The Long Walk to the... Postbox?

The walk to the mailbox has turned into a journey for me. Each day, I gather my courage, and begin the two-tenths of a mile walk to that little tiny box of metal posted with my address on the front of it: 2544. The road on the way there is idyllic in nature, as the green trees sway overhead, and the small stream runs beside the road. The pond is full of crayfish and crawdads and other creepy crawlies which swim peacefully below its surface. The gravel crunches hard underneath my treads, as I step slowly, one foot after another, heading to my destination. I listen to the birds twitter above and the crickets chirping loudly... there's a chainsaw in the background, but even its rhythmic gestures seem to fit the pristine picture of the North Carolina countryside. A cow lows in the distance, responded to by the sharp barking of the ever fearsome hound-dog protecting its turf from the ever dangerous milk-cow. I have reached my destination.

With a sigh, and a feeling of anticipation, I stretch out my hand to grasp the metal door of the mailbox. Squeamishly expecting the contents to empty themselves at my face, I draw back. What will I find, when the door is open? Will there be a sheaf of intention cards, answering my fund-raising fears? Or will the box be empty, as usual, displaying only the cursory benefits of advertising papers and free razor blades? Empty again. I bow my head, and turn back towards the house. Maybe tomorrow... :-)

Surprising, what little things have had to become acts of faith through the fund-raising journey. Each time the mailbox is empty, I am reminded of my need, and my need to trust God for my every means. Every time the mailbox is fruitful, I am reminded to praise God for his provision. Perhaps it is a good thing that there are often days which are empty, specifically so that I realize the blessings when they do come. A life of luxury and fullness is a blessing, but often it makes us callous and hard to the fact that we do have to rely on God for our every need. We expect luxury, and then it loses its wonder. Then, when dryness comes, we wonder, where is God? God is still there. He has never left. He is merely asking us to trust Him more; to lean on him; even, to need him. Do I need God? Absolutely. When do I learn that lesson? Mostly when I see my need of Him.

So today, I thank God for the empty mailbox. I expect His fullness. But I am content to wait and work until that day. Today, I praise God because I am needy. Blessings come in many sizes and shapes. One of the biggest mistakes we can make is to think that blessings come only in the form of fullness and good gifts. Sometimes God's blessings shine through the most in times of emptiness and want. Today, I praise God because he is blessing me with need.

Straight from the horse's mouth..

So, as I am settling back into the US, I've been noticing language idioms a lot (possibly because they are in English, not Czech, and I can actually understand them!). Allow me to digress briefly... Where I am from, we call people "honey" or "darlin'." Apparently this is odd in the north. The word y'all (which, think about it, is absolutely necessary in terms of having a second person plural pronoun) is a Southernism, and is rarely used effectively in the north. Also, I just learned five minutes ago that it is no longer cool to call someone a goober. Who would have known?

Deeper than that though, there are idioms used in the States, which don't really translate effectively. Literally consider the phrases: "I smell a rat" "Jump the gun" "Cat got your tongue" "Making ends meet" and "Jump down someone's throat." Anyone know where those came from or how they acquired their cultural meaning? Now, pop quiz of the day, take the following phrases, literally translated, and tell me what they mean: "To walk around hot porridge" (Czech) or "He took you on his arm" or "I only understood 'railway station'" (German), or "To lick windows" (French). Get the point? They don't really translate (but they are fun!)

So, the point is... there are some phrases which don't really translate; rather, they require somewhat of a cultural understanding, or a contextual grasp of the situation in order to make any sense at all. Same thing is true with people. There are parts of each of us that cannot be understood on first meeting. They require context and truly listening, before they can be grasped. Reason for relating this? I'm in the process of learning that skill of listening well and listening deeply. To "tie up all the loose ends," often times I (we) are going too fast to really listen. We brush by, breeze through, or skim the surface on a mad rush through town, without really finding the content of anything. We "lick the windows" but don't really buy anything. We "walk around hot porridge" but never get to the point. So what is my point? Dig deeper. Slow down. "Smell the roses." "There's more than meets the eye." I'm learning this lesson slowly, over a long period of time. Join me. I'm not "taking you over my arm." It's worth while.

hometown days...

Ok, geography lesson 101, entitled: Yadkinville. Just for kicks and giggles, I decided to look up Yadkinville, my hometown, on UrbanDictionary.com:

A town that could also be called Nowhere, North Carolina. The biggest event of the past ten years was the addition of Bojangles. This small rural town is characterized by the simple youth hanging out in the parking lots of various establishments on weekends, mainly after dark. But don't worry, they won't hurt you. For the most part they are gentle creatures known to most of the world as "rednecks." Centered in one of the last remaining dry counties it is amazing that you can find the more troubled youth of the area drinking their problems away. Yadkinville, a place that isn't even known to people who live ten minutes away.
Yadkinville is extremly small.

