Urbana 2009

Greetings from St. Louis, MO!

In literally just a few hours, nearly 18,000 individuals, students and staff, will be making their way out to St. Louis for URBANA 2009! For many of them, this will be one of the most influential experiences of their lives, as some of them gain bigger vision for missions locally or abroad, others gain deeper passion for the fields that God has called each of them into here, some will realize a calling into full-time or occupation missions, and ALL of them will hopefully have a life-changing encounter with the Holy Spirit!

Would you join me in praying for Urbana!? Specifically, you can:

• Pray for protection over the delegates attending Urbana
• Pray for life-transforming encounters with the Holy Spirit
  
• Pray for rest/health/balance (Urbana can be like drinking from a fire-hydrant!)
• Pray for safe travels (train, plane, bus, automobile, here and back again!)
• Pray for openness to receive whatever God longs to speak…
• Pray that the experience here would be multiplied 100 fold when we return to campus! That we would return with renewed vision for the campus!

If you’re interested in following along (speakers, content, etc) with what’s going on at Urbana, you can visit the following link: Urbana 2009. :)

tis the season

repentance comes before revival.

So tonight, I walked into a prayer meeting that I thought began at 6pm.

Walking into the only occupied room in the building, I was shocked to see nearly 200 people sitting in folding chairs, all attentively focused on the person in the front of the room. The energy in the room was electric, even though everyone was sitting down... One man was bluntly, directly, and specifically sharing about his sins, failures, and ways that he had hurt others, from the front of the room. When he finished sharing, the entire room burst into applause. And then the next person stood up to confess... and the next... and the next... and each one began with:

Hello, my name is ____ and I'm an alcoholic.

The actual prayer meeting started at 7pm. It was attended by less than half that number. Confession was private and about 5 minutes long. And the energy picked up at the end, when we began to pray for transformation and revival in the church...

It wasn't a bad prayer meeting by any stretch of imagination... in fact, I've been in many that were far worse... and the people there legitimately love the church, grieve their own sin, and have a heart for those outside of the church... please don't get me wrong...

but I wonder... what would happen if our prayer meetings were a little bit more like AA meetings? what if we were actually confessing our specific personal and corporate sins and struggles, rather than vague and general sins that we all kind of struggle with but no one is willing to own? What if we applauded when sin was confessed, rather than just sat in awkward silence? What if we actually walked alongside one another rather than just talked about it?

• Maybe we would actually understand that the gospel is good news...
• Maybe we would really repent together and really get grace together...
• Maybe the hypocrisy of the church wouldn't run quite so deep...
  
• Maybe we would actually have deep community...
• Maybe our prayer meetings would be more full of life and heart-felt prayers...

and maybe, just maybe we would actually see the revival that we all long for, happen...

Repentance comes before revival.

That isn't just a vague nicety...

Charlie Brown, 1.

I was in CVS the other morning and the lady behind the check-out counter was bitterly and legitimately complaining that Barack Obama's address earlier in the week had disrupted her planned television schedule for the night. She was quite irate and very deeply upset about this fact.

The program that she had missed? A Charlie Brown Christmas.

Her comment about Obama?

"Who does he think he is? The president or something? Someone who has something more important to share than Charlie Brown does?"

I might have laughed a little bit on the inside.

Score 1 for Charlie Brown.

the word became flesh.

the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. we have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. [john 1:14]



the Word.
became flesh.

God. the one who spoke all things into existence. who was before time. exists outside of time. took on human flesh. allowed himself to be bound by time and space. limited by human constraints and boundaries.

ridiculous.

and not just a few minutes to "see what it felt like." this was a 30+ year commitment of love to humanity. entering in. making his dwelling among us. not a social experiment. but moving into the neighborhood. love demonstrated in deepest fashion.

the Word.
became flesh.
and dwelt among us.

Holy Holy Holy.

Emmanuel: God with us

As we begin the advent season, take the time to actually read these lyrics and let this be your prayer today. O come, O come, Emmanuel, today.

O come, O come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice, rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, O come, Thou Lord of Might,
Who to Thy tribes, on Sinai's height,
In ancient times didst give the law,
In cloud, and majesty, and awe.
Rejoice, rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free
Thine own from Satan's tyranny;
From depths of hell Thy people save
And give them victory o'er the grave.
Rejoice, rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Dayspring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here;
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death's dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice, rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Key of David, come,
And open wide our heavenly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery.
Rejoice, rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Wisdom from on high,
And order all things, far and nigh;
To us the path of knowledge show,
And cause us in her ways to go.
Rejoice, rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Bid Thou our sad divisions cease,
And be Thyself our King of peace.
Rejoice, rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

[O Come, O Come Emmanuel]
[author composer unknown, translated by John Neale 1851]

Prayer: God's answer

We've submitted.
We've honestly, vulnerably, transparently requested.
We've waited.

Finally, God answers. No given time frame, but he always does...

And his answer is... (grossly over simplified)

Yes.
No.
Wrong Question.
Wait.
"Let's work on ____ first."

It's always the right answer... and He always answers... it just might not be what we expect, what we're looking for, or what we think fits the scenario the best...

And, I think there is a temptation, when God answers in a way that does not suit our personal tastes or desires, to want to reject it out-right, because it's not the way we would do it. But I think God's question to us here, is the same question that he gives us at the beginning of the prayer process, and asks throughout:

"Do you trust me?" "Are you praying to me, or just saying empty words?"

Because I am the God who promises that I am for you.
...that I love you.
...that I will work all things out for the good of those whom I love.
...that I know you and all the desires of your heart.
...that I have good plans, the best plans, for you, in my timing
...that I love you.

"Do you trust me, to be the one who answers your prayers?"

So, thus, we come full circle, in prayer... it begins with trust, it ends with trust. Prayer, by nature, requires trust and dependence, saying yes, to a God who is bigger and holier than either you or me. It requires submission of my will to God's, both in our requests and in God's answer.

At a fundamental level, prayer requires letting God be God and considering ourselves in our true light, desires and identity. This restoration of holy order between God and mankind is called worship. It is a full recognition of who God is and who we are. Glory, honor, credit, authority, rightly bestowed.

Prayer, therefore, begins and ends and is characterized throughout with worship.

Prayer: waiting in hopeful expectation

OK. So we're finally submitting... and we're being completely transparent with God in our needs, our hopes, and our deepest heart-longings.

All this happened quite easily and quickly, of course. No struggle. No blood, sweat, tears.

Right.

But we're there... now what?

At this point in time, God instantaneously always sends me a bullet-pointed email with 3-5 action steps that I can easily take to realize all my hopes and dreams and to resolve whatever pertains to my current life situation drama.

Right.

See, I think I would be far more comfortable with that option... or, I would love to just pretend that we never had this conversation... that those needs/wants/desires aren't there, and I am a-okay fine! But I don't think that's actually where God invites us. Rather, I think the point of desperation prayer-- of real heart-longing prayers-- is that they leave us in a place of waiting, dependence, and expectation.

"I have no where else to turn." "I cannot do this for myself." "I need you!"

I like to call this the "point of no return" because here and now, we've expressed a heart-felt deep need that we ourselves cannot meet. There's no where else we can go... it's either God or nothing... there is no back-up plan.

And so we have a choice: either we wait in hopeful expectation OR we stuff it and pretend it doesn't exist, medicate in our usual ways, and allow our unmet desires to ferment into overflowing wells of bitterade and cynicism.

There's something holy in the waiting, hard though it is...

It's far easier to stuff it. To run. To bury things like a skinny squirrel from a large family in the midst of a cold winter. To pretend that it doesn't matter. To "move on." To "be strong." But it is far better to press deeper into God...

This waiting is our act of worship to God.

So we wait in hopeful expectation:

"Please bless me, Lord. I have no where else to turn. I need you to act on my behalf."

Prayer: what do I really long for?

OK. So we pray, "God what do you want to do?"

... if you're me, it's probably super hard to pray that way, because admitting that God might have a better plan than you, even though he's God and that's a "duh," is just difficult. More so than that, submitting to his will, without knowing what it is, rather than just intellectual ascent that "oh yes, you might actually be wiser than me," is antithetical to most of us super competent control-freak types... kinda like starting a snowball fight in Florida in August. It's not that you don't want to; it's just that you're really not sure how to go about doing that, or if it's even possible...

But we've gotten there. Freak low-pressure system. Snowballs in August. We're submitting...

Now what?

Here's the crazy, absolutely nutty part of prayer... about 75% of the time, when I finally reach this point, of being willing to submit to God's will, asking him what he wants to do, he will turn the question around on me:

"OK, KG, what is it that you really long for?"

