life together

Simple thought:

Running is often times my metaphor for life... it is where God often times meets me, teaches me, hangs out with me, and reminds me of things that he has already taught me. The image of running a race as a metaphor for life has been very powerful for me, in teaching me perseverance, patience, training, endurance, silence, honesty, sacrifice, selflessness, and many other things

And yesterday I remembered, once again, that I run better when I run with others.

Apply as you will.

FINE! I'll make you happy!

Three months later, and many dollars shorter but memories richer, I return to the blogosphere. I could apologize for many paragraphs, but we'll just leave it with, "friend, it's good to be back!"

The other night I went running, as I have many nights this summer [reason #951 to love the cooler northern summers]. As I was running through one of the crowded areas of the city, I passed a woman in her mid-twenties, talking on [and when I say talking on, I mean screaming into] her cell phone. I'm not entirely sure what the conversation was about, but I do know that the average conversation soundbite that I can actually catch while running the opposite direction is about 10 seconds. This one, I caught about 30 seconds of due to high volume of said individual and the language in that 30 second soundbite alone would have required a R rating...

So I'm guessing the conversation wasn't necessarily a happy go-lucky one.

At any rate, the one phrase, screamed into the phone, that most caught my ear was this:

"FINE! I'll make you happy. I won't be [...] happy at all but I'll make you [...] happy. I hope you know how [...] miserable this makes me."

Man. What a picture of love. Truly the self-sacrificing martyr that one... chances are high that she will [and by that I mean, will not] receive a metal of honor for that sacrifice...

Yet, as much as I roll my eyes and am shocked by her angry, loud, ugly response [to an unknown prompt, in an unknown situation], I wonder how often my own heart response is very similar...

"FINE! I know it's the right thing to do, so I'll do it, but I'm not going to like it..."
"FINE! I know I need to be talk to her/him, so I'll do it, but I'm going to hate every minute of it."
"FINE! I'll go, because it matters to you, but I'd really rather be anywhere else."

I might not verbalize those things... in fact, given my semi-southern culture, you might never know what's going on inside. But the ugliness is still just as ugly.

May I be as convicted of my own bent-ness, as I am of hers...

Have mercy.

thank you, mischiveous friend...

Someone out there deserves mega kudos for a fantastic prank against me. Friend, I do not know who you are, but I'm impressed.

Allow me to give you a sampling of the emails and mailings that I've received in the last two months, arriving each and every day:

- Babies R Us Catalogs
- What to Expect When You're Expecting
- Newborn Photo Gallery portrait options
- A 3 day sample pack of Enfamil Newborn Baby Formula (my personal favorite)

- Emails entitled:
"Congratulations, You're now in your 3rd Trimester!"
"Dealing with your postpartum body"
"Your baby is almost here!"
"Delivering your baby naturally"
"The Pro's and Con's of Epidurals"
"How to Avoid Stretch Marks"
"Congratulations on your new arrival!"

So, anonymous friend, thank you for your sass. Your wit. Your class. And apparently my newly-born child, which can be credited to you. That was the most effortless delivery pregnancy and postpartum possible. Thank you. And I applaud your creativity. :)

It is what it is.

"It is what it is."

A phrase of uncertain origin, some say appearing as far back as 1949, is a well-known sports cliche, often used to describe unfavorable outcomes or circumstances in games or competitions. Coach John Fox of the Carolina Panthers, for example, frequently included it in his arsenal to describe his team's performance... sorry Panthers, better luck next season.

Regardless of its origin, it is a phrase that I have heard a lot lately...

... I just lost my job, but... it is what it is.
... My start-up company failed and we lost 11 million dollars in 11 months, but...
... I am really lonely and would love to be in a relationship, but...
... I have a lousy relationship with my family, but...
... I haven't slept in four days, I am completely overwhelmed, but...
... my elephant has a sinus infection, and is lame in three legs, but...

"It is what it is."

[note, all real examples except the last one]

What does that even mean?! It is what it is. It's like saying... "See that squirrel over there? That's a squirrel." True. Not helpful. See, the way that I see it, there are three possible things that we could be meaning when we utter this particular cliche:

1. Eh. I don't know what to say, so I'm going to fill air space by not really saying anything.
2. Eh. I don't want to engage with you with the fact that this is horrible, so I'm going to just pretend that I'm in control of the situation and okay with it all.
3. Eh. I am currently trying to persuade myself of an alternative reality and parallel universe theory isn't doing it for me, so instead, I'm just trying to pretend that this current situation isn't lame.

Really folks, we can do better than that.

It's a cliche phrase that attempts to fill a space that would have a far more profound impact if we just said, "it sucks" or were silent. It brushes off things that matter in a frivolous attempt to be cavalier and nonchalant.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of many cliche phrases. Just Manny being Manny. That's the way the cookie crumbles. She's moving slower than molasses in January. That's what she said. Bless her heart. Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle. All's well that ends well. No problems with cliches. But "it is what it is" is a cliche that can go...

Father's Day

I went into CVS the other day, to look for a Father's day card for my dad, which is always interesting. Hallmark cards these days, man. Ridiculous. But what was striking to me this time was the categories into which the cards were broken down, within the "dad" section...

"great dad"
"supportive dad"
"good dad"
"any kind of dad"
"mom's significant-other"
"mom who was strong in dad's absence"
"like a father to me"

This morning my facebook news feed wished me happy Father's Day in many different languages through the words of friends who are profoundly grateful for their fathers, their children's fathers, etc. And it made me smile. I am grateful for my father, and I am delighted that so many friends have extraordinary fathers for whom they are, and should be, profoundly grateful! :)

But, on this day, reminded by Hallmark, I am also deeply aware that there are many, with many different reasons, for whom Father's Day is not a happy celebration... for whom the idea of father brings painful, not joyful, memories, images and thoughts. As my dear friend Alex* pointed out, we are hard wired for good family relationships and, centrally in that, relationship with a good father, of whom God is the original. But, for many of us, that has not been or is not our experience. And so, Father's Day is a complicated, if not grievous, occasion.

And so this Father's Day, I just want to take a moment to acknowledge that fact. It's OK if it's hard. And whether today is hard because your relationship with your dad is strained to non-existent, or because he's no longer present, or never was, because he was your hero and is gone, or because you still bear the wounds of his failures, because you miss him, or because you wish that he'd go away, whatever the reason might be... it's OK for today to be hard.

See I think Father's Day reflects well the fact that we are were created for good family relationships... and within that, we were wired for good relationship with our earthly fathers, who are intended to be a reflection of the character of our good Father in heaven. And when those relationships are absent, or broken, or bent, it reflects a part of life that is not as intended.

So in a strange way, I actually want to encourage you to celebrate today, even if that means allowing yourself to mourn, that Father's Day is hard because even that mourning reflects the fact that you were created for and long for good, whole, and holy relationship with a good Father. And that's a holy longing, which is fulfilled, and satisfied in relationship with your perfect Father. That ache you feel is a longing for things to be as they were intended, and if it leads you to press deeper into trust of your heavenly Father and hope for and anticipation of all things made new when Jesus comes again, it is a holy thing.

So, whatever your circumstance today, I think Father's Day is or can be a celebration for you. Whether it's celebration of the good gift that your earthly father is or was, or a longing and hunger for consummation of all things made new and the restoration of things as they should be, it is a day to celebrate. Either in anticipation or in realization.

So Happy Father's Day, to one and all! May it be a day of complete celebration one day soon!

* Alex also has several other excellent posts on God as Father, found here, here, and here.

[tranquility]

[Baltimore, Inner Harbor, June 6, 2010]

To sit with bare feet dangling over the water and feel the breeze off the shore caressing your face, watching the sunset in the distance.
To hear the jazz ringing gently in the background.
To sense the presence of your best friend beside you, no words necessary, just being.
The cool of evening surrounding you as darkness begins to take possession of the day.

Sometimes life moves too fast.

why I talk to strangers...

I have a very clear memory of one particular night in college, when I was babysitting for a particular family with three sons, ages 9, 6, and 3 at the time. The parents and I were talking about traveling... Without thinking about the audience, I inserted honestly, that I really enjoyed having opportunities to have meaningful and real, as well as totally random, conversations with strangers when I travel. The middle son looked startled, and said to me,

"But mommy says that we're not supposed to talk to strangers?!"

Whoops. Case number 5713 in which I need to think before I speak.

For a 6 year old, it's a totally valid question. It's wise. Safe and healthy. Kids, obey your parents in that. And sometimes, it's even super healthy for grown-ups. Not all strangers are nice wonderful warm fuzzy people. And of course, caution is a good thing. Use your head, trust your instincts. But at the same time...

I think sometimes we use that as an excuse. And so we miss out on opportunities to receive from others. And we miss out on opportunities to encourage someone else or even just listen to them.

