something about this real-life, grown-up world that has a tendency to press down upon us and distract us from those early dreams we once had. But the reality that I have to face is that it's my choice what I do with my time. There will always be work and cleaning and shopping and cooking and people to spend time with. And all of those things are necessary and important. But my life can become this whirl of going from one place to the next, and from one activity to another, and sometimes I stop and think where have my days gone? And there's this nagging feeling that I'm not doing all that I was meant to be doing.

I was made to create. We all were. And it may be that the kitchen is where some people ( like my sister) create, experimenting with flavors and presentation of various culinary ideas. And maybe some people create with paint or fabric or music. I think we know when we've found our niche because there's a certain release and feeling of satisfaction that comes from doing what we like or are good at. It's like Eric Liddell in the film Chariots of Fire says, "I know God made me for a purpose, but He also made me fast. And when I run I feel his pleasure." I have this desire to write a book one day, but  books don't write themselves (to state the obvious, which sometimes I need to do for my own sake), and if I don't prioritize my time to even just practice writing then the likelihood of me ever writing an actual book is pretty slim.

I saw a quote once that said "A year from now you may wish you had started today." And isn't that so true? How many things do we push aside into the "maybe one day" category of our lives? But there isn't a one day. There's only today. So that's why I'm writing right now. Because deep inside me there's this voice that insists on speaking, and when I try to quiet it or ignore it, I feel the consequences deep in my soul. My skills aren't very sharp (they've been lying somewhat dormant for a while), but I know that just as a runner must train for a marathon, so I must commit to honing the skills and the desires that I have been entrusted with. I have a gift to give to the world. I have a unique perspective and voice and experience. So do you. No one else can offer exactly what you or I have in the way that we can share it. And it's time that we all admit that it's not humility to stick our heads in the mud and say 1) I'm just not talented or creative, 2) it's already been done, or 3) someone else could do it better.  It's not about whether or not I think I'm good enough, or whether or not someone else does it better (there will always be that person). What matters is this: Am I giving what I can give? Am I using what I  have? The world needs what we have to give. Whether it's a muffin to your neighbor or finding the cure to cancer--create! Don't waste time comparing what you do to what someone else can do. Take small steps every day and give what only you can give.

Today was beautiful because:

I got to sleep in and catch up on some much needed rest.

I went maternity clothes shopping with with my amazing sister, Katie.

I tried something new (more on that later).

I held a tiny baby boy until he fell asleep in my arms.

Someone bought me free Subway for holding that tiny baby while the mom did her a favor =).

My husband made me iced chai when I had a headache.

We got to laugh together while watching episodes of The Office on Netflix.

We went for a nice walk and enjoyed the COOL evening breeze (we'll enjoy it while it lasts!)

This hope that carries me.


 There is  beauty and wonder to discover in the ordinary-ness of our lives, but we miss it if we live so hurriedly that we can't see it in the moment or if we don't take the time to reflect on it at the end of the day. I don't say this because I'm en expert at it. Giving thanks and seeing beauty in the ordinary don't come naturally to me. I am much more prone to be negative. But I need to be thankful precisely because I am so prone to despair. I must fight for joy because my default is  complaining and pessimism. 

Proverbs 14:30 says, "A tranquil heart gives life to the flesh, but envy makes the bones rot," And if envy is what makes a person's bones (their whole inner structure and stability) rot, then might it be that the opposite of envy--contentment--is what produces a tranquil heart? And isn't contentment fueled and sustained by thankfulness, by thanking God for what is, rather than pining for what is not? Elisabeth Elliot ( Let Me Be A Woman) says it another way:

        We accept and thank God for what is given, not allowing the not-given to spoil it.

And when I am discontent, when I complain, when I'm not thankful, when I allow myself to spiral into despair because things aren't going my way, I suddenly become blind to everything that I do have. Because I can't be thankful for what I have and at the same time be discontent over what I don't have. I am extremely blessed, but like all of us, I face trials of various kinds. Some days the beauty and the blessings seem very difficult to see. But it's on those days that this confession will often come to mind:

             Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.

Friends, this is my hope. And if you know this Christ, here is your hope also. The blessings I counted today are truly gifts from a gracious and loving God, but a day may come when my legs might not bear me up for a walk in the neighborhood, or when I no longer even have my sweet husband. Though I count these blessings, my hope is not in the blessings themselves, but in the Giver of all good things--the Giver of even His own Son. On the hardest of days I can give thanks for the objective reality that Christ has died, risen, and will come again. Count your blessings. Keep counting them if you already do. But know that if  it ever seems like there's nothing to count, if grief or disappointment threaten to swallow  you up, who Jesus is and what He has done for you still stand and knowing Him will forever give us reason for thanksgiving.

Of Swings and Surrender

On the day between massaging a scalp gone bald from chemo and hearing from a 39 year old mother of two, "My husband died a month and a half ago," I set out into the warm sunshine for a walk. The swing at the park invites and I accept. Being childlike sometimes helps shed anxiety from a heart, and there's still something exhilarating about feeling the whoosh of the wind as I sore through the air, suspended by these metal links. I look out over so much green and I think, "What would it be like to not see any of this?" I close my eyes, but immediately open them again. My legs continue the same pumping motion; they know what to do whether my eyes are opened or not. So, what is it that makes me feel the need to open them so quickly? And I realize...when my eyes are closed I feel out of control...even afraid. But am I more in control with my eyes open? I feel how tightly my hands grip the metal and I'm gripping my life the same way. And I think seeing everything and knowing how it will all turn out will keep me safe, but what it does is keep me from living. Even this writing is a battle because there's always someone who does it better, and who am I? I want to grip tightly and keep my eyes wide open, never having to feel around to find my way in the dark, never having to take that leap of faith that might leave me suspended and exposed. But do I really?

And might it be, though I would never wish it for myself, that those without sight have this advantage: they must learn to live without a measure of control. They must practice faith every day, trusting that they'll find their way as they step out their front door, or by relying on the help of a guide. And do I trust my Guide? Will I choose to steward my life well, rather than bury my treasure because I'm afraid, or because I don't quite "know" what to do with what I've been given? I have these eyes, but I can't see around the next corner. I don't even know what the next second may bring. And it's not that take up your cross is a dare to follow blindly, but it is a call to surrender. To surrender control. To give my one life up to Him, offering every last bit of myself for what He wants to make of it. And I can't do that when I hold tightly. I can't do it when I'm too afraid to step out into the unknown.

I close my eyes, seeing how long it will take before I feel the urge to open them again. It comes right away, but I keep them closed tight, noticing the light dancing through the lids. Distract the mind with something else. Give thanks. But it isn't distracting me from what is real. It's reminding me of what is real. For green grass. Whoosh. Each time my legs propel me forward I name another blessing. Blue sky overhead. Whoosh. Wind blowing in my hair. Whoosh. The warmth of the sun on my skin. These legs that move. For sending Jesus. And if He gave his Son, the One who died and now lives for us, how will He not also be my Guide, giving me all that I need, His very life indwelling me?

And I'm smiling, and His presence is wrapping me up, and where did this joy come from?