And you would think it would be an easy question to answer... right? But here's the nuance: God still isn't asking for my plan, he wants to know my heart-longing. My plan would be easy; my heart-longing requires me to trust him with my deepest desires that even I, on a real level, don't really expect to come to fruition.

But such is the nature of God: He is more concerned with being known by you and knowing you, than he is with the details and plans by which we govern and structure our lives.

Put another way: he gives us our daily bread, he covers our nakedness with garments of skin, he provides manna in the desert, and he gives marching orders for war, betrothals, and crossing the Red Sea, but that is NOT the meta-narrative of scripture and neither is it his greatest desire for our lives.

No more fig leaves. What is it that you really long for? It's a harder question than you think it is... it is NOT praying the correct prayers or finding something that sounds good or righteous... in fact, the opposite, it's about stripping off the "look good" layers and standing in our nakedness and need before God.

But when you reach that point, such are the prayers that God delights to answer... because prayers than come from that place of deep trust and vulnerability are prayers of the heart, not prayers of circumstance or fear or obligation or duty or control. Such are the prayers of a child to their Holy Father in heaven:

This is me, totally unashamed in my need, I have no where else to go, no one else to turn to for this, I cannot supply this on my own. I will still trust you, if you do not answer, but this is what I long for: Father would you hear me?

I trust you. But I'm still learning, Abba... this is hard for me.

Prayer: what do you want to do?

Ever have the feeling that you're pounding on God's door, asking for answers, and He just doesn't seem to be answering?

Yeah, me too.

But today, I had a thought-provoking realization...

What if God doesn't answer, not because He doesn't want to or because he can't hear us or cannot act, but because we're pounding on the wrong door, asking the wrong questions?

Rather than really asking Him to act, we're just asking what we should do. Reality is (often times)... we've already made up our minds, so we're not really asking him; we're just asking for validation of our own decisions. An exit stamp on our passports, if you will.

What if that's not the right question?

What if the right question is "What do you want to do here?" "Where are you at work?" "What question would you love to answer?"

"What do you want?" rather than "Here's what I want; what do you think?"

Adventures in Laundry

So this afternoon, walking back from the laundermat, with my suitcase full of clean clothes in tow, wearing the only things which were clean (let me assure you, not attractive), a middle-aged man and a roughly 10 year old boy drove by me...

The ten year-old, in the passenger seat, rolled down his window and yelled some variation of "hey, hottie!" and cat-called out of the van window at me.

So many things wrong with this picture.

Have mercy.

On a bright side, however, I did have an interesting conversation with the teller at the bank because she thought my suitcase full of dirty clothes was actually meant for a world-wide trip (yes, the suitcase is that big), and proceeded to tell me about her life-long love for travel and all the places she wanted to go. She looked legitimately sad for me when I told her, no no, I was just going to do my 3 weeks of laundry...

Got to love laundry day...

"I produce, therefore I am."

Our first response when we truly encounter God in all his holiness and ourselves in our essence is not a sense of delight but a sense of utter ruin. - JD Greer (paraphrased by me)

So this morning, I pulled out my handy dandy "Discovering the Enneagram" (Richard Rohr) book to re-evaluate, study, and attempt to continue a process of growing through, against, and into holier places in my personality, character, and core tendencies. For those of you not familiar with the Enneagram, it's well worth checking out... think improved MBTI, with hope for growth and change.

At any rate, the older I get, the more I am persuaded that I fall into one particular category... partially because I read through it and simultaneously identify with and loathe it. At once, my sin is identified, my weakness highlighted, and my battle laid forth. The lie that I believe is:

I produce, I achieve, therefore I am.

It is devastating. It's like looking in the mirror and seeing that huge zit that you knew was there but were adamantly pretending wasn't. Confrontation of reality. Yes, this is who I am. Yes, these are my core tendencies. And I'm good at it. And I'm comfortable with it.

When you look your sin in the face; when you see how far you are from holiness, the result is this sense of ruin. Utter and complete. I know it is lie. But woe is me, I still operate under these guiding principles. I am undone.

But fortunately for me, that is not the end of the story...

[They] "... long, sometimes without knowing it themselves, not only for praise and recognition, but for real love. They get so much applause for their successes that in the end they think that's all they want. It takes a long time before they understand that there is more than deserved recognition: unmerited, unconditional love." [Discovering the Enneagram, Richard Rohr]

And the beautiful part for me, is that as I look back over the last year, I can see how God has begun to write that redeemed narrative for me, where I am not defined by what I do, how much I succeed, what I can achieve, the applause of the multitudes, but by something far deeper. A type of love which is entirely unmerited, based not on what I can do, but completely unconditional. And to experience that is to long for it...

It is the freedom to fail.
It is the freedom to take risk.
It is the freedom to not be guarded, not pretend to be something that I am not.
It is the freedom to give and receive love freely.

I'm still on a journey. I'm still learning. I'm still growing. But I am not where I was a year ago... or even 6 months ago... and that's a good thing!

Here's to celebrating the little things...

In Gratitude

I started another blog post, complaining about something that I had seen-- an injustice committed, a human error left uncorrected-- but in the midst of it, I was struck by how entirely often I complain when I should be grateful. I point out wrongs when I should applaud qualities that are truly God-given. And I am critical when I should praise God for the good things that he is and will be doing through the situation, person, activity, or task.

Have mercy.

So, in light of that realization... and as a spiritual discipline...

Tonight, I am grateful for:

1. ... student leaders who get the mission and are 110% partners on campus
2. ... students who are generous and quick to repent, who are faithful and eager to serve
3. ... a boyfriend who is way wicked sweet and generous in unexpected ways
4. ... a small group that has quickly moved from strangers to friends
5. ... roommates who generate random giggles
6. ... Tostito hint of lime potato chips
7. ... working internet
8. ... friends who both celebrate and cry with me (and invite me to both cry and laugh!)
   
9. ... a job and bosses that care about how I'm doing spiritually and emotionally
10. ... donors who have supported me to 91% of budget and pray for me faithfully
11. ... living in a city with public transportation
12. ... a sister who answers my phone calls, no matter how long it's been since I last called
13. ... hot water
14. ... cold weather and seeing my breathe in the air
15. ... soft toilet paper
    

So many more things... but I'll stop there... Today has been a wicked long day, and there are many things about which I could complain, but when I stop and think about it, there are also so many reasons to be grateful. Perhaps I could learn a lot more from practicing gratitude more often...

Grab bag: of mice, sleep-deprived zombies, and the Phillies

It's been a while...

I have a few serious posts that I've been thinking about, but no time to actually write them, so that will have to wait for another rainy day. In the meantime, just a few things I've been thinking about lately.

- Mice match their environment. The mice that run around in the grime of the T tracks are different in color from those that run around in my apartment, as a result of their environment. I wonder if that's true for humans as well: our hues and personalities are colored by our surroundings.

- On cold days, people in the city tend to be less friendly that usual when outside, and more friendly that usual when inside.

- It is astonishing to me how many people in Boston are rooting for the Phillies in this World Series. It seems that hatred of one thing unites people to another thing. I wonder if this is also true in other areas of life. And I wonder if this is a good thing... or not.

- October is the month in which students decide that their lives are over, fear of failure sets in, sleep deprivation sets in, tests become more frequent, sickness more prevalent, and grouchy sick zombies start to walk the campus. By December, life returns to normal. This happens every October. I wonder how things would change, if we could hold perspective by remembering from the year prior? I wonder, on a larger scale, how much more hope we would have, if we held longer term memory in general...

Public Transportation

If you know me, you know that I love public transportation. A lot.

See, I think, in many ways, public transportation is the great equalizer of all people...

Tonight, riding home at rush hour, bodies crammed together without regard for "personal space," I was struck by how many different types people (who would never otherwise coalesce) were literally rubbings shoulders with one another.

Behind me, the two college-aged women, laughing at one another while secretly (but not so secretly) checking themselves out in the windows.

To my right, the woman wearing solely designer clothing, the latest hair styling and coloring, and the Gucci shoes, sitting next to the teenage boy who hadn't had a hair cut in months if not years, wearing thrift shop flannel and sneakers.

To my left, the autistic man, who was repeating "I'm not so awkward" in repetitions of threes and going into fetal position every time the T made a loud noise.

Down the car, the work-men in dust covered boots, standing alongside the business men in their spit polished leather shoes, next to the students in their odd assortment of fashion and "style," across from the tourists of all the world, awkwardly falling into one another as the T lurches and stalls, and the homeless woman, clutching her bags containing all of her possessions.