Not to say that we need to talk to every stranger who winds up next to us on a plane. That could be slightly creepy, not to mention overkill, and let's face it, there are some weirdos out there. Let's covertly side note the woman who poked me with the spork for an 8 hour flight. But at the same time, I think if we're honest, the reason that we don't talk to strangers, 95% of the time, has nothing to do with their creepy factor. If the truth is told, I think 95% of the time, we're just plain lazy. Talking to strangers, taking interest in their lives, takes effort. It takes enough time with our friends, let alone a random plane buddy that we're never going to see again.

But maybe just maybe, there's something you could offer that random stranger who is sitting next to you on the plane. In today's culture, you are hard-pressed to find someone who is willing to listen. That is a gift which we can easily give to any stranger, any day. Or perhaps, there's something that that random stranger has to offer you. Some of the wisest tidbits that I have ever gotten has come from random individuals who I happen to bump into, sit next to, or get stranded with.

My point? Strangers are people too... and it might be that there's something beautiful that you could gain or give by letting your lives collide (if they're also acquiescent). Might take a little bit of work, risk being awkward, and require some conversational/listening skills. But it also might be well worth it! Or we could just pop the ipod back in... choice of the day. :)

running a marathon

When I was about four to six weeks old, I stopped taking naps. Mom always said it was because I was so eager to take on the world at full-speed ahead that I was unwilling to stop for even a 30-minute shut-eye...

As I've aged, this full-speed ahead tendency has not diminished, but continues to be a primary part of my operating system. I'm a runner by blood-line [my father once knocked out a tooth by running into a moving mini-van racing his mother home from college... yes, college]. But even as a runner, I live for the sprints. I love the adrenaline rush of pushing so hard that your muscles begin to burn, you can't breathe, but you can feel the wind rushing by and you're barely touching the ground, and you start to feel like you're flying... yeah, basically my favorite feeling in the whole world!

My sophomore year in high school, I began running cross-country competitively in order to stay in shape for soccer. And when I started running cross-country, 3.11 miles felt super long, just to be able to sprint the last quarter mile. But I learned to pace, because I learned very quickly that I couldn't finish the race unless I learned to run at a sustainable pace. Sprinting is exhilarating... but it does you very little good, unless you can also cross the finish line.

And this lesson has carried over to life as well. While I would love to [and sometimes do] jump into a million different exciting new opportunities and take on thousands of delightful projects simultaneously, that pace tends to be completely devastating to all operating systems. As much as I would like for it to be a sprint, life is not a sprint... it's a distance run.

Now, I find myself at another major crossroads in life, it seems only fitting that I am also running my first marathon. Because life and relationships are not a sprint, but a distance run... and with the exception of the most elite runners, marathons are not a matter of how fast you run, or how beautiful your form is, or if you have to walk for a bit, or even about being better than everyone else... marathons are about going the distance, and finishing the race, not about the sprints... or so I've heard.

So here I find myself, in training. Jumping into the unknown. Building up endurance and preparing to run the race... You just might have to remind me to slow down every now and then... :)

Summer Reading List

Well friends, the summer is fast approaching, and you know what that means: Summer reading lists! [this is exciting to me!] [Perhaps some of you aren't as nerdy as me...] [you would not believe how many books I have on my shelf that I'm "waiting for the right moment" to read.]

As an InterVarsity staff, one of the ways that I utilize my time during the summer is by studying and reading [both Christian and secular sources] to improve my own knowledge, and to enable me to minister more effectively during the school year.

This year, as I prepare to embark into the summer, I find myself with a rather ambitious looking reading list [which I'm pretty excited about!]. If anyone is interested in reading with me, by all means, let me know!

Summer Reading List 2010

1. A Prayer For Owen Meany by John Irving
2. The Divine Comedy by Dante
3. Les Miserables by Victor Hugo
4. A Beggar in Jerusalem by Elie Wiesel
5. Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton
6. Blessed Unrest by Paul Hawken
7. The Great Divorce by CS Lewis
8. The Problem of Pain by CS Lewis
9. He Has Made Me Glad by Ben Patterson
10. Good News About Injustice by Gary Haugen
11. Real Sex by Lauren Winner
12. Sacred Marriage by Gary Thomas
13. Stretch Out Your Hand Tilda by Norberg and Robert Webber
14. The Deeper Journey by M. Robert Mulholland
15. The Gift of Being Yourself by David Benner

spring has arrived

Last night, when I went running, I literally had to leap over a pair of ducks in the middle of copulation. We're talking feathers flying, full-out process of be-fruitful-and-multiply.

I was running along the river, minding my own business, engrossed in my own thoughts, enjoying the cooling breeze, right before dusk, when all of a sudden they appeared out of nowhere. Conjoined. Fully engaged. And plopped down in the path, right in front of me.

And I could not just run around them. I did not merely pass them by. Nor was I afforded the luxury of seeing them from a distance. I literally had to jump over them. Jump.Over.Them.

And they were so engrossed en-act that they didn't even blink an eye. Just let me soar over-top like the cow jumping over the moon (and I ask, where were the cat and the fiddle??). Really, birds? REALLY? No shame.

Despite temperatures which might indicate otherwise, spring has in fact arrived in Boston...

Silent Disco

Picture the scene with me: a club full of people, moving and gyrating to music, tapping and spinning to a beat, hot and sweaty, multicolored lights flashing, more bodies than befits the space... typical club. Except for the fact that no music is audible. Every club go-er is outfitted with a pair of wireless headphones, and they and only they can hear the music.

Each one dancing to their own beat. Together, yet not. In the same place, all dancing, yet isolated from one another. How awkward if your dancing buddy is swinging to Celine Dion while you're rocking out to some Black Eyed Peas.

The scene that I am describing is a semi-recent and growing phenomena known as the silent disco. It's more popular in the UK/Europe than in the US, but still present in both.

As I have been thinking about popular culture, specifically within the college and young adult demographic, this image has repeatedly stuck in my mind, and I think it is a somewhat apt descriptor of trends that I see more often than not.

This generation is exceedingly communal. They hunger to be in the same place with others, and are always looking for groups of common interest or a sense of belonging. They gravitate towards "connections" with others, be that through social networking sites, common interest groups, advocacy groups, or even the rise of mobile communications devices. We are a generation of connectors: we want to belong, we want to be in the know, and we do not want to be "loners." See for example: Facebook, Twitter, the blogosphere, texting, websites relating awkward and embarrassing (yet humorous) personal stories, and the party culture on college campuses.

Yet at the same time, there is a degree to which, even in that "together" culture, we want to do so on our terms. We retain the right to choose how much information we share, where and when (c.f. facebook privacy settings and the invisible option for gchat). We select when we want to be "networked in" and when we want to be "invisible." And we seemingly want a "no-strings-attached" sense of relationships. The hook-up, one night stands, and casual sexual encounter culture are prime examples. Or I can "sext" you when I want you, or even just sign into a social networking site like Chat Roulette for a few hours, if I want a seriously string-free "connection." On a platonic level, let's talk about all the facebook friends that we have, but don't really actually talk to or stay in contact with. We want the connections, but we want it on our own terms, to our own tune, to fit with our schedule and our lives.

Silent disco. Together, yet not. Everyone dancing, together, yet each to his own beat on his own ipod. Able to maintain complete individuality, in the context of presumed communality.

I do not mean to appear cynical... I think there are a lot of positives to the culture of this generation. But I think there are also dangers... see in this culture, I think we settle for a placebo of being known. Of belonging. And my contention is that ultimately that is not satisfying. Which is why, above and beyond all else, the deepest hunger of this generation is still to belong. To be known.

We were made to share life together, in a way that community has the ability to shape and refine, to influence and impact the ways in which we live. And vice versa, us to our community. But we cannot seek that without also being willing to open ourselves up to the inconvenience and authenticity of really being known. And knowing others. People are messy. You are messy. I am messy. Community is messy.

But the beauty of real community is that we dance this messy dance together, learning together, laughing with one another as we look ridiculously off beat, but learning from one another's mistakes, talents, gifts, and experiences, and maybe just maybe, having a little bit more real and honest fun because we're dancing together.

talking about the m-word

[So, I'm going to talk about sexuality for a little bit, if you feel the need to censor, feel free].

So, in my job, I end up having many conversations about different issues, behaviors, brokenness, and habits, that wouldn't normally come up in a "regular" job. It is a privilege and an honor to hear about people's struggles and depths; one that I do not take lightly.

Among those, often times, conversations about sexuality will come up... we were created as sexual beings, and that is a good thing! To struggle with sexual brokenness, I think, is inherent to the fact our best and most human needs and desires are often those most deeply bent and marred by sin. And so, our sexuality, a good and holy thing, is often twisted and bent in ways that are not holy as a result of sin: lust, abuse, masturbation, idolatry, pornography, fear, shame; just to name a few... And let's be frank, people: this is not just something that men struggle with... let's debunk that myth, here and now. For real.

At any rate, I find often times, as we get into the topics of sexual brokenness, specifically around the issue of masturbation (the dreaded m-word), we, in Christian circles are taught that it is wrong, and we shouldn't do it, but the "why" is often not as clear... "just don't do it." And then the topic is shut down, because heaven forbid that we actually get caught using the m-word [even onomatopoetically, there's a sense of "dirtiness" to the word]. And I think there is a fear and foolishness associated with that, that is ultimately not satisfactory. If it's wrong, there has to be a reason...