Welcome home, kids, welcome home. Surprisingly accurate. The scariest part? I knew the kid who wrote the definition. Other than that, all that is missing is: population 2,826; number of stoplights: three; number of last names: five; largest export: tobacco; language: Yadkinvillese, distinctly different from pure Southern.

Date with Jesus

John Stott once said that people generally have three reactions when they really encounter Jesus, both in the Bible and now:

1) They hate him and want to kill him
2) They are afraid and run away
3) They fall in love with him, and follow him

Why? Because when they encounter Jesus as he is, they realize that their lives, their worlds, and their ways of doing things have to radically change. Jesus, as he was and is, does not allow room for apathetic acceptance or religious tolerance. He is not merely a good teacher. Jesus demands that lives change.

... and in other thoughts from the sermon (Mark 2:18-3:6) this morning:

-- "Real" Christianity is not measured by the amount of suffering in your life (the gospel is NOT "hit me God, one more time"). It does not exclude suffering, and often trials and sufferings are a large part of the Christian life. But our center should be on the joy for which we suffer. The joy of knowing and loving Jesus. The joy which we look forward to at the wedding feast in heaven. We should always be looking towards the joy, not dreading the next sorrow (Mark 2:19-20). Christianity is not a relationship of pessimism, but of hope, life, and joy. I think as Christians we could certainly learn to live that out on earth a little bit more...

-- The Sabbath is not a list of to-do's with God. Mark 2:27, "The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath." Kevin compared Sabbath rest to having a date with God... taking time to enjoy relationship with him. If we were to go on dates with lists of rules (pick me up at 7:05, wearing only earth tones, drive down main street 7:10, walk for precisely 20 minutes, drive to restaurant at 7:32, talk only about the Met's sloppy performance for 7 minutes, drink half glass of water, use restroom once for five minutes... you get the point) the date would not be fun at all, and certainly would not result in meaningful relationship. Same thing with the Sabbath. Sabbath is about relationship with God, and time spent with God to honor and enjoy his presence. The question we need to be asking ourselves is not, "what can I or can't I do on Sabbath?" but rather "why does a day in quiet with God seem so unappealing to me?"

My House?

Haggai 1:7-10

7 This is what the LORD Almighty says: "Give careful thought to your ways. 8 Go up into the mountains and bring down timber and build the house, so that I may take pleasure in it and be honored," says the LORD. 9 "You expected much, but see, it turned out to be little. What you brought home, I blew away. Why?" declares the LORD Almighty. " Because of my house, which remains a ruin, while each of you is busy with his own house.

Whose house am I building? Whose support am I fundraising? Whose campus am I going to?

On whom am I relying?

back on the farm

So the other night, I had the distinct pleasure of helping my mom with a task which everyone loves... "nipping" the goat's hooves. For those of you not from the farm, let me explain... Essentially it involves wrestling the goat to the ground, physically pinning her on her back, and cutting her toenails with a large set of plier-like clippers. Let me be clear: Goats hate this; mine in particular! However, the process is entirely necessary.

If the hooves are not nipped, they grow over the soft pads of the foot, and often allow dirt and gunk to accumulate on the foot, leading to infection, rot, and in general, bad things. But sometimes the process of cutting the hooves feels more painful than necessary. The goat ends up on her back, sometimes the hoof bleeds if you get too close to the foot itself, and often times, there is an uncomfortable pressure, as the hoof is cleaned out.

As I was sitting on top of my goat, holding her down, and listening to her moan, I started to think about how often times when God has to clean out my heart, my reaction is very similar to my goat's. While God is merely cutting off dead skin, and cleaning out areas which have grown hard, calloused, or infectious, I often moan and cry as if he were purposefully hurting me. He has to prune our hearts, so that they too do not grow infectious or harmful, and sometimes this is a painful process. But ultimately, it is done for our good. And if it is not done, then like my goat, when her hooves are not nipped, we start to limp in our walk. We too begin to suffer the consequences of a life and a heart which are not properly maintained. Sometimes the pruning process comes close to our hearts, and sometimes it's painful. But ultimately, God has our best in mind. And if he doesn't clean out the JUNK in my heart, then I too will not be able to walk the walk that he has planned for me...

twirls...

I really think this is a little girl phenomena, but I love to twirl and be twirled... there is something about the freedom of running and dancing, unabashed, that is beautiful (and fun!)