All breathing the same air and sharing the same space. For the commute of 5 minutes to an hour, all basically on a level playing field. All experiencing the same delays, germs, frustrations and crush of human flesh.

I'm not naive enough to assume that public transportation levels the playing field. In 15 minutes, the doors open and people stream out to their individual lives, many without even noticing, let alone engaging with, their fellow passengers. There are those who cannot afford even the $2.00 fare necessary to ride, and there are those who would never lower themselves enough to ride on public transport. But for a few brief moments, I can dare to dream.

And then the doors will open, and everyone will go their own way, into their own worlds, once more...

From the Mountain Top

This is why I love going hiking:

Hell of our own making

inside a hell of my own making
sunlight outside,
I see the open door...
but somehow, I remain
inside the prison cell.
not bound by authority or sentence,
but by self-condemnation
and fear.
this has been my home for so long
these lies I believe,
these walls that I have built,
this has been my home for so long
that I do not know how to leave...
and I wonder, at times,
do I even want to?
or have I so acclimated to the darkness,
that I run away from the light?

open door,
still I remain
in the moldy, stark, dank
prison cell.

what is it that keeps you bound,
in a hell of your own making,
hiding from the Light...

Wisdom from Augustine

Shamelessly lifting this quote from one of the blogs that I read regularly:

"If you believe what you like in the gospel, and reject what you don't like, it is not the gospel you believe in, but yourself."

- St. Augustine

I need a bigger God than that... and my guess is that you do too.

Fivel moves into Suite High Life

So, the mice have become bolder...

Tonight, we had a party with many guests, and the poor little bleepity bleeps decided they wanted to come too. All four of them, Rasputin, Trojan, Anastasia, plus some Fivel as a party guest.

So they came out to play. In the midst of the party. Never ye mind that there were people all around. No no, they apparently are claiming squatters rights.

Irate, I decided to reset a trap for them, fully laden with delicious peanut butter. So tightly sprung that I almost lost a finger in the process of setting it. Literally.

Now, party guests all gone, I am sitting here, watching Anastasia, the smallest cutest most delicate of the four, eat the peanut butter OFF OF THE FREAKING TRAP without springing it while I'm sitting less than 4 feet away.

Cheeky little bastards.

It seems that our first alternative, the humane and rapid system of mouse decapitation, might need to be replaced by another system.

On a side note, my roommates and I decided that if we do decide to go the feline route of mouse-control, we will most likely name the cat Gus Gus, just for the irony of it all. No sweaters or cute booties will be provided to either mice or cats.

Lessons from the wreckage

Sometimes things don't go the way we plan...

It all began as a simple trip to Ikea...
I picked up a super-flowered comforter...
slightly more frou-frou than I typically like...
Success!

And then, in an instant, colored by abruptly flashing red tail-lights,
squealing tires and the sickening crunch of glass and metal,
all things came to a screeching halt. Literally and figuratively.

The full story is not necessarily important, suffice to say, everyone is okay, no injuries, but the cars were, in the words of the police man, "uniquely redesigned." Shall we say that my compact car became "more compact"? It's trying to morph into its inner hot-rod...

But in those few earth-shattering moments, I think I realized a few things:

• When life turns into chaos, all you can think about is the small details like what speed you were going, what the name of the tunnel was, a random thought you'd had earlier in the day, the name of the policeman, your now-certain-to-be-failed car inspection.
• At the same time, you realize how completely unimportant those details are... but it's all you can think about.
  
• Sometimes our split second impulses are surprising (who you call, how you react, what your immediate thought is, your ability to stay calm in the moment, etc)...
• Often times our disasters feel like other people's spectacles and that is not a good feeling
• There are so many things to be grateful for... and the little things that seemed so significant earlier in the day, are now minute in comparison...

Earlier in the day, I had texted my sister, after my leaving my routine doctors appointment. Any time I go to the doctor, we have to go through family medical history, which is long and contains many diseases, maladies and quirks, things that make my super bouncy doctor frown and furrow her brow. I had jokingly texted my sister earlier in the day, "You know, after repeating our family medical history, at times, I'm really surprised that I'm still alive!"

Now, at the end of the day, all I can say is... yes, on two accounts now, life is a gift, not an expectation. And I am very glad to be alive. May that gratitude continue, even after the shock of the accident becomes ancient history...

Don't get me wrong... this is not, in the cliche phrase, an entreaty to "live every moment as if it were your last." That's ridiculous. Then you always live in light of the pending end, rather than in gratitude for the life that you have now. It is, rather, an entreaty to be grateful for the fact that you're alive. And to live life in that gratitude. At the end of the day, the acne, the stressful details of work, the cable not working, the traffic delay, the mice running through your apartment fat-fed on the peanut butter from your non-working traps... at the end of the day, those are details which fall mundane and to the side. At the end of the day, it's good to be alive.

May that gratitude continue, even after the shock of the accident becomes ancient history...

Fix-it Culture

A few weeks ago, I overheard snippets of a beautiful husband-wife conversation. It's stuck with me, even now, weeks later, as such a beautiful picture of what it looks like to love one another well... so I wanted to share it with you:

One of the two was very stressed out, trying to figure out the details for something happening later in the day. They were also deeply concerned about how other people would respond and perceive what they were going to be leading...

The other partner listened well, and affirmed the first's gifts and calling to speak and act, empathized with their struggle, and then said,

"Honey, I love you, but you don't need to be listening to what other people are saying about this. Nor do you need to be talking to me about it and listening to what I have to say. I think you need to take it to Jesus, and ask him, not me or anyone else."

See, I think our instant tendency is to try and solve our friends', our boyfriend/girlfriend's, our spouses', our students', our children's problems. We're a fix-it culture...

But I think the reason that this interchange was so beautiful to me is because it wasn't used as a cop out to neglect engaging... it wasn't an excuse because the spouse didn't have an opinion or know what to say... it was legitimately a redirect from trying to be the answer for the other person to standing alongside them and pointing them to the one who has the answers...

I wonder how our relationships, our ministries, our friendships, our families would change, if we practiced this more often?

"... I think you need to take it to Jesus and I will stand alongside you as you do."

Public enemy #1

So, the news of the day is:

It's official! We have mice... cute, small, gray, fuzzy ones... and apparently quite a few of them! Word on the streets is that living above a restaurant often leads to an invasion of these species.

Last night, as I was preparing to go to bed, one of the brazen little bleepity bleeps decided that it would be great fun to complete an Olympic sprint across my feet. Not past them, not close to them, across them. I screamed like a little girl. And then he turned around and audaciously made eye contact with me, as if to say, "What? You're displeased? You don't think I should be here? Catch me if you can."

Game on, Rasputin, game on. Those are fighting words and your mom's a hairy rodent. This means war.

Public enemy number #1 has been named: Rasputin, you must die. Pretty sure Anastasia and Trojan are running around somewhere there too, but so far they've been a bit more shy.

Now, the question is... quick and messy (traps) or savory and slow (borrowing a cat).

Either way, the epic battle of mice and men has begun...

I am not a Prostitute

So Wednesday was a fun day for me.

I sat down with two of my supervisors, in two separate meetings, both of which involved me getting snotty-nosed and drippy, as they called me into deeper places and point-blank called out some areas in which my understanding of myself, of God and of God's relationship to me was fundamentally as nutty as a fat squirrel in autumn. Without going into too much detail, here's the basic gist of my broken understanding:

I do not think that I am intrinsically a delight to God or to other people. I think I am prized and valued and of worth for what I can do, rather than for who I am.

It's the difference between being a prostitute or a lover. A wife or a concubine.

One is loved and valued for who she is, for her relationship with her spouse or lover, her character, her personality, her strengths and weaknesses, through good times and bad.

The other is loved and valued for the commodity that she provides. She is dispensable. She is replaceable. And her worth is largely determined on how good she is at her role.

And, all too often, I live as though I am a prostitute rather than lover, both in relationship to God and in relationship to others...

• valued for what I can do, what I can provide, how I can care well for the needs of the other, rather than for who I truly am
• disposable and replaceable
• weakness is right out, vulnerability close behind it, because those are places in which you expose yourself as incapable, inept, and under-qualified (by proxy, undeserving and undesirable). If I am to be weak or vulnerable, it needs to be well-processed, and neatly packaged.

It's false. It's broken. And I know that. But that is the place that I always seem to return to...

In the words of my friend Carolyn, I've hit my wall again.

But it feels like God is saying, "No more. This wall is not the stopping point..."