And so I share this quote with you, because I have found it particularly helpful in processing this particular issue... in particular, I find it helpful because it gives us a reason why masturbation is less than God's design, even in the absence of lust or pornography. CS Lewis uses gendered language, but feel free to extrapolate the principle. And while you might not agree (that's fine), hopefully it will at least provide some good food for thought.

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For me the real evil of masturbation would be that it takes an appetite which in lawful use, leads the individual out of himself to complete (and correct) his own personality in that of another (and finally in children and even grandchildren) and turns it back; sends the man back into the prison of himself, there to keep a harem of imaginary brides.

And this harem, once admitted, works against his ever getting out and really uniting with a real woman. For the harem is always accessible, always subservient, calls for no sacrifices or adjustments, and can be endowed with erotic and psychological attractions which no real woman can rival. Among those shadowy brides he is always adored, always the perfect lover; no demand is ever made on his unselfishness, no mortification ever imposed on his vanity. In the end, they become merely the medium through which he increasingly adores himself...

... After all, almost the main work of this life is to come out of ourselves, out of the little, dark prison we are all born in. Masturbation is to be avoided as all things are to be avoided which retard this process. The danger is that of coming to love the prison.

- CS Lewis, Letter (March 6, 1956) to a Mr. Mason, Wade Collection, Wheaton College, Wheaton, Illinois. [as quoted in The Broken Image: Restoring Personal Wholeness Through Healing Prayer, by Leanne Payne, Crossway Books, 1981]

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leadership

Yesterday, we had our annual leadership interest brunch, on campus, telling the story of what has happened with InterVarsity in the past year, and casting vision for what could happen, what we long to see happen, and inviting students to dream with us for what God might do!

My co-staff, Kaitlin, gave a great overview of Nehemiah, in inviting students to think about being part of the vision lived out on campus ("rebuilding the wall"), and then talked about how the beauty of Nehemiah wall-builders is that they are all different with different gifts and skills. There are priests working next to the daughters of Shallum son of Hallohesh; there are perfume makers (who knew they had wall-building skills) working next to goldsmiths, next to commoners. The identities of each are radically different, the skills of each are radically different, but they work together for one common vision (rebuilding the wall). And the wall cannot be completed without each and every one of them.

So to it is with campus leadership: leadership looks different for different people. There is no one mold of a "good" leader. Rather, the task of "advancing the kingdom through whole-life conversion to Jesus" requires extroverts, introverts, science majors, English majors, international students, greeks, seekers, techno-geeks, those with great social skills, church-kids and new Christians... rather leadership involves common vision, and a willingness to step out and allow God to use you; to say, "I don't have much, but here's what I do have."

"Now, let's rebuild that wall..."

in a spacious place..

So, as I have engaged with a semester of slowing down and pressing in to those areas of vulnerability and weakness, learning how to be a woman on my knees... one of the things that has become very clear to me (was previously clear to my supervisors and friends, but I'm a lil slow) is that I am very performance-driven.

My greatest temptation is to define myself based on what I can do. If I'm succeeding, then I am worthwhile, I am a success. If I fail, then I am a failure. The insidious part of this flawed operating system, is that it perfectly correlates to the American dream... pulling yourself up by your bootstraps (physically impossible, by the way), "Just do it," hard working, innovative, success-driven, climber mentality. So often times, rather than being recognized for the unhealthy mode of operation that it is, I am applauded for it, encouraged in it, and even positively reinforced in that pattern.

And don't mistake me, there is nothing wrong with wanting to succeed. There is nothing wrong with being hard-working. In fact, those are both really positive things! But when our identities are so wrapped up in what we do, that we're afraid to cease doing, we're afraid to fail, because we're not sure that there's anything to us, other than what we do, then there's a problem. And that was me, at the end of last semester.

I would not do things, unless I thought could succeed, because my fear of failure was all-consuming. I was afraid of taking risks. And most crucially, I didn't know how to stop working-- I would work 60-70 hour weeks-- because I didn't want to slow down and actually have to face myself, to figure out who I was in the absence of doing. It was not a place of freedom... and all too often, fear and anxiety were the governing motivators.

Yes, yes, I know, I'm a campus minister, we're supposed to have things together. Wrong. We're often times the most messed up of all people, because we press into our unhealthy patterns in the name of serving God; we run away from facing ourselves by doing "holy" work... and our souls, my soul, become atrophied in the process. Because at the end of the day, under this mode of operation, who we are depends on our ability to meet a standard, to perform well, which looks a lot like a living under the law, yet again.

And friends, that is not living in freedom. You were not set free for the sake of becoming a working machine, defined by what you do. You were set free for the sake of freedom, to serve in freedom, out of delight, not out of a desperate search to define yourself. We, I, you, have an identity already, given by the Father. And any identity that we try to manufacture for ourselves will only a poor reflection of the one intended for us.

So this semester, thanks to the wisdom of my supervisors, has been a semester of slowing... of facing myself, my images of myself, my ways of defining my identity, and in that weakness, falling to my knees, and asking the Father, "Who do you say that I am?"

His answer? "You are my daughter in whom I delight."

Not an identity based in doing, but an identity of belonging and being. A child, a little girl, is loved not because of what she can do, but because of who she is... whether she's Michelangelo or a 5 year old finger-painter... whether she's singing Vivaldi or Veggie Tales... whether she makes Creme Brulee or homemade oatmeal with baking soda instead of sugar... she is loved and delighted in because of who she is.

So too is my identity. Delighted in because I belong to the Father. I am his daughter, known by him, created by him, and loved by him. And in that place, my performance has no weight on my identity. There is freedom to fail. To take risks. To try things that I might not be good at. To acknowledge places in which I am weak. Don't get me wrong, I still want to succeed. I still want to do well, but I want to do so to delight the Father, not to define myself.

That, friends, is a place of freedom. :)

not on mighty steeds..

I had a long conversation with a good friend of mine a few days ago, and in passing, she utterly these profound and eloquent words. It was striking to me, and has stuck with me for a few days since because it was so radically different from our typical mode of operation.

"the battle is won, not on mighty steeds, but on our knees... not in our greatest strengths, but by acknowledging our greatest vulnerabilities. and pressing in, in our weaknesses, clinging even, to the One who possesses the strength we lack." A.E.W.

Her point was this: our greatest moral and spiritual triumphs in life occur when we finally see ourselves in our true vulnerability and weakness, and press into God more fully. The battle is not won through demonstrations of our profound strength and courage or mighty weapon wielding, but in those moments when we fall to our knees before God and say, "here I am; I need you."

This semester has been an interesting one for me, because I have been required to slow down and re-examine my modes of operation... my past brokenness'... my fears... my false self... and my unhealthy habits.

These are the things that I most seek to hide. To avoid. To pretend are not there.

And yet, in acknowledging these and pressing more fully into God's strength, therein lies my greatest strength.

Here's what I've learned in my last 25 years: the greatest testimonies... the greatest transformation... the people who have been most influential in my life... are the ones who are unafraid to speak of their own brokenness and utter need for God with absolute freedom. And the moments when I have understood my own absolute need for God, and fallen to my knees in honesty and desire, are the moments in which I have seen the most transformation in me, and through my retelling of those stories.

It is completely counter cultural. But oh so true.

Lord, help me to be a woman on my knees...

Grown-Up

Today, as I was walking down to the river, I passed a father with his two young daughters, each tugging at a hand and chattering oh so exuberantly about this and that... nothing important, but to look at the father, you would have thought that he was listening not to the aimless chatter of young children but to the most scintillating and captivating of all performances or speeches.

Among other topics, the two small ones were discussing being grown-up versus being a little girl. One was of the opinion that being small was the way to go (she was the smaller one); the other ardently claimed that she was advantaged in being "all grown-up" (she was the older one at a ripe old age of six).

Their childish banter and gleeful delight gave me pause, and made me stop and consider this idea of being "grown-up." It's such a silly phrase: "grown-up." What does that even mean? Certainly it does not refer to reaching maximum height capacity, as an indicator of completeness... if that is the case, then I am sorry to say, I think maturity might need to be redefined.

Yet, even as I pondered these thoughts, I was struck by another thought: I can barely remember a time when I did not consider myself "grown-up" and "mature." For as long as I can remember, I have acted as a small adult. Even now, I see out my window a small child, hopping around for no apparent reason, simply because it is delightful to her. I long for those days, but they are foreign to me. Surely this is not what it means to be mature. Surely there is more to maturity than putting off or losing childlike delight and freedom and becoming "sensible" and "realistic" and "businesslike." This is a "maturity" that often is stuffy, and certainly lacks joy and freedom.

Yet in converse, as I watch and interact with 20 somethings who act as though they had no cares in the world, resisting adult responsibility, depending on others to sustain them, and avoiding anything not fun--childlike freedom, if you will-- my gut reaction tells me that they do not understand maturity any more deeply than the rest of us. This is a "maturity" that lacks an understanding of purpose or meaning beyond self gratification and satisfaction; it is shallow in nature.

