where else would i go?

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

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

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

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

Saying no to weak-sauce strength...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And my question for you is:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hope it is for you as well!

Buried Treasure

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

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

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

Fin.

I believe in the Resurrection (cont'd)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The power of the resurrection changes everything.

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

I believe in the Resurrection

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

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

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

Resurrection power changes everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resurrection power changes everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resurrection power changes everything.

The Sirens of Power

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

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

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

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

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

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

One phone call away.

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

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

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

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

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