A few months ago, my friend Daniel prayed Isaiah 62 over me, and I feel like these words really resonate for me at this point in time (moreso than they did when he prayed them) (vs 2,4,12):

The nations will see your righteousness, and all kings your glory; you will be called by a new name that the mouth of the LORD will bestow...

No longer will they call you Deserted, or name your land Desolate. But you will be called Hephzibah (my delight is in her) and your land Beulah (married); for the LORD will take delight in you, and your land will be married...

They will be called the Holy People, the Redeemed of the LORD; and you will be called Sought After, the City No Longer Deserted..."

God seems to be saying to me:

• I long to give you a new name, a true name.
• I have called you daughter and delight; stop living as though you were a harlot.
• I call you my bride, married to me; stop returning to the harem as if you were a concubine.

At the end of the day, I am not a prostitute.

Jesus' invitation to me is to allow him to be my lover, to radically pursue me, to delight in me, for whom I am, rather than what I can do. And that makes me really uncomfortable because it feels so... intimate... so foreign... so inconceivable... but I think that's his invitation.

That's why he calls me Beloved. Delight.

Now I just need to learn how to live in that place, rather than return to the harem.

Scarcity in Generosity

As a preface, generosity is not my strong suit or natural reaction, but it's something that God has been challenging me to grow in... to give when I'm asked and able (and when appropriate!), to not consider money something of "my own, my precious" but to develop a heart of generosity...

Yesterday, like many recent days, I found myself running from meeting to meeting. Leaving campus, transit included, I had about 15 minutes to spare before heading to small group, so I walked through the Boston Common, enjoying the beautiful almost-fall weather and made a quick stop in a Dunkin Donuts to grab a cup of coffee as my dinner substitute.

As is typical for the Boston Common, I ran into many homeless men and women along my way, most of whom asked for any spare change that I might have. As I entered Dunkin Donuts, there was a woman sitting right by the door, who also asked for my spare change. As I rarely carry any cash or change, I typically don't have anything tangible to offer [and I have mixed feeling about giving money on the street], but as I was already going into the DD, I said, "I don't have any cash, but can I buy you a cup of coffee?" to which the woman readily assented.

As I was waiting in line, the woman came into the DD and asked, boldly, if she could have a sandwich as well. She wasn't pushy or demanding, just boldly asking...

And I, in all my moment of generosity, have to confess that my gut reaction [all internal, in the span of about 10 seconds] wasn't particularly holy, and in the spirit of vulnerability and honesty, I wanted to share some of that with you:

... "I'm already being generous. How dare she ask for more!"

... "Well, from the looks of it, she's not starving by a long shot; why is she asking for more?"

... "Doesn't she realize that I'm only buying coffee for myself because I can't afford to buy dinner out; my budget is already tight this month... I raise support for crying out loud! I don't have that much to begin with!"

See, I think, at least for me, there is a scarcity to my generosity. It has to be on my terms. It has to be my way. And it's all about someone being "worthy" to receive the tremendous gift of my altruistic kindness.

And last night, I feel like God said "no."

... it's not about her "worthiness"
... it's not about her "need"
... it's not about her gratitude or reception of your gift or what she does with it.

Instead, he said, "It's about your heart. And right now, you are scandalously begrudging in your generosity. And this is not about her. This is about you."

Don't get me wrong, I'm not advocating that we should dole out cash to every panhandler or giving to every scam that asks- I don't know that that's actually beneficial to anyone and I do think we are called to be wise with our resources.

But I am saying, I think often times, the invitation to generosity has more to do with us and the attitudes of our hearts, rather than the worthiness or legitimate need of the receiver. Giving, or generosity, represents a posture in which we recognize that our resources are not our own. It is recognizing that we likewise have received generosity that was not merited.

• It is a posture of gratitude, not begrudging.
• It recognizes that the resources we have are not our own.
• It is a heart attitude that has less to do with worthiness of the person, and more to do with worship of the God who has given us everything, and with whom there is no scarcity.

I bought her the sandwich. But I think it was I who gained far more...

... returning to real life

As InterVarsity staff, you know it's the beginning of the school year when...

• you haven't seen your roommates in multiple days, and they begin to wonder whether you actually exist anymore or if they should try to sublet your room.
• you have nightmares/dreams about hundreds of people coming up to you excited about getting involved with an event, but you can't remember what that event is, you can't remember any of their names, and you are pretty sure that you've forgotten to plan said event.
• you eat a twinkie and cheese doodles for dinner and get super excited (a) to have time to eat something and (b) that you get to eat a twinkie again.
• your number of facebook friends doubles.
• you area already a coffee addict, but you yourself note that your coffee intake has significantly increased.
• a common phrase for you is "oh man! i forgot about..."
• you have explained multiple times in the last week, "no, I'm not a student, I graduated a few years ago..."
• you've worked more hours in the last two weeks than you've slept.
• you've probably lost your voice at least once, as a result of talking so much to so many people.
• the Walmart/Costco/Kmart candy aisle people know you by name.
  
• you've met hundreds of really awesome new and returning college students, and are really hyped up to see what God wants to do during this school year!

Good times! Really. One of my favorite times of year, even though it's one of the craziest times of the year! And now, new student outreach (NSO) is drawing to a close, so I am preparing to return to real life, sleeping, breathing, eating things other than twinkies, having conversations about things other than InterVarsity... glad this season is almost done, but at the same time, wouldn't trade it for the world, and looking forward to doing it again next year! :-)

I'm still alive...

The freshmen are here...

Enter the chaos of New Student Outreach and the beginning of the school year...

[So exciting!]
[So busy!]
[So exciting!]

More to follow...

where else would i go?

faithful is our God:
he is Jehovah Jireh- my provider
he hears the cries of my heart.
he answers the prayers of his people.
he is compassionate and just.
he answers truly, without bent or flaw.
he will answer my cry,
as he sees best.
Lord, attune me to the sound of your voice,
your yes. your no.
let me hear your voice and rejoice,
when your timing is right.
until then, Jesus, and after, i will submit.

[the image is one i drew in my journal this morning, but have been reflecting on for a few months now]

the text [if you can't read it] says:

Where else would I go?
falling on my knees...
clinging to the edge of your robe-
all of my hopes, desires-
Jesus, bless me;
i have nowhere else to go.
if you say no, i'm still here:
where else would i go?
but i'm falling on my knees...
clinging to the edge of your robe...
begging:
Jesus, bless me.
you know these desires,
deepest of my heart...
bless me.
please.

Saying no to weak-sauce strength...

Through the open window, I can hear my neighbors watching "the price is right." This is their routine every morning... It's unreal to me...

I've been reading through John 1-4 these last few days, as preparation for Chapter Camp, and yesterday, John 4, Jesus' interactions with the Samaritan Woman really stuck out to me... Jesus has this bizarre interaction with the woman, in which she asks him a lot of really good questions, such as "You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?" (4:9). Or, "Our fathers worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem." (4:20)

In other words, "Jesus, let's work through our racial and ethnic tensions of the last 500+ years. There's a lot of [doggie doo] there." or "Jesus, explain to me your theology of worship and the temple. Can you help straighten out our denominational differences and tell me who is right and who is wrong?"

Not bad questions. Great theological questions. But they're the wrong questions. And Jesus isn't buying any of her smoke screens. In the words of Alex Kirk, Jesus refuses to stay warm and fuzzy; he isn't willing to stay at a safe distance, allowing her to stay in her hidden, but comfortable, personal space.

He steps right into the awkward, getting personal, and asking precisely the one question that she needs to hear, but would really prefer not to answer:

He told her, "Go, call your husband and come back." "I have no husband," she replied. Jesus said to her, "You are right when you say you have no husband. The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true." (4:16-18)

In an instant, Jesus invades. He pushes in. He asks the questions that we don't want asked. He asks the questions we need to answer. And yes, that is not normally "nice" or "warm and fuzzy." But it is life transforming. Listen to the woman's simple testimony of faith, after her transforming experience with Jesus:

"Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Christ?" (4:29)

The fact that he pushes through, that he did not allow her to stay comfortable, that he invaded her personal space... that is what sparked her conversion moment. It is her testimony, as what is dark is brought to light, and Jesus in an instant offers her a chance to step into the light and become more whole in her brokenness than she has ever been in her hiding place.