See, I don't think maturity, or being grown up, is about losing childlike freedom or delight. Nor do I think that it is falsely clinging to childish ways. And decidedly, it is not about arriving at the pinnacle of maximum height capacity... otherwise, you would presume that professional athletes would act decidedly more responsibly!

So what does it mean, to be mature or "grown-up"?

Here's my alternative thought: what if being mature had less to do with gaining or losing something (stuffiness/responsibility/childishness/freedoms et al), and more to do with coming into fullness? In that sense, maturity, or being grown-up has less to do with leaving behind childish ways, and more to do with coming into the fullness of who you were created to be- with the fullness of childlike delight and freedom, full participants in the work of the Kingdom, the fullness of your gifts and calling seen and lived into, yourself fully known, and your purpose and role fully identified.

Under this definition, none us is ever fully mature or "grown-up." We're never done growing, changing, or coming fully into our created identity, until we are made full and whole in consummate relationship with our Creator, which we long for with all of our being. And with each passing year, we will certainly understand how little we understand more fully.

But I would argue that this is actually a maturity that has some meat on it, some life in it, and some worth in pursuing it. This is a maturity that is lifelong, holistic, purposeful, and life-giving.

In that sense, perhaps being "grown-up" or "mature" is something to be longed for...

Ah, Holy Jesus, How Hast Thou Offended

I had never heard this hymn before, but we sang it tonight at the Good Friday services and the words have stuck with me... aside from a great melody, the words are just really powerful, so I thought I would share them with you, fitting for the solemnity of Good Friday:

Ah, holy Jesus, how hast Thou offended,
That man to judge Thee hath in hate pretended?
By foes derided, by Thine own rejected,
O most afflicted.

Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon Thee?
Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone Thee.
’Twas I, Lord, Jesus, I it was denied Thee!
I crucified Thee.

Lo, the Good Shepherd for the sheep is offered;
The slave hath sinned, and the Son hath suffered;
For man’s atonement, while he nothing heedeth,
God intercedeth.

For me, kind Jesus, was Thy incarnation,
Thy mortal sorrow, and Thy life’s oblation;
Thy death of anguish and Thy bitter passion,
For my salvation.

Therefore, kind Jesus, since I cannot pay Thee,
I do adore Thee, and will ever pray Thee,
Think on Thy pity and Thy love unswerving,
Not my deserving.

[Ah, Holy Jesus, How Hast Thou Offended. Words: Jo­hann Heer­man, 1630, Herz­lieb­ster Je­su; trans­lat­ed from Ger­man to Eng­lish by Ro­bert S. Bridg­es, 1899]

What's your story, friend?

Wednesday night, I was on a night flight out of Boston, significantly delayed because of wind somewhere elsewhere, like Chicago, keeping our plane from making it to us. As we 60+ slightly peeved passengers sat waiting at the small gate, with the squalky child and two yappy puppies, we were soon distracted by a different hullabaloo.

About 20 feet to my left, our offender was easier to smell or hear than to see. Camouflaged behind a pillar, he was heatedly debating health care policy with anyone within a 10 foot radius, welding insults and opinions as if it they were life or death matters. His scent betrayed the fact that he had in fact been indulging at at least one neighborhood bar rather liberally... multiple times.

While he seemed to think that he was well-beloved by his neighbors at the gate, they seemed to wish for a slightly higher fence between them... especially when he asked "do you want to fight about it?" (I think "it" was Nancy Pelosi's attractiveness, if anyone cares) and took off his jacket, albeit rather clumsily (navigating sleeves becomes exceedingly complicated with double vision), as if to start said fight... finally, the flight attendants in residence intervened and he left the gate briefly, hypothetically to cool down. Within about five minutes, he returned to the gate, beer in hand, and happily plopped down next to the same neighbors, greeting them as if they were dearly loved friends, completely befuddled by their less than warm welcome. Short term memory seemed to fade quickly for this one.

Long story short, when given the option of choosing between his beer or taking the flight, he chose to fight the matter over the moral liberties and rights of having his beer and flying too, and the state police arrived shortly thereafter to inform him of his rights therein and escort him from the premises. Needless to say, he did not fly the friendly skies with us that night...

Regardless, the story gets more interesting to me because, as I flew home this morning, on an exceedingly early and very on-time flight back into Boston, this same gentleman was sitting across the aisle from me, on the flight this time. This time, much subdued, red-faced, and looked tear-stained, as if many a tear had been shed very recently. He slept most of the way and otherwise stared aimlessly into space, not talking to anyone...

And it just made me wonder... what happened between Wednesday and Sunday? What's your story, friend?

How did you make it down to Virginia?
What happened while you were there?
What's the tragedy behind your bravado?
Why were you drinking?
Why were you crying?

See often times, I'm tempted to release these narratives as merely humorous escapades demonstrating how I tend to encounter the craziest people (which is a true fact). But I forget to ask the question "why"? Or, I miss the fact that these narratives are about real people with real stories and real stuff going on below the surface. And I think in some ways, I realized this week that that's actually very arrogant and self-centered of me. I use someone else's story for my own repertoire. And I neglect them in the process. Not that I'm going to stop relating humorous anecdotes (that feels wasteful). But perhaps I should learn to look at them from more angles than just my own...

And ask the question, "What's your story, friend?" Why were you drinking? Why were you crying?

Turning

So I suppose that I should follow up on my last post by telling the rest of the story... you need not fret dear reader, God is the ultimate lover, and he pursues his children, even when they very much do not want to be pursued...

On Friday afternoon, still very much angry, I decided to go for a walk... as I began to walk, I felt like God's presence was walking with me, and what ensued thereafter felt very much like a dialogue between me and God... this is how it felt like it went:

Me: God, I don't really want to talk to you right now. I'm pretty angry. Please go away.

God: That's ok. We don't have to talk. I just want to walk with you.

Me: I don't want to think about these questions that are making me angry any more. And I definitely don't want to talk about them.

God: That's ok. Let's just walk together.

[so I continued walking. not talking, not thinking, just walking]. [a little bit later]:

Me: God, I'm sorry, I feel really ugly right now, both inside and out, in the midst of my anger.

God: Do you know that my delight in you is every bit the same now, when you are ugly, angry, and closed off, as it is when you delight in me. I love you and delight in you.

And that was the end of our conversation... but that gentle love and steady presence was what I needed at that time. I still don't have answers. I still don't like my options. And the questions are still frustrating to me when I think about them for too long. But what has changed is that I've decided to turn and bring my hurts, questions, and frustration to God, rather than running away from him in my anger. To wrestle with him, rather than against him.

I am still in the painful process of dying to self. But I am also being pursued, carried, and led by a God who loves perfectly, and deeply, even in the times that are painful.

And I am choosing to turn toward Him, rather than run away.

Dying to Self

Anger is a strange emotion. It can be aggressive. It can be passive. It can be for no reason, or for very deep reasons. Often times it is merely sadness moved into offensive position.

And today, I am angry.

And, I think, if I'm honest, my anger is primarily directed at God.

• "But you KNOW me!"
• "Why do you only ask me to consider things that are hard, painful and difficult?"
• "Why would you even think of asking me to do that?"
• "I thought you were a God of new life, abundance and joy, of spacious places, but this feels trapping, confining, bitter and like returning to the grave-clothes."

And yes, I do know that he is God, that he knows better than me, that he is good, that he acts on my behalf, and that ultimately his plan is the best.

But at the moment, I'm still angry. And my anger comes from being asked to die to self. To let go of my plan, my ideals, my agenda, my desires, and my hopes, and let Jesus lead. Wherever, Whenever, and Whatever that means. And no matter what Christians will tell you, the act of dying to yourself is a painful process. It does not come naturally, and we fight against it with everything inside of us, even as we know that it is exactly what we need to do and even what we want to do.

And I will get to that point eventually, of dying to self, of letting go, of free falling. But at the moment, I'm still in the death throws.

I tried so hard /And got so far /But in the end /It doesn't even matter I had to fall /To lose it all /But in the end /It doesn't even matter [linkin park, "in the end"]

latex

Conversation overheard on the T tonight:

Girl: I'm allergic to latex.
Boy: So glad that I hate wearing condoms.
Boy: But don't worry, I tested HIV negative...

I'm not even entirely sure how to react to that...

Someone's son

This morning I was riding the T home, after meeting up with my spiritual director. As usual, when I changed trains at downtown crossing, there were a large number of both homeless men and women and very strange men and women on the platform. For whatever reason, this particular station seems to attract that crowd.

But today, one gentleman in particular caught my eye. He was upper middle-aged, wearing a white T-shirt that was at least 3 sizes too big, and pants that barely stayed up, carrying a heavy winter coat over his arm. He was weaving and reeling like the late night crowd leaving a bar after closing time, even though it was only 1pm.

He talked to everyone, but not in real words or sentences, just mumbled and sometimes shouted garbled blather. He seemed angry, frustrated, but mostly just crazy. He had no sense of personal space and his odor did not remain personal either.