So, I was sharing with 3-4 friends yesterday, in a couple different conversations, how I've realized that I'm not particularly good at sharing my processing with folks. I don't ask for help often, and when I do, I'm either (a) incredibly circuitous about it, hoping that my friends pick up on my casually dropped hints, or (b) already falling apart, unable to hide my need, and pretty much feeling like I've been pre-processed into menudo. I'm really good at appearing "put together" or "competent." (This is the weak-sauce portion of my strength.) I don't let people see the brokenness often, unless there is high trust and/or a divinely appointed moment. I, like the woman at the well, would prefer to ask great theological questions and leave the personal stuff at the door. [I'm sure this resonates with some of you].

But Jesus says, that's no way to live.

This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but men loved darkness instead of light... But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what he has done has been done through God." (John 3:19,21)

I think Jesus' rebuke and invitation to me is this... "Step into the light, Kristen. Do not hide any longer. As your brokenness is exposed, so too am I glorified even as you are made more whole."

So here's to the light and an attempt and transparency: I am emotionally constipated right now. I have not cried, really cried, in almost 2 months, and haven't been able to when I needed to. Not sure why. I am processing a lot of my fears, past, present, and future, and that's been hard. And a lot of things feel chaotic in my life; and I do not deal with chaos well. Simply put, I am a mess. Sorry to disappoint, for those of you who thought I had it all together... but, the truth is, weak-sauce strength, false put-togetherness, is no strength at all...

So, here's the invitation I gave my 3-4 friends yesterday:

Would you ask me good questions? Would you probe deeper? Would you not let me get away with weak-sauce strength? There might be times when I don't respond well, or when a given situation renders it appropriate for me to not answer a particular question, but ultimately, I need people to speak into those places of hiding, to invite greater wholeness in stepping into the light.

And my question for you is:

Are you willing to let Jesus ask the questions that you might not want to hear, but that ultimately bringing transformation and wholeness? are you willing to let your friends speak into those places for you? What would it look like for you, to step into the light?

I don't want to be weak sauce...

"You know, Kristen, you're a very strong woman."

I cannot tell you how many times I have heard this phrase. And, to a certain degree, it's true. I am a strong woman. Headstrong, in many ways. Capable, in others. Independent, yes, although God's been working on that one. Pretty certain of who I am, my identity and the gifts that God has given me, yes, most of the time. And I'm inclined to believe, subjectively, that those strengths can be a good thing. Not always, or without fail, but they can be.

But, and let me just be really honest, more times than not, when those words have been spoken over me or to me, they have been followed or preceded by,

"You should probably tone that down a little." "That's not very feminine." "You need to need to be more _____(humble/quiet/submissive/womanly/etc)." or, my personal favorite, "You know, men don't really like strong women." And please don't mistake me, these are never words that are intended to be hurtful; they always come from a very sincere heart legitimately attempting to care for me well.

But often times, well-intentioned or not, my strength has felt like a curse, not a blessing.

And certainly, one of my areas of greatest weakness is my desire to be control. To know what's going on. To have voice or authority. To succeed. Arrogance. And I do struggle to trust others enough to depend on them, yes. Often times strength is just a masquerade to protect myself from being real. So yes, there are sinful and broken elements of me, that manifest themselves through the false-appearances of strength.

But at the same time, I think are really good things about the fact that I am a strong woman. I don't think I'm less feminine because I have a opinion, or because I can speak and lead well. I think discernment and boldness in speaking truth are good gifts, that are a blessing not a curse. And in many ways, I think strength calls out strength, and invites greater, deeper, stronger response from the men [and women] in my life. I am not ashamed of whom I am, strength included.

And please, make no mistake, there are many people in my life who have blessed that strength and identity, speaking truth over me, rebuking me, and calling me into greater holiness. And I am so grateful for them.

But here are some of the questions I'm wrestling with right now:

• What does it look like for me to be free and blessed to be all of who I am? To believe that my strength is a blessing, given by God, not a curse?
  
• What does it look like to allow God to shape that into greater holiness?
• Are there parts of my strength that are not holy that need to be winnowed and refined?
• Are there times in which I need to lay aside my abilities, in effect, lay aside my strength or "become less of who I am" for the sake of others? How do I know when/what those are?
• How do I lead from dependence on Jesus, not on personal abilities or strength? Yet at the same time, not neglect the good gifts that He has given?

I'm going to venture a guess at the answer, although I'm still in process even as I type this, but here goes my best guess:

Greatest strength comes from dependence on Jesus. In effect, then, greatest strength comes from greatest weakness or greatest recognition of need.

The places in which my strength comes from a dependence on Jesus, those are holy places. And not things to be ashamed of or to negate. Speaking truth with boldness, leadership, discernment, prayer, calling others into deeper places of faith, confidence in identity, I think there is a holiness there that comes from deep relationship with and dependence on God.

The places in which my strength is not holy... those come from places of self-assertion, self-protection, and, ultimately (big surprise), fear.

Punchline: true strength comes from dependence on God, freedom and certainty in our identities as his children. Weak-sauce strength comes from trying to define and protect ourselves based on our abilities and strengths. In effect, NOT trusting in Godfor our identity.

Certainly there are places of repentance for me (and for you) in that... but at the same time, I think there is an intrinsic blessing there as well:

To follow Jesus, does not mean that we need to be weak-sauce. To the contrary. Strength, in both men and women, can be a blessing when it is derived from and offered to Jesus. For me, that conclusion is breath-taking, eye-opening, worship-filled, and incredibly freeing.

I hope it is for you as well!

Buried Treasure

I love the fact that people think you cannot see them when they're in their cars. Today, I drove by a spry young thing gold-digging up a nostril. And we're talking serious excavation... Next car up, a wise old sage, graying at the temples, engaging in a very similar treasure hunt. Some things never change. Really, people?

I promise, serious post sometime soon... but for now:

Why do gorillas have such big nostrils?
... because they have really big fingers...

Fin.

I believe in the Resurrection (cont'd)

So, those of you who know me well know that I am not particularly gifted in horticulture. In fact, I tend to have a unique ability to kill plants quickly and relatively painlessly (at least for me; I have no idea what plant death feels like for the plant).

But, like the good farmers daughter that I am, I continue to try to grow things.

And this summer, that project has actually worked fairly well. I have a little back-porch garden, consisting of cayenne peppers, tomatoes, chamomile, lavender, parsley, and a few flowers. And surprise of all surprises, they have both survived and thrived. Apparently remembering to water things does wonders. Who knew?

At any rate, when I arrived back from my most recent three week travel stint, I discovered that these miracle plants (with the exception of the plant-that-never-dies) were pretty much done-in. (My roommates share my watering forgetfulness.) And so at the moment, I am in the process of pruning, watering, fertilizing, and attempting to salvage any whisper of life, prospects of which look pretty slim.

But as I was pruning my tomato plants today, cutting off dead leaves and branches, I was struck by the metaphor for us as well:

In order to bring new life to us sometimes Jesus has to cut off a lot of the dead stuff, even though we cling to it. In order to call out life, to restore to life, the grave clothes have got to go.

Yet, we cling to remnants of the old self, our grave clothes, because they make us feel less naked, more whole, and like there's "more there." They are stinky, nasty, dead, rotten, but oh they are comfortable. They hinder and prevent true growth, sucking our energy and our focus from real life. In the same way that dead branches on my tomato plants suck energy away from the life of the plant, so too our "grave-clothes" and places of death that we hold on to hinder us from experiencing real life.

Perhaps they are an unhealthy relationship, perhaps that's your sense of pride or the safety of fear (this is a big one for me); perhaps that's your shame at past failures or sense of perfectionism that will not let you accept grace; maybe that's any number of addictive defense mechanisms (pornography, alcohol, unhealthy obsession with body image, gossip, drugs, an unhealthy need to be needed); perhaps it's lies that you believe about yourself, or positions of comfort that you know God is calling you out of... I don't know what your grave-clothes are, but I do know this:

If we stay in the grave clothes, we will never fully experience the power of the resurrection.

I don't hold much hope for the restoration of life to my tomato plants: as aforementioned, I do not have a green thumb, nor the power of restoration. But I do hold a lot of hope for the restoration of life for YOU and for ME, that comes from cutting off the grave clothes.

The power of the resurrection changes everything.

When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out!" The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face. Jesus said to them, "Take off the grave clothes and let him go." [john 11:43-44]

I believe in the Resurrection

So I just got back from our New England Regional Staff conference Wednesday night... among many topics, the primary theme was, "Do we believe that Jesus, that God, can raise the dead?"

Ministry, faith in Jesus, is costly. It appears ludicrous to our culture. It comes at great personal cost to all of us. It does not, in true form, earn you brownie points with anyone. And if Jesus is not who he says he is, then our culture is right: it is wasteful, ludicrous, and down-right dumb to believe in just another smart teacher.

But if Jesus can raise the dead, make life out of death, it is radically worthwhile to believe. If Jesus can raise the dead, bring new life to things that are dead and dying, then he is the only one who offers to true hope. If he is who he says he is, and does what he says he does, then to NOT believe in him is wasteful and ludicrous.

Resurrection power changes everything.

Wednesday night, when I got back from Regionals, I got a text from a friend, saying that their mom and mother-in-law of 8 weeks had just died of liver failure as a result of cancer. Minutes later, I got an email from another friend, saying that her mom had just received the "terminal count-down" notification. Her cancer was past treatment, after months of chemotherapy. Another friend, at age 23, after having an emergency spleenectomy is now in danger of total heart-failure as a result of an infection she contracted on an overseas project.

I categorically hate cancer, disease, death, dying, pain, suffering, etc. It makes me angry, because as I watch those I love suffer, hurt, cry out, I realize that there is something categorically broken in our world.

And I see that same brokenness, in different degrees, on my campus every day. Eating disorders, hatred, racism, unfair judgments, immoral economics, economy of "who-you-know" rather than hard-work ethics, sexual harassment and assault, abuse, hook-up culture, cheating, unforgiveness.

This whole disease thing? The whole brokenness thing? Not good. Not right. Not part of the original plan.

And I think it's actually okay to be angry. To hate death itself. To get angry about the fact that there is disease in the world. To hate brokenness in the world. I think there's actually some holiness there. But the question is... where do I go from there?

Cynicism says, that's the end of the story. It sucks. Live life for yourself while you can because death and brokenness are an inevitable conclusion.

Hope says, that's not the end of the story.

Resurrection power changes everything.

We believe in a God who brings new life with his breath.

Then he said to me, "Prophesy to these bones and say to them, 'Dry bones, hear the word of the LORD! This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the LORD.' " [Ezekiel 37:4-6]

We believe in a God who has calls forth life from death.

When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out!" The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face. Jesus said to them, "Take off the grave clothes and let him go." [John 11:43-44]

We believe in a God who triumphs over the power of evil, death, disease, brokenness. The imperishable who clothes us, not with our smelly grave clothes, but with his wholeness.

When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: "Death has been swallowed up in victory." [1 Corinthians 15:54]

We believe in a God who has come to make all things new.

"Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" [Revelation 21:3-5]

• Resurrection says, death is not the end of the story. Disease and death and dying will one day cease.
• Resurrection says, these things which appear dead, hopeless, wasted, Jesus can redeem.
• Resurrection says, those areas of campus, areas of ministry which appear dead, Jesus can call out life there too.
• Resurrection says, these places of personal pain, fear, and death, Jesus offers hope that this is not the end of the story.
• Resurrection says, those areas of me which are dead and dying, Jesus can breathe life into.
• Resurrection says, the cost of following Jesus is worthwhile, because he offers hope for total restoration with power guaranteed by his own triumph over death.
  

Resurrection power changes everything.

The Sirens of Power

I was back in Richmond this past week for a couple days, and while I was there, I spent a little bit of time visiting my old haunting grounds at U of R. One of the things that I did was visit a lot of professors of mine, including those in the physics department.

For those of you who have not been privy to my academic history, I was one of those students who came in to college knowing exactly what I wanted to do: science policy diplomacy, specifically nuclear policy, specifically Eastern Europe. Studied nuclear physics and political science. Had my life in the hat. Forget the 5 year plan, I was working on the 60 year plan. And I was well on my way to the plan; I was good at what I did, was published, lauded, networked, and well-liked. And then God intervened, and I ended up in campus ministry instead [ask me about that story sometime]...

And I do not regret that decision. I have no doubts that this is where God has called me for this season in my life and I honestly love my job...

But there are moments in which the Sirens of power, fame, money, and prestige still call my name. This past week was one of those times.

This past week, when I sat down with my college physics advisor, he made a comment about, how, if I decided to come back to science policy, he would be glad to make a phone call for me, to connect me with a good job. And for just a moment, I allowed myself to day-dream as to what that could look like:

• Respect from my peers when I tell them what I do, rather than an awkward "well that's nice" and a quick change of the subject...
  
• Financial stability, even affluence, not having to raise my own support.
• An economy of merit-based success in which I CAN earn praise, fame, prestige, etc.
• An opportunity to "be someone" and have people notice and praise me.
  
• An opportunity to "make a difference" in ways that all my peers would applaud.

One phone call away.

The Sirens of power, fame, money and prestige can sing pretty sweetly. And not all the things that they say are innately wrong. There is nothing innately wrong with being the sciences; in fact, I think there is a huge need for the people of God to be in the hard sciences, particularly physics. And perhaps one day God will call me back there, I don't know. But here's the one thing I do know: the call of the Sirens is all about me and making me comfortable, feeling good about myself. And that is not the economy of the kingdom.

God is not a God who only calls us into thing that are hard; he delights to bless us, and often times calls us into things which fit us more perfectly than we could ever imagine. But he always calls us as a part of a bigger story than just us. The kingdom is always about what he's doing and not about how good we feel about ourselves or how comfortable we are. At the end of the day, it is not about me.

In the same way as Homer's Odysseus was tempted by the Sirens' call, so too, I am tempted by the promises of security, prestige, and money. But at the end of the day, I know that living just for myself is not what I was made for; there is something intrinsic in me that longs to be part of a bigger story, about something bigger than just me. And I have found that in following after Jesus, being about his Father, his Kingdom, and his economy, not my own. He is the only one capable of the restoration of all things, from the inside out; he is the only one who can call me into a place of change that really matters.

If he calls me back to the sciences, I will go. But to follow the Sirens, outside of the plan and call of God, is a shipwreck waiting to happen. And ultimately, the place he has called me, while not necessarily always comfortable or easy or luxurious, is the place in which I want to be. Being part of a bigger story is the only life worth having.

And this is where he has called me for now. :-)

Holiness in Homelessness

Driving back into Boston last night, gorgeous orange and purple sunset behind me, red blinking tail-lights ahead of me; the lights of a city that I love sprawling and twinkling ahead of me, 2500 miles of places that I love behind me; a present-tense life and wonderful friends ahead of me, history, stability, comfort, and questions of the future behind me; questions of the future ahead of me, ghosts of the past behind me; the contrasts could be endless... The splinching of my heart and life equally so.

They say that home is where the heart is... but mine seems to be in constant transit...

My friend Beck and I have this conversation fairly often actually, that home is hard concept to define for both of us. It is, fortunately or unfortunately, not geographically defined for either of us. I love Boston deeply, but even still, it does not have the sense of permanence associated with true home. For me, the two places that I feel most at home are in an airport and on campus at U of R, but beyond that, there are many many places that I could call home. And that state of being, while intrinsically a blessing because I can be equally at home anywhere, simultaneously means that I am equally a visitor everywhere. This is the sometimes painful tension that I live in. And the cry of my heart is: where is my home, God?

While I was in NC, my friend Krystal shared one thing that really stood out to me. She was talking about how God did not give the Levites (the Old Testament tribe of priests) a land of their own [Joshua 14:4]. Their homes were to be with the Tabernacle, cared for by the people of the land [origins of the tithe]. This echos then with the New Testament words of Jesus when he reminds his disciples that the Son of Man has no place to lay his head [Luke 9:58], the instructions of Jesus, when he sends his followers out to the towns "without bag or purse or sandals" but depending on the generosity of those they meet [Luke 10] and the parable of the Great Banquet [Luke 14:15-24] in which those with fields, oxen, and family miss the call and the poor, crippled, blind and lame are the ones who respond.

Perhaps I should be a little bit more clear?

I think there is an invitation here for us (for me) as ministers of the gospel to find holiness in homelessness.

In the same way that the Levites had no home, other than with the temple, I think there is a call for us to identify likewise. Rick Warren, bless his heart, gave Urbana 06 a great paradigm for our response to God's call: it cannot be conditional. It has to be wherever, whenever, whatever, God asks. We are not a people called to be bound to a land, a home, or our possessions. In the paraphrased wisdom of Brenda Salter McNeil [Urbana 06]: don't settle in Haran when God calls you to follow him to Canaan.

Our home is with God; our invitation is for the Kingdom, not for Comfortability.

Don't get me wrong: I long for a sense of "home" more than almost anything. This blog post comes from that place of deep yearning. And that yearning has not gone away in the 30 minutes it's taken me to write this post, nor will it in the subsequent 60+ years that I hope to live. But I do think that there is a greater invitation present, to find our true place of home in God not in a "send-the-mail-here" type of place. And I think that invitation is to both those of us who would self-identify as splinched, and those who have a clearly defined sense of "home."