He then began to spasm and seize as though he was having a seizure, but he wasn't. His body would writhe and then stop; writhe and then stop; writhe and then stop. The effects of his spasms were magnified by the 100+ cans that he held closely behind him, making the sounds of trash collectors or tympani, you pick. Then he would pick up his bag full of cans, in total perhaps summing to $5.00 in value, and move, weaving and reeling, rattling, to the next seat on the platform, where he would once again invade the personal space of the disturbed passenger who would try very hard to pretend that he was not there.

He was obnoxious. He was a little frightening. And in all honesty, I was very glad to be on the opposite platform, going the opposite direction.

But as I watched him, I was struck by one single thought:

"He is someone's son."

And in the middle of Downtown Crossing, standing on the train platform, I began to weep.

Simple reality.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had new eyes to see with deeper compassion: he's someone's son. She's someone's daughter. Obnoxious, irritating, frustrating, ugly, beautiful, rich, poor, homeless, public figure, handicapped, Olympic athlete, peacemaker, warmonger, diplomat or debutant, prostitute or Nobel Prize winner, he was once loved by someone. She was once loved by someone.

And if he or she was loved by no one else, they were and are loved by God.

He's Someone's son. And she's Someone's daughter.

Have mercy, Lord, and give us new eyes to see.

sleepless in...

Airports that I have slept in: Stansted, Luton, Heathrow, Dusseldorf, and now add O'Hare.

It's 5:14am local time in Chicago and I am waiting on a standby flight home... in the last 10 nights, I have slept in a bed 8 nights, gotten 4 or less hours of sleep 2 times, and gotten more than 6 hours of sleep 2 times, slept on a bus, slept in an airport, slept on a creaky bunk-bed, slept through a party, slept through a fight, slept with two different strangers, and seen the ugly side of 4am 3 times. :)

And the verdict is in: KG can sleep through anything, in any position, and any location.

Such is the adventure of my spring break [27 hr bus ride and service trip from boston to new orleans with students, then college friend's wedding in chicago].... and I wouldn't trade it for anything!

Last night I dreamt that I was attempting to decorate a nursery in the theme of the Princess and the Frog and was very nervous that I would set my child up for frog-failure. Not sure what "frog-failure" meant, but that was the 2am fear. I also dreamt that I was a ninja. Not sure how those two fit together, but that is the perk of sleeping in strange places: very strange dreams!

And news flash, airports: as helpful as those security alert warnings are when we are flying, at 3am, when there are no flights leaving and all the residents of Hotel Airport Floor are attempting to grab 40 winks, they are less than helpful.

None-the-less, fun as it has been, I must say, I am more than eager to finally see my own bed again. :)

the death of a mouse

For the last three weeks, my room has smelled somewhat questionably odious. Somewhat like a combination of wet sneakers and dried blood and dirty animal fur, with a few rotten eggs thrown in for good measure. It reeked.

And last night, I discovered the source of the rank odor.

See, I had lost an earplug, so I was reaching down behind my bed (between the bed and the wall) where it is very dark and dusty, to attempt to find said earplug. Since I could not see particularly well, I was running my hand along the floor board, navigating by feel... [note to self: bad idea].

And then, my hand touched something soft and somewhat squishy. Life-like, if you will. Except very much not so.

After briefly succumbing to my weak stomach and hatred for all things small and dead that involuntarily leads to screaming ever so quickly, but oh so girlishly, I pulled out my cell phone light to investigate the soft small form of my formerly furry friend, Rasputin. Yes, in fact dead and now three weeks into the decomposition process under my bed. Ashes to ashes, dust unto dust. Or in this case, entrails now leaving the body and mingling with the dust on my floor. Rest in peace, Rasputin. Please take your insides with you next time. Yuck.

G.R.O.S.S.

But as I reflected upon this, I was struck again by how something so small which is dead and rotten, can pollute such a large space with such a large odor, yet remain so hidden, until you dig down into the dark and dusty places.

And from that, how like our sin this is... we know that something smells, we can see the ways in which it permeates our lives and relationships in not-so-delightful ways, but we often miss the root of it, because it is so deeply hidden in dark and dusty places. Or, worse, we become so accustomed to the stench, that we cease looking for the source and we don't even notice the odor, unless someone else happens to smell it or point it out.

And that, in a nutshell, is one of the reasons that we're called to be in community. Because God is more concerned with our holiness than our contentedness or happiness. He doesn't want us to settle into a comfortable place amidst the stench. He laments when we begin to think that the smell of death is "normal" and "okay." We need other people in our lives who can smell the stench clearly and are willing to root around with us, into the dusty and dark places, to pull out the decaying and rotting goop of mouse entrails and sin.

Someone who walks into the room and says, "Man, that wreaks! Smells like something died in here. You should do something about that" is observationally helpful, but beyond that, just kind of annoying. And more of a critic than a friend.

But a real friend, who smells the stench, and is willing to root around in the dark and dusty places with you, who is fighting with you against that sin, that stench, that death- that, friends, is a needed, desired, and beloved community.

May we become more like that.

And may I never have to touch another dead mouse ever again. Please God.

humble me, Lord.

Humble me, Lord.

Forgive me for the ways in which I love your gifts more than I love the giver...

Forgive me for the ways in which I am silent out of fear, when you ask me to speak with boldness...

Forgive me for the times in which I speak, when I should listen or be silent instead...

Forgive me for the times when I do not love well those whom you have called me to love...

Forgive me for the ways in which I think of myself as better, more skilled, or more holy than I ought...

Forgive me for thinking that I must always be the teacher, when often you want me to be the student...

Would you humble me, Lord?

what could we improve on?

... my favorite question on any group survey. But you know what I realized this morning? I think that 9 times out of 10, when I have answered these or received these surveys back, the answers have centered around an idea of "I wish the community aspect were [better/deeper/more real/more prevalent/present/stronger/fill-in-the-blank]."

And this isn't just an observation: I just finished filling out a survey where I answered the same thing. But this is a curious phenomena to me... Are we really just that lousy at community, in most organizations, Christian ones in particular? Or is there something deeper going on there?

I vote there's something deeper going on here. Shocker.

See I've been in some groups where there's been pretty darn awesome community: my women's small group in high school, my current apartment, my small group in Chapel Hill, my apartment senior year of college, the small group I led for three years in college, just to name a few of a long list. But even in those really healthy and good places, I think I still would have answered the survey question with: I'd love more community!

Why?

I think there is something in us that longs to be fully known, and fully loved. Unconditionally. Naked and Unashamed, so to speak. And thus, even when we taste really good community, we long for more of it. We are "wired for intimacy" (to steal a book title from William Struthers) and built for relationship.

Which brings me to your favorite holiday and mine, which we celebrate today: Valentines Day!

Here's the headline, shocker, but I don't think we long for a valentine's day schnook'ums because we really want the chocolates and pink and red card complete with lacy frill, or red roses by the dozen.

I think the longing there is the same longing we experience when we return surveys saying, "I want to have better community." I think it's the same longing that leads some marriages, 5 years in, to fall apart because, "She just doesn't know me anymore" or "I don't even know him anymore." It's the same longing that we feel when we're giddy just beginning a relationship, or devastated, ending one. And, I even think it's the same longing that leads some of us to isolate ourselves and withdraw from any form of community. We long to be known and loved, fully. We long to be naked and unashamed.

We long for the Garden again.

So here's my point: I think this longing is a good and holy one. And I think it's great for churches, groups, marriages, relationships, friendships to strive for really good community and really deep "knowing and being known." But I do not think that we will ever find that "perfection" of community that we long for, this side of the kingdom of God. And I think often times, we will miss out on really amazing community because we are looking for, in humans, the kind of community that only God can provide.

And God will provide. We hold on to hope for that. And we rejoice when we see that holy community imitated, however well or poorly, here and now! But in the meantime, I think there are a few helpful tips for us in the here-and-now:

1) Affirm that the longing for real community is good! It is true. It is good. It is one of the most real things about us in our humanity. But also affirm that human community is flawed, imperfect, and a work in progress. Give up the wish-dream of perfection in a spouse, significant other, friend, community, or church.

2) Recognize that community starts with you. As you look for a good spouse, significant other, church, campus group, etc., ask yourself, "Am I initiating good community?" "Am I being the type of friend/person that I'm looking for?" Community is made by joint effort, not acquired.

3) Look to Jesus for the deepest community. Because he alone fully knows you and fully loves you. He is the perfection of community. And before him, you can stand naked and unashamed. He is the consummation of your longing. :)

a minister's confession

taken from the "Valley of Vision" (collection of puritan prayers and devotions), excerpts p. 187, entitled "A Minister's Confession"

O God,
I know that I often do thy work without thy power,
and sin by my dead, heartless, blind service,
my lack of inward light, love, delight,
my mind, heart, tongue, moving without thy help.

I see sin in my heart in seeking the approbation of others;
This is my vileness, to make men's opinion my rule, whereas
I should see what good I have done,
and give thee the glory,
consider what sin I have committed and mourn for that.