• There is holiness in homelessness for the sake of the Kingdom.
• Don't settle in Haran when God calls you to Canaan.
• Our invitation is for the Kingdom, not for Comfortability.

So we live in the tension...

"For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it." [Matthew 16:25]

Well, hey y'all!

So apparently I no longer have 20-20 vision. But, my right eye is more blind than the left, explaining my odd quirks and unbalanced walking patterns. Also means that I now wear reading glasses. Lord, help me, I'm getting old.

In other news, I'm still in the midst of my southern adventures, and so I thought perhaps it would be prudent to dedicate at least one post to my Southern observations. Also known as, "Toto, we're not in Massachusetts anymore." So with no further ado, here we go...

11. When driving, slow is best. Actually, scratch that, in general, slow is considered better.
10. Everyone and their cousin has either a pick-up truck or an SUV. Or two.
9. Lard, oil, and butter are staple ingredients in every food item.
8. You actually see bumper stickers which advocate for McCain-Palin 2008.
7. Y'all is used with reckless abandon. Y'all'all is used slightly less frequently, but still used.
6. When you walk into a house, the first question you are asked is "Are you hungry?"
5. Vegetarianism is relatively unheard of. Hunting for your own meat is fairly normal.
4. The TV show "Jackass" is considered reality TV.
3. One has to be careful not to hit deer, hedgehogs, rabbits, dogs, and possums when driving home late at night.
2. One occasionally sees a confederate flag flying.
1. The majority of the women my age are already married. Many of them already have children (plural).

Such is my heritage; and in it, there is great beauty as well as great brokenness. But I suppose that is the way it is with all cultures and all heritages. Potentially more reflections to follow...

But in the meantime, have a great night y'all.

... stand in the ruins (cont'd)

Along the lines of "the man eating tiger has got to go," today, my former IV trainer and friend Alex Kirk (incidentally, a very wise man) posted on life brought forth from death. I thought it was well put, so I thought I would share an excerpt with you. You can read the whole post here.

"...The dynamic of things dying and new things springing up brought me to this prayer: Lord, what in me needs to die so that something new might spring to life?

This, of course, is the Christian story. The hope that we proclaim is a messy hope. It is life that only comes on the other side of death.

Jesus goes to the cross, endures the shame, dies a brutal death, and then three days later is raised victoriously. The victory is the last and loudest word. But it only comes on the other side of the death.

As with Jesus, so it is with us. We live only as we die. We discover more and more life only as we willingly put things to death in us that are themselves death--the gangrenous, poisonous, corrosive activities and thoughts and beliefs that rob us of joy and life [...]

And it's scary. Because putting something to death hurts like hell--it's a real death, not a surface fix. So we run away from the very path that would offer us life because at least we know what we have--even if it's a poor substitute for a real life, at least it's a known quantity.

But the economy of the kingdom is that life comes from death. That's how the exchange works. We have Jesus as our brother and king who has led the way--he is not calling us to do anything that he himself has not done already."

In order to kill the weed, you must cut out the root. In order for new life to spring up, sometimes things in us have to die. And so we stand in the ruins, asking,

"Lord, what do you want to do? Where do you long to uproot and make new?"

Step into the chaos; Stand in the ruins

So friends, today is the day that you get a bit of raw, personal, and only partly processed stuff. If that doesn't sound like fun, then I would recommend (continuing) facebook stalking, purchasing random weird items on eBay, or you know, drinking a tall glass of a very tasty beverage instead...

"let's talk about fear..."

Damn it. [and I mean that entirely literally].

I wish that fear were not a topic with which I was familiar, but unfortunately, it is very much a part of my reality. I grew up with it. It's been in my family for years. It's been part of my OS as long as I can remember. I fight against it. Jesus has won, but sometimes I lose. And put me in a situation with chaos, and fear becomes a pretty big enemy. Control becomes my safety net because it allows me to hold fear at a safe distance, and avoid actually having to deal with it.

It's kind of like a zoo, holding a huge man-eating tiger. The fences keep you safe: they keep the tiger at bay. Control keeps you safe. But it doesn't deal with the fact that there's a man-eating tiger present. And fear is very much like a man-eating tiger... it eats you from the inside out. It holds you captive rather than sets you free. And it runs counter to what the kingdom is all about: "it is for freedom that Christ has set us free" (Gal 5:1).

Fear of failure. Fear of rejection. Fear of being revealed as a fraud. Those are some of my big ones...

And my guess is... if you think about it, you have places in which that fear rises up for you as well (some of you more than others): New situations. Wondering whether people like you. Financial stability. Family situations. Death. Heights. Public Speaking. Love. Small people or large woolly mammoths. You name it; we each have places in which fear becomes a dominant factor.

Let me just be categorically clear: (most) fear is not of God.

Now, there is such a thing as holy fear (or complete and total awe, reverence of an entirely holy God). And there is such a thing as healthy fear (hesitation to do stupid things, or reservations about jumping out of planes without a parachute). But 90% of the time, when we encounter fear in our lives, it is not holy or healthy. It is a fear that at root says, "God will not take care of me here; God will not provide for me here."

For me, that translates into, "Therefore, I need to take care of myself." I think my second sentence as a child was telling: "Me do it me's self." As long as I'm in control, fear stays under control. But, even though the tiger is caged, I find that all to often, I am the one who is bound.

Enter God in his grace and mercy.

For the last three years, God's invitation to me has been to relinquish control, to allow him to lead, to submit to him, to follow the Holy Spirit and to lay down my independent-self-protective walls, trusting him and trusting his people. He has been tearing down my walls, with the power of a wrecking ball and the delicacy of an architect.

But this last month, my sense is that God's invitation to me has been to "step into the chaos" and to "stand in the ruins" in the context of work, friendships, and family. In other words, to return to the places where fear reigns, sans protective walls, and let God do his thing. To return to the places long devastated in my life, and allow him to rebuild. And that is terrifying. Control, my favorite thing, is lost. And, as a result, I find myself facing the man-eating tiger. And I want nothing more than to cut and run, let's be honest. But I think, at the end of the day, God wants to deal with the tiger... Unhealthy, unholy fear has got to go.

I had a dream a few weeks ago, in which I saw a ginormous weed... in the dream, I kept trying to cut off the top of the weed, but it kept growing back. When I woke up, the phrase, "In order to kill the weed, you must cut out the root" was stuck in my head... weird as it is, I think there's some truth there:

God is not satisfied to just deal with the symptoms of our brokenness. He invites us to step into the chaos and stand in the ruins because He wants to rebuild not glaze over. He longs to cut out the root. And he longs to say to fear, "Get out of here scum-bag! You have no authority here anymore!"

For me, I'm still in process. I do not do chaos well. I don't like the ruins. But I chose to step forward because I believe that it is better to stand in the ruins with him, than to run and hide from them by myself. He is a God of restoration. I chose to step forward because I believe that it is better to step into the chaos with him than to try and battle it myself. He is a God of redemption, power, and authority. He wins. And I chose to step forward because the man-eating tiger has got to go...

That's me at the moment. But what are your ruins? Where is your chaos? Where does God long to do his work of restoration and redemption in your life?

"They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated; they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations." [isaiah 61:4]

"This is what the Lord says: you say about this place, 'It is a desolate waste, without men or animals.' Yet in the towns of Judah and the streets of Jerusalem that are deserted, inhabited by neither men nor animals, there will be heard once more the sounds of joy and gladness, the voices of bride and bridegroom, and the voices of those who bring thank offerings into the house of the Lord, saying "Give thanks to the Lord Almighty for the Lord is good; his love endures forever." [jeremiah 33:10-11]

when I think of heaven

years of walking in poor shoes
have left her feet twisted, crippled.
she walks slowly, with limp;
too much walking, standing, renders great pain.
gnarled and twisted, calloused and corned.

when i think of heaven, i think of grandma's feet-
the master tenderly washing them.
and as the years wash away,
grandma dancing, leaping, running;
lame feet, no more.
all things made new.

born storyteller, years of learning and life experience,
struggles to recall the most simple of words.
his frustration is evident, but his memory will not cooperate:
memories, details, yesterday, gone.
the brilliant man, fantastic storyteller, frustrated.

when i think of heaven, i think of grandpa's memory-
the master smiles and says, "Walter, do you recall the time..."
and grandpa grins with ease and begins to recount the tale:
the two, laughing with delight;
mute tongue, no more.
all things made new.

years of pain, washed away.
frustration, angst, doubt, gone.
brokenness made whole.
loved ones, reunited; families, restored.
injustice damned and sent away.
love, made complete.
the scales fall away, things seen as they truly are.
disease, pain, mourning, death, no more.
all things made new.

"Then will the eyes of the blind be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped. Then will the lame leap like deer and the mute tongue shout for joy. Water will gush forth in the wilderness and streams in the desert." [isaiah 35-5-6]

"He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" [revelation 21:5]

Individual Rights

“If it’s true that only individual rights matter, then our descendants really don’t matter because they’re not individuals yet. This is what the West just has not been able to deal with. This is why the West pushes off to the future: environmental pollution, global warming, government deficits, the energy crisis, the global food shortage, the global water crisis, and so on. It’s taxation without representation across time. The truth is: we have not inherited this earth from our parents; we are borrowing it from our children. And we are leaving nothing left for them. The idea of individual rights is likely to be the fatal flaw of the West.” - M. Nagasawa (partial credits, P. Singer)

Thoughts?

Child-like prayer...

This past Sunday, I sat down in church next a mother and her son. The son was roughly 25, but you could tell after a few moments that he had the mental capacity of roughly an 8-10 year old. No filter and very overt in his actions (and attentions). He was the type of pew-neighbor that [if I'm really honest] I often try to avoid:

• Claps too long, even after everyone else has stopped;
• Laughs loudly in awkward places in the service;
• Continually scoots closer to me on the pew;
  
• Hurdles himself back down into the pew with the energy of an 8-year-old boy but the pound-age of a 25-year-old man leading to large pew vibrations;
• Loudly whispers to me throughout the service;
• Sings off-key very enthusiastically.

And there was a very large part of me that wanted to pull the pew-scoot out of there. Not proud of that, but just being honest.

But here's what struck me. The pastor finished the sermon, and began to pray. In the middle of his prayer, he stopped and gave the congregation room to pray silently for those in need of God's healing touch. And from my right side, I heard this 25-year-old kid unabashedly pray:

"Oh God, please heal me."

And I, in my righteous social appropriateness, had to take pause for a moment to consider those few small words.

"Oh God, please heal me."

Can I (do I) pray in that way? Or when the pastor tells us to pray for those who are in need of God's healing touch, do I always exclude myself from that need? See, for all of his social inappropriateness and awkwardness, this guy understood something that I often times don't. He prayed as a man in need of healing, without fancy words or protocol, without shame in his need or conditions to his request. Child-like expectation.

So here's my thought: maybe, just maybe, some of those "social proprieties" need to get chucked from our prayer lives. We pray nice prayers. We pray pretty prayers with good rhetoric and even keel. And we pray for God's healing in others, in the world, assuming that we can take care of our own issues. Or, worse, presuming that we are not ourselves in need.

Wrong.

I think the invitation to us, friends, is remove the filter; to pray with honesty and rawness, not the sanitized prayers we often pray; to actually talk, using real words, to the God who made us and loves us, unabashedly, in certainty of his love for us; to pray with child-like expectation for adult-sized issues; to relinquish control and place ourselves fully in God's hands.

Maybe Jesus knew what he was talking about when he said:

"I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven." (Matthew 18:3-4)

likes me... likes me not...

Last night, a few friends and I were hanging out at a pub near my house... we were catching up, reflecting back on college years, and laughing about some of the random antics that we had performed "when we were younger." At one point, we were talking about a particular friend, who shall remain nameless... Good friend, really great guy (well-beloved), but classically "scientist" with all the implications therein. For example:

... at one point, he crystallized pure caffeine from coffee just for fun.

... another time (or should I say, multiple times), he lit random objects on fire (or blew them up) through a series of chemical reactions. Often times, in the dorm room.

... at another point in time, his RA was concerned that he was growing illegal substances in his room, because he had a water garden under his bed, typically only used in a college setting to grow one thing. He, however, was growing herbs and plants for botany experiments.

... and the list can go on and on, but I'll stop there. Bottom line, my friend is unashamedly exactly who he is, and that does not change based on people's opinions, favor, or approval. And I love that about him!

As we were giggling over these stories and others, I was struck again by the idea that:

"It is far better to be disliked for who you truly are than it is to be loved for something that you aren't."

Confession? I am a repenting people pleaser, at core. And for many years, I would play the game of trying to be exactly who people wanted me to be in a given situation. Intrinsic in that was the fear "If they really knew me, they wouldn't like me..." As a result, I wound up playing a lot of different roles, wearing a lot of different hats, and in the process, lost a sense of who I really was. Not healthy, because ultimately it places a lot of authority in the hands of those whose favor we (I) seek. When, in reality, the only one who has real authority has already said of us:

"I created your inmost being; I knit you together in your mother's womb. Praise ME! because you are fearfully and wonderfully made; my works are wonderful!" (paraphrase Ps. 139:14)

He didn't make me to be like Micah or Billy-Bob or Susie or LuAnna or Melchizedek. He made me to be Kristen. And he said that that was good. All the time, not just when it's convenient or popular.

Don't get me wrong, there are places in which adaptation can be good and holy. Certainly, there are situations in which we need to soften certain characteristics in order to care well for those around us. And there are definitely places for repentance and change in our identities and, often times, good friends are the ones to call those out for us. But that is entirely different from shape-shifting, or trying to make people like us by transmogrification of ourselves... ultimately, role playing should be left on the stage.

"It is far better to be disliked for who you truly are than it is to be loved for something that you aren't."

[I'm still workin' on it.]

IM::Porn

So I've never been a particularly large fan of instant messenger, gchat, tweeting (side note, who decided to call it "tweeting"? Really friends? Really?), yahoo chat, facebook poking etc. If you've ever talked to me online, you probably know this about me. Don't get me wrong, I love the convenience. But at the same time, I think there are some dangers inherent to depending on them too much. And yesterday, it dawned on me, some of those dangers, are actually remarkably similar to those of pornography. How's that for a tag line?

Oh you want me to explain... just what I was hoping for!

Side note, going to take a guess that my hit counter will jump about 100 fold because I used the word porn in the title. That's kind of sad.

Anyhow. Here're some of the dangers of online chat:

1. It can create a false sense of the other/self. Any time editing/airbrushing is allowed or possible, it creates something that's not entirely true. Those blemishes, imperfections, and inhibitions which we have in real-time, real-life, are way less present in online chats (and porn). The real thing has no backspace or edit button...
2. It can create a false sense of intimacy. Because inhibitions are lower (because you're not face-to-face and don't have to deal with the social awkwardness in the real), it's far easier to share deep personal things than it is when you're actually around another real person who will respond verbally, physically, emotionally/expressively, and sometimes inappropriately.
3. Because it's non-verbal, you get (to a certain degree) to determine what the other person is thinking or feeling (although emoticons help out a little bit). For example, person A and person B are chatting. Person A is sharing something deeply personal and troubling. Person B takes forever to respond, so person A assumes that they are weeping alongside them, praying for them, and scouring the Internet for words of comfort from some dead poet. Reality is, person B has just noticed that LOST has come on, and they've gotten so sucked into the plot that they have missed everything that person A has just said in the process of trying to figure out whether Juliet lives or dies. Person A is getting their emotional fix, person B is absent. You get to create the response and read the emotion into it.

So, that I don't sound entirely cynical, bitter, and hypocritical for ever signing onto any form of instant messenger, allow me to qualify my critiques, speaking exclusively about chat (no more parallelism). I do not think online communication/chat is inherently bad. I will probably be online again very soon. I think there are a lot of good things that can come from it, such as:

• staying in touch with a lot of folks that I wouldn't otherwise be able to (out of state-ers, out of country-ers, folks travelling on the international space station, etc.)
• a non-awkward way to get to know cool strangers better
  
• touching base quickly about something; as such, it's very convenient
• telling someone you care about them, instantaneously, while they're doing other things
  
• allowing real communication for folks or in areas where inhibitions are otherwise high

But, here's my point: Online communication should never be a substitute for the real. It can add to, build, and bless deep friendships, as an accessory to real, but it cannot sustain them. Real people are far more interesting that pixilated ones, because they actually have flaws. And the flaws and quirks are ultimately part of what makes that person real [we are not perfected yet]. So, no need to sign off, disconnect, unplug, etc (although it could be a good thing)... but do set good boundaries. Recognize the pitfalls and limitations. Use in a way that is healthy.

And bring it into the real. It's messier, but it's far more rewarding.

I'm done preaching now.