It is my deceit to preach, and pray,
and to stir up others' spiritual affections
in order to beget commendations,
whereas my rule should be daily to consider myself more vile
than any man in my own eyes.

But thou dost show thy power by my frailty,
so that the more feeble I am, the more fit to be used,
for thou dost pitch a tent of grace in my weakness.

Help me to rejoice in my infirmities and give thee praise,
to acknowledge my deficiencies before others
and not be discouraged by them,
that they may see thy glory more clearly.

Teach me how I must act by a power supernatural,
whereby I can attempt things above my strength,
and bear evils beyond my strength,
acting for Christ in all, and
having his superior power to help me.

Let me learn of Paul
who presence was mean,
his weakness great,
his utterance contemptible,
yet thou didst account him faithful and blessed.

Lord, let me lean on thee as he did,
and find my ministry thine.

Contempt for Contempt

With regard to relationships of any nature:

"Have contempt for contempt."

- Francis de Sales, "An Introduction to a Devout Life," cited in "Sacred Marriage" (Gary Thomas), p.54

Discuss.

is it God or is it me?

All of us, in some way or another, long to hear from God. But how does one tell whether what you are hearing is merely your own thoughts projected on God, or actually the voice of God?

I've had a number of conversations recently about discerning God's voice, and so, in light of that, I thought I would share a few "check-points" taken from an article by Laura Thiel, entitled "Hearing God's Voice" (Prayer Ministry Manual, p. 37) which I have found to be very helpful.

--
1. Does what you are hearing contradict Scripture? All leadings from God are consistent with His Word, the Bible. When we listen to God, we do not expect God to say anything new doctrinally.

2. Does the voice gently lead you in a direction, or is it commanding and harsh? God’s voice gently guides and encourages, giving you hope.

3. Remember:
a. God leads, Satan drives
b. God convicts, Satan condemns and brings guilt
c. God woos, Satan tugs hard
d. God does not use fear to motivate

4. Simply write down what you hear and wait for confirmation. Joyce Huggett suggests asking God for 3 confirmations (through God’s word, through circumstances and through other people) before moving forward with what you are hearing from God.

5. Bill Hybels' “Cautions for Leadings”
a. If a leading requires you to make a major, life-changing decision in a very short period of time, question it.
b. If a leading requires you to go deeply in debt or place someone else in a position of awkwardness, compromise or danger, question it.
c. If a leading requires you to shatter family relationships or important friendships, question it.
d. If a leading creates unrest in the spirits of mature Christian friends or counselors as you share it with them, question it.

8. Be very careful when you say, God wants… God is saying… Having access through Jesus to God is a very powerful thing so with it we must exercise great caution. It is often wiser [specifically when praying for others] to say instead:

a. It’s my sense that…
b. I wonder if God…
c. Or make a question from what you are hearing
--

what Disney gets wrong.

As a child, I remember loving Disney movies, for an extended period of my adolescence. My personal favorites were movies like Mulan, Aladdin, and Beauty and the Beast, because the heroines could pretty much beast the entire playground and my female empowerment days started young. I was not, and let's be honest, still am not really, a romantic.

But at the same time for me, as for many young women, there was something beautiful about the stories of romance contained within the fairy tales that Disney movies portray: Cinderella, pursued and rescued from her ashes by Prince Charming; Beauty, softening and winning over the beast, who then fights to rescue her; the Prince riding in on his white horse, and waking Sleeping Beauty from her death-sleep with a single kiss; and the happily ever after which inevitably comes. And, like it or not, I think in some way, many of us carry those fairy tale understandings of relationships into our real relationships.

We expect that we will be the Beauty who changes the Beast or the Prince who rescues Cinderella. We look for Love's kiss to awaken new things in us that will enable us to "live happily ever after." We expect that once we work out the legs/flippers exchange, that life will be hunky dory and singing seagulls will croon lullabies in four-part harmony to us as we sail off into the sunset. And we expect that we'll "know" that it's the "right one" when the conditions above (our fairy tales) are met, either in us, or the other person.

And those are not necessarily bad things to long for, to hope for: in fact, I think the fairy tale story often points to our holy longings for real, whole relationship, consummated only with Jesus (minus singing seagulls). But I think when we place those expectations on real-time, real-people relationships, or on our real selves, we often end up with real disappointment.

If I expect my significant other to be Prince Charming all the time, I am going to be disappointed when I wake up one morning and find out that he's Shrek, complete with smelly layers. And vice versa, if he expects Belle, the perfect princess (literate and feisty too), he's going to very disappointed when one day he finds out that he has the Beast instead. And, while I have a pretty healthy self-esteem, if I have expectations for myself that I will be Ariel, always giving up my gills for legs for the man of my dreams, always loving selflessly, then I set myself up for failure, and vice versa.

As my friend and former mentor, Alex says, it's the difference between hopes and expectations in relationships... Hope is good. Expectations can be quite costly.

Fairy tales are great, in that they spark our longings for a bigger story, with a happily ever after and the ideal play-out of all situations. But they make lousy guides for relational expectations. And they set us up for failure when we place those expectations on ourselves or our significant other.

Let me just cut to the quick:

You are messy.
So is your significant other [or future significant other].
We do not live in a Disney world and that's a good thing.
Placing Disney expectations on your relationship is not wise.

But, friends, there is hope! Because happily ever after does not come from you or your significant other or even your nearly perfect relationship. It comes from Jesus taking what is messy and redeeming, restoring, and renewing it. Our hope and our expectations come from the fact that we are part of a bigger story, one with the real Prince (Jesus) wooing the real Princess (the Church), winning the real war, and establishing his real kingdom on earth.

That is both our hope and our expectation.

living in hope

So a friend of mine has this theory that you feel more confident when you wear fun underwear. I'm not much of a dressy type of gal, so I've never really bought into the fun panties thing. But she recently convinced me to reconsider that stance on life, so I gave in and bought a few pairs of fun panties. Among the bunch I picked up a pair that have the word "HOPE" written all over them. Reminds me of being 5 or 6 and wanting to wear the ones with Disney princesses on them...

Too much information? Perhaps.

Why am I telling you this? Great question.

Because these days I am trying to live in hope. And I figured I could start with a literal translation of that life goal (Har Har Har!).

But seriously now... lately I've been thinking a lot about the idea of living in hope. Not as a groundless, idealistic, irrational idea, but as deep and life-transforming way of living.

Hope, to desire with confident expectation for that which is not yet had or seen, is something which is rather foreign to me. Hope, as my spiritual director puts it, is the opposite of worry. It is desiring or expecting good, rather than expecting and imagining all the things that could go wrong. It is the other half of a balanced, logical, rational approach to life: considering the possibilities of what could go wrong BUT ALSO allowing ourselves to consider the possibilities of how it could go well.

Hope is expecting good things to come. Worry and anxiety are expecting bad things to come. Hope is grounded in the fact that we believe in a good God who loves his children and acts for their good and his glory, not their harm. Worry and anxiety are grounded in logical questions, yes, but more deeply, a profound distrust that God is actually (a) good, (b) for us, and (c) capable.

I tend to live more in the realm of worry and anxiety. Let's be honest. But because I do believe that God is good, is for us, and is capable of acting, in recent days, I have been trying to live more in hope, even in the little things. Both tangibly and practically.

May that become more and more my mode of operation.

And no, I will not be pulling out the Disney Princesses any time soon.

running the marathon

So, for those of you who know me well, you know that I love to run. Hate it at times too, but mostly just love to run. But I am not by nature a distance runner. I run for the sole purpose of the sprint to the finish. I love running so fast that you cannot stop to breathe, feeling the wind rushing by, and the burn of muscles that you know will push you through and across the line. I've always been a sprinter, and have only in the past decade begun to train myself to be a distance runner.

Even so, I'm always in it for the sprint to the finish. That last tenth of a mile is my absolute favorite, and I will always sprint it, no matter how tired I am.

Not a patient one, this one.

But I think God has been teaching me a bigger lesson, as I change my running habits from sprinter to distance runner. I think, in many ways, I want life to be more like a sprint as well. Fast. Exhilarating. Breath-taking. Adventure-filled. Hill-free. Ache-free.

But life and love are not a sprint. They're more like a marathon.

The Boston marathon begins out in Hopkinton, a small, non-distinct town, 26.2 miles outside of Boston. The enthusiasm in the morning is indescribable and palpable, as runners begin their course. The marathon then runs through Natick and Wellsley, through Newton and then the Fens and the Back Bay, finally into Boston. Parts of it are flat and marked solely by large fields and trees, other parts are suburban and hilly. Parts are populated by posh houses or run down trailers, some with rows of people standing and cheering, others with no people standing and cheering. As it runs its course through Newton, near Boston College, there's heartbreak hill, the fourth of the major Newton hills, perfectly timed at the place that most runners "hit the wall," the painful and steep ascent of which sends many runners home. And then 5 more miles to the finish.

It is only after these 26 grueling miles, that runners hit the sprint for the finish, down through Copley Square and across the finish line.

Of course, there are some runners who can sprint a 5 minute mile pace for the entire 26.2 miles without literally having their legs turn into monkey poo and tumbling feet over head onto the ground. But for most runners, the marathon involves steadfastness, pushing through the pain, choosing to continue to run, committing to making it across the line, pacing ourselves, and continuing to engage in both the exhilarating moments and the painful moments.

Same thing is true with life and love.

There are moments of exhilaration and sprinting. But most of it is choosing to faithfully engage, to continue running, to enjoy the scenery as it passes, and to press in, rather than stop running.

A non-professional sprint is easy. You only have to engage briefly. A marathon takes work. It takes time. You are guaranteed to have heartbreak hills. But the reward of choosing to do it is life-long, defining, and character-building. And the finish line is that much more exciting!

After all, when's the last time you heard a non-record breaker, non-Olympian brag,

"Oh yeah? Well, I ran 100 meters the other day."

learning to love sushi and hate octopus

So when I around 7-8 years old, we discovered that I was allergic to fish. My family was never entirely sure exactly what kinds of fish I was allergic to, suffice to say we knew that in general, it ran the gamut from shrimp to crab to lobster, halibut, flounder, mahi-mahi, etc. Some more severe than others. Every type I tried, with the exception of canned tuna, I had some form of reaction to. Nothing life-threatening, I would just throw up or get severe stomach cramps somewhere between 3 to 5 hours later. Not pleasant, but it was what it was...

And every few years, I would try it again, just to see if the allergy was still present. And it always was. So I just wouldn't eat fish regularly... for the last 18 years.

And then [this is the part that is still slightly bizarre], near the end of November, I was wrestling through some pretty deep issues with God, while doing a quiet time, where I felt like he was really asking me to step out in faith and not fear... and still in prayer, near the end of processing through those things, I had a very strange image in my mind of a bright blue fish swimming along in really beautiful water, and I felt like God was saying to me,

"I want you to eat fish again, free from effect. This is my hand. No more fear."

Bizarre. Yes, I am aware. This is an allergy that I've had for 18 years... and what a weird thing to hear from God? Bizarre, yes. Potentially just my mind playing tricks on me? But, I made the leap of faith and gave it another shot. Albeit, very skeptically from the get-go, but still trying.

And, two months later, I am happy to report, I am fish allergy free. I am discovering fish that I never knew existed. I am trying things that I never thought I'd like, and loving it! And I have definitely found some that I'm not super fond of. Octopus, no matter what they tell you, not so tasty, definitely really chewy.

Maybe I just outgrew the allergy. Maybe New England fish don't contain the allergen that I had reactions to earlier. Maybe this is a fluke and it will end sometime soon. Or maybe this is actually a gift from God. Either way, the lesson still remained behind:

If the Lord calls you to step out in faith, step out in faith without fear.

Thankfully God has been just as faithful in the other areas where he asked me to step out in faith as he has been in this one... such is his character. Where he asks us to step out, he always meets us.

time to stop being a hummingbird

Did you know that, according to wikipedia, hummingbirds are the smallest of all birds, yet they can fly at speeds exceeding 15 meters/sec, they can hover motionless in the air, they can flap their wings 12-90 times per second, and they are the only bird that can fly backwards? They are called hummingbirds because of the "hum" their wings make as they flap so rapidly.

Why this needless information, you might ask?

I was thinking about hummingbirds this morning... and all the needless energy they exert, just to remain in the same place. Think about it. They flap their wings at 12-90 times per second, so that they can hover in the air, in exactly the same place. Not going anywhere. Just hovering. Of course, they can also fly super fast backwards and forwards (who wouldn't want to be able to do that), but they're most known for their ability to hover. Seems silly, really. All that energy expended, just to say in the same place.

Yet, how many of us do exactly the same thing?

We are constantly striving, running around, doing, just so that we can keep ourselves afloat. Just so that we can keep ourselves busy enough doing, so that we don't have to stop and face ourselves, as we truly are. We are terrified of what we will find, if we ever slow down.

So we flutter and flap, doing all sorts of good (and bad) things, in order to avoid silence, solitude, or facing ourselves. We attend meetings, we are part of committees, we save children, animals and the environment, we plan events, we work extra hours, we work too little, we play meaningless games, we tune out, we smoke up, we are constantly improving something or someone, we read self-help books, we avoid anything that makes us think, we plug in our ipods, we vent it out to our peers, we drink too much, we party too little, we proclaim everything permissible, we create restrictive moral codes, we surround ourselves with people, we avoid our friends, we fix others to avoid ourselves, we serve, we blog about it, we... the list could go on.

Guilty as charged.

All this fluttering, just to stay afloat.

Guilty as charged.

But I think the invitation that I've been realizing this past week is that just staying afloat is not what I hunger for. Being what I do, is not being who I am. Avoiding facing who I am is not a viable alternative. And I think there is an invitation, for both you and me, to something greater.

But that requires that we stop fluttering around like little bee-sized birds. It requires that we face who we are, in it's brokenness and beauty, and allow Jesus to rename, renew, redeem.

I want to be who I was created to be, not defined by what I do. Not kept afloat by meaningless efforts. But that requires that I honestly stop and face who I am in all of my brokenness and beauty, and invite Jesus to be the one who speaks identity.

It's time to stop being a hummingbird.

Shards of Broken Glass

Author's note: I wrote this poem almost exactly two years ago, as a form of intercession for a dear friend who was going through some pretty intensive and often times seemingly insurmountable brokenness. I pulled it out yesterday, in preparation for a seminar I was leading on using poetry and prose as a form of prayer. Re-reading it, I was reminded of the ways that God had done and is doing exactly what I prayed in this poem... for me and in me. It was neat to see the same piece transformed into a new moment of worship, years later. Jehovah Rapha. God is my healer.

shards of broken glass,
the mirror lies shattered upon the floor.
a pale and broken fragment,
slivers of what she is meant to be.
I stoop to the floor,
hands out-stretched to rescue the
pieces of her soul.
grasping, holding, gasping,
as my hand became bloodied,
and her image, no more whole.
i fall to my knees among the pieces,
knees and hands torn, I
plead to the heavens,
GOD, I cannot mend what has broken,
I cannot heal a broken soul.
then from above
as I weep for her entirety
I hear another weeping,
as my perfect Father sobs
for his broken daughter’s
shattered soul.
and yet,
as he weeps, I see
the blood on the floor transform,
disappear
appearing on his white robes instead,
while the fragments of image
disappear
and his whole, solid, beautiful
daughter stands.
not an image, always doing,
but a fully formed daughter, being.

Lord, I cannot, but you can.
by your stripes, we are healed.

in need of...

In the spirit of continuing to blog more regularly...

Simple observation of the day:

Women need a version of the fist-bump or chest bump (and of course, the double pat on the back).

Life really is duplicitous. and by that I mean vulpine. devious. slippery. and tricky.

[do you like how I'm attempting to use big words, only half correctly, just to honor/irritate my sister the English major?]

Case in point, if you're meeting someone for the first time, you shake their hand. If you know them really well, you give them a hug (unless you're from the UK or the northeast, and then protocol is slightly different). This is true regardless of gender, on either side.

However, should you intrepidly find yourself in the situation of "casual-but-not-deep" friendship/acquaintance, as a woman, you're in deep trouble. You know the relationships I'm talking about: the facebook poke-er, the gchat friend, that older co-worker (often of the opposite gender) with whom you have deep conversations but no shared experiences, your landlord who you repeatedly phone about fire alarms but really don't have a relationship with, your next-door neighbors that you don't really know, or your sister's boyfriend's sister-in-law. Whereas for the man, a simple fist-bump will suffice, a woman is left with no such options. Potential alternatives are:

• go for the hug and then awkwardly abort at the last moment, if it appears the other party is not going to reciprocate
• awkwardly shake hands, which feels far too formal for a borderline-almost friendship
• do the nod (Tilt chin up rapidly at a 45 degree angle. Beware of neck strain-age.) It's more effective when you can appropriately throw in a "w'assup?"
• just smile and nod and stand a good 5 feet away from them
• go for the hug and don't abort, no matter how awkward it is

Needless to say, all of which leave something to desire... So I will rest my case, women are in need of a version of the fist bump. Unless of course, you have suggestions?

Unleashing desire

As a part of my spiritual formation journey for this coming semester, I've been reading a book called "Invitation to Solitude and Silence" by Ruth Haley Barton, which I would highly recommend. I thought I would share a snippet from my reading this morning, that really struck me:

----

... desire is what stirs underneath our fear... many of us are not very good at acknowledging our desire. As Christians we tend to be skeptical and suspicious of desire, for it is not easily controlled; experience tells us that desire can be like a quiet little campfire that sparks a forest fire engulfing the whole forest. What if I let myself feel my desire and it gets out of control? What if I begin to desire things I can't have? How do I live with the pain of unfulfilled desire?

But the truth is that desire is the life-blood surging through the heart of the spiritual life. You may not realize it, but your desire for God is the truest and most essential thing about you. It is truer than your sin, it is truer than your woundedness, it is truer that your net worth, your marital status or any role or responsibility that you hold...

... when we cut ourselves off from awareness of our desire, we cut ourselves off from the very invitation of God into the intimacy we seek. And so desire, the very human dynamic that often confuses us and muddles our thinking is part of what we carry with us as we walk through the gateway to solitude. If we don't know how to attend to it, we may make the mistake of trying to set it aside or minimize it when instead we need to pay attention to it.

... when we pull back the curtain on our fears and resistance, we are left with our desire-- pure, naked, quivering desire-- which is the surest guide for the spiritual quest. In the end, the human soul will choose what it most wants. If we are brave enough to stay with this experience of wanting something we do not yet have, we discover that underneath all other desire is a desire for God, for love, for the true belonging.

"Invitation to Solitude and Silence" Ruth Haley Barton, excerpts p. 50-52
----

For me, it was actually really helpful to journal through: "OK, what do I desire? The good, the holy, the bent, the deep?" To be honest before God... scary, but good.

Letter to the Fire Department

Dear Three Friendly Firemen-

Thank you so much for responding to our phone call(s) so promptly, even though it was 6:30 in the morning. It is so nice to know that you can make it to our house, even though there are 4+ inches of snow on the ground, in under 10 minutes. Glad that you called off the second truck and your four slightly sarcastic buddies that came along last time; that might have been a tad bit of overkill considering there was NO fire. Oh and thanks for not using the loud sirens this time, the neighbors really appreciated that. And I am so sorry that you felt over-dressed in your full combat gear... at least you were warm in the pelting snow, right? And really, the gear is rather fashionable, albeit bulky (the axe might have been over-kill though?)...

We are so sorry that it was a false alarm yet again. Seems our fire alarms are well-versed in the ability to go off, but not so strong in its discernment gifts as to WHEN to go off. e.g. at 5am, 6:09, 6:32, 6:47, 7:56, 9:25 and 10:51am on a national holiday when there is NO fire might not be the best ideas. Rest assured, while we are not well-rested this morning and in fact rather bleary-eyed, we are very much on the same page as you- this needs to not happen again! We already called the landlord.

So, while it's been lovely seeing you twice in the past month-- please don't take this the wrong way-- I really hope that we won't be seeing you in our apartment (us in our PJ's, you in full combat gear) any time in the near future. Unless you would like to take charge of removing the pigeon tribe who seems to be nesting in our ceiling and literally obeying the divine mandate to be "fruitful and multiply."

Of course, if there ever is an actual fire, we are entirely grateful that you already know the way to our house and hope that you won't be so tired of false alarms that you will automatically mute our call button.

Sincerely,
the Residents of Suite High Life

"Do you want to get well?"

A few months ago, I had a conversation with a friend who has had a specific physical disability since birth. At one point in the conversation, my friend asked our friend, "would you ever consider asking for healing prayer, with regard to that specific physical disability?" Our friend's response has stuck with me since that time. They replied,

"Honestly, no, because I'm scared of having to re-learn how to live. I don't want to have to re-learn how to do everything that I've learned how to do with limited capacity. I am comfortable with my current means of navigating life."

It was striking to me, because it wasn't a fear that nothing would happen. Rather, it was a fear of what would happen if healing were to occur. It was a fear of wholeness, because it would require re-programming, re-learning, adjusting, not a fear of being let down. And I have to admit, I was very tempted to be judgmental. Why wouldn't you want to be made well, even if it required a new operating system?!

The book of John tells a story of a paralytic, that strikes a very similar chord:

Some time later, Jesus went up to Jerusalem for a feast of the Jews. Now there is in Jerusalem near the Sheep Gate a pool, which in Aramaic is called Bethesda and which is surrounded by five covered colonnades. Here a great number of disabled people used to lie—the blind, the lame, the paralyzed. One who was there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, "Do you want to get well?" [john 5:1-6]

And here as well, I've always wondered... why would Jesus ask this question? Isn't it a given that you would want to be healed? But as I've sat with this question a bit more, specifically considering it in my own context, I think I've begun to see it on a slightly deeper level.

Let me be transparent. I had a conversation with my supervisors this past week, in which they challenged me to deal with some personal issues, relating to performance-based identity and fear of failure, during this coming semester. At one point in time, I made the comment,

"I just don't have a lot of hope to change in this because this has been my operating system for as long as I can remember. I know it's not ideal, but I've learned how to function and even thrive in this. It's been present for so long that I cannot imagine anything else. I don't know that I want to dig in here."

In a nutshell, "I'm pretty content with my method of dealing with things. It's working okay- not ideal- but okay. So, let's not deal with this right now."

In other words, I too answer "no, actually, I'm okay." Thanks, but no thanks. Go heal someone else.

But Jesus is persistent. He is not content with our mediocre solutions. He did not come to bring "moderately surviving" but sight for the blind and freedom for the captives. He said to the paralytic, "Get up! Pick up your mat and walk!" [john 5:8]

It must have been terrifying for the paralyzed man to get up and walk. No, really. I bet it was terrifying. And I bet it required a lot of life-style adjustments. Like, oh say, leaving the pool area. Getting a job. Buying shoes. Not being able to excuse things based on his inability to walk. I'm sure it was terrifying.

But I bet it was also one of the most amazing things that he'd ever experienced. Freedom. Walking on his own. Running. Leaping. Tripping, and then being able to get himself back up again. Being able to ride a camel without being specially belted on. Being able to kneel to pray.

And so the question returns to us: Kristen, do you want to get well? Dear reader, do you want to get well? Will you allow Jesus to press into those areas of brokenness, to call you to new things, to re-program your operating system, to bring life back to the ruins, and rebuild the places long devastated?

Terrifying, yes. What we need and long for, yes.

Faith. Hope. Love.

New year, new attempts to update the blog regularly? We shall see how long this lasts...

This morning, I was thinking about faith, hope and love.

So much of my job is about just that... having faith in the unseen and for the unknown; hoping beyond present reality, for what seems impossible by human means... and loving people and God in the midst of all of that. "Now these three remain, faith, hope, and love..." [1 Cor 13:13] In a nutshell, this is what ministry entails: faith, hope, and love.

... faith that God will act, is acting, and has acted on behalf of his people
... faith that God is who He says he is
... faith, for my students, when they find it impossible to believe for themselves
... hope for the transformation and wholeness of students that I interact with
... hope for things that are bigger than I can personally accomplish
... hope for the development, faith, gifts, and formation of my students
... hope for students who find themselves without hope
... love for who my students are presently, even as I hope for whom they will become
... love for my campus, even as I hope for redemption and transformation therein
... love for anyone I interact with, no matter how unlovable they feel, act, or seem

Faith. Hope. Love.

All of these require vision beyond our present tense. They require hope for that which is currently unrealized and perhaps impossible by human standards, faith for what is currently unseen and bigger than human comprehension, and love that runs deeper than just the situation at present and is beyond human capacity.

All three require transformation by God. None of them are possible on our own. Such is ministry. It cannot be based on our capacities. Otherwise, it will be shallow, limited, and kind of boring. We must be transformed before we have anything of real worth to offer in ministry.

So, that's my prayer for today: "God would you transform me? Would you give me your eyes to see today, seeing beyond what is in the present tense... seeing instead with faith, hope and love."

Death of a Plant.

Just got home from two and a half weeks of traveling, encompassing four states, three regions of the country, multiple modes of transportation, five different overnight locations, including one airport bench, many giggles, too many memories to count, and far too many clothes wrinkled from suitcase dwelling for too long. Must say, it's good to be home again, even though I wish I could be in multiple places simultaneously.

At any rate, I returned home earlier this week to find my plant-that-never-dies completely withered and dried up. Thus far, I have been unable to resurrect it. KG, the plant killer, strikes again. I suppose 2.5 weeks of no water, no light, and no love will do almost anything in, no matter how tough, weathered, or indestructible it might be.

I'm holding out some hope that it might rise again, because the roots still seem strong. But at the moment, it is deader than the lab rats that one of my mentors may or may not have baptized in liquid nitrogen and then thrown against a brick wall. Kaputz.

So why do I share this? What's the take-home?

There are parts of us that are incredibly strong. Parts of me that are incredibly strong. And often times, not always, but often, those parts are strong because they've had to be. They've seen abuse, neglect, absence, hardship, etc. They have not been sufficiently watered. And so they survive. Often times for years on end. Out of necessity, they are hardened, weather-worn, survivors who can endure, often times without appearing even to be fazed.

But life without water is no way to live. It is no life at all. And eventually those parts of you, those parts of me, like my plant, will wither and die unless healing actually happens.

Jesus answered, "Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life." [john 4:13-14]

I don't know about you, but I desperately want those "strong" parts softened in living water. What does that look like? I don't know. But I know that I need it... and I know that it will require changing mode of operation, vulnerability, lots of care and intentionality, and some hard re-programming.

But life without water is no way to live.