All this talk about presents is getting me contemplative about why we give them. Sunday school told me that the giver is one who gets the blessing. Or was it the receiver? All this rushing, spending, stressing. Wracking your brain- what did you give last year? Then madly attempting to outdo yourself. To what end? To attain that coveted item only to have it sit, neglected on the counter or collecting dust in a box under the bed.

 What has communicated the most meaning to me? Many things. Except what comes to my mind is not a list of items, but rather experiences with others. Not to be unwrapped, but to be savored over a period of time. The offer to share a meal for a birthday gift. The ridealong companion that happily joins me as I drive around all day attacking a long to do list. The caring soul who enters into my messy apartment and asks to sit with me while I process and cry, warm tears seeping into the shoulder of her sweater. The hospital visit I make while sitting at the bed of a sick friend, offering nothing but a warm hand to hold as she hobbles down the hall, a closed mouth, and open ear. I see encouragement in her eyes.

There is a common characteristic among these occurences; a thread weaving them into something lasting and rich: the gift of presence. Never has someone given me something more worthwhile. The glow of posessions loses its lustre. The closeness of another's warmth lasts long after their departure, for it spreads to the most inner place of me, the place that matters, inspiring me to offer the same warmth.

 

It is for this reason that I believe that God did more than offer a Savior when He sent His only Jesus son to this earth. He knew it too. Because it wouldn't have been enough to send even the greatest, newest, shiniest present to His people. Even if they begged Him for it. He gave, freely and wholeheartedly, what the human soul needed but didn't know:

His presence.

The presence of an average, ordinary-looking, dusty-footed, hard-working man. Deity sharing our skin, facing temptation, feeling defeat. He spoke the tongue of the ones He wanted to woo, shoulder to shoulder walking, obeying the purpose assigned to Him by His Father. He was that companion, not mighty conqueror. He was attentive, not absent. He was that warm hand extended to the marginalized, not a political hero. And though he was asked for many things that would fix or solve, He saw deeper into the heart. His gaze penetrated through even the purest intentions to offer something so life-altering and misunderstood. A meal, a walk, a touch. A gift that would transform. A gift that would be passed down by story-telling and changed lives. A gift that He offers to me today, though in different packaging, as I traverse the bumpy roads of this small, imperfect life. My discouragement, joy, triumph, and work load is shared. The warmth of His presence changes me.

Emmanuel is our God with us. Open up and receive the gift of presence.

Audacious Simplicity of Freedom

One of the great mysteries that amuses me most about life is that lessons learned can be re-learned. Most of the time they should be re-learned because maybe they were not learned fully to begin with. This re-learning is what makes living so fulfilling.

Just recently I got to re-learn. Each Sunday, Kenny and I get to teach a lively group of little ones about Jesus. They have smaller bodies than the college students I work with daily, but the similarities between the two people types are startling. But that's besides the point.

We start each gathering with songs and a story. The kids were ushered into a large room and instructed to sit inside of a large square marked with blue painters tape. Since our numbers were smaller, they were allowed to sit WHEREVER they wanted...as long as it was within the blue tape boundary. I watched, fascinated as a blonde six-year-old wandered around inside the blue tape, an overwhelmingly confused look on her little face. Wherever she wanted? Not in the first grade row like normal? Other kids followed suit. Their agitated expressions gave away their thoughts. The simplicity of freedom was so great, they were paralyzed.

And then I recalled all the ways in which I've lived this way.

When my aunt took me on a ten-year-old excursion to the newest girls' clothing store and told me that I could pick out whatever I wanted. Her offer was so generous that I didn't know how to say yes. And once I said yes, where did I even start?

When God offered me complete forgiveness and favor in exchange for the self-inflicted guilt I quietly struggled with for years. Not just wiped clean, but an co-heiress of Christ, a delight to God? When I look forward into the future and have the realization that I absolutely have the freedom to make decisions (confidently!) within the larger boundaries of His written Word. I do not need to live in fear that I might make a wrong choice and fall off the map of His favor. He pursues me, I respond in obedience to His grace, and his gift to me is freedom.

Can it be that the great truths, the glorious simplicities, are God's most generous gifts to His people, yet they will not be received? How deeply that must hurt him to generously offer gifts yet have the objects of His great affection shake their heads and push them away.

 I want to have the audacity to receive freely with both hands and a thankful heart the  outrageous freedom my Father gives. It blesses the Giver and overjoys the receiver. I want to stop apologetically coming to Him with my neediness in exchange for grace. I want to say yes to expectant faith with wide eyes of anticipation and excitment. I don't want to tiptoe inside the boundaries, paralyzed by the ability to choose. I want to skip around inside the wide open space of grace. I want to say yes to the audacious simplicity of freedom.

When you don't know what to pray

Some mornings start when your eyes flicker open to a warm sun through the window and thoughts jump to the exciting possibilities of the day. Other mornings begin when your eyes are pried forcefully open to the abrasive sound of an alarm and thoughts of the challenges ahead bombard the peaceful morning hours. Your shaky feet hit the floor and drag into the shower. The steam helps clear the heavy sleep haze. Prayer? Yes! Good idea. But then then there are no words, no clear thoughts to define the overall uneasiness holding back your heart. Panic sets in as you try with all your might to muster up the right combination of words to express what you need. You then realize you don't even know what it is that you need, you just need help. You need to be heard. You need to know you're not alone.

"...the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And He who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit..." Rom. 8:26-27 

When you don't know what to pray, remember who it is that you seek. Say His name. Not only do you pray to a Diety, an all-knowing, powerful, Almighty God, you come before a compassionate companion. One who knows you, who yearns to communicate with you. Even uttering the name of Jesus acknowledges that you understand that you are limited and He is able. He delights in hearing His name on the lips of those He loves and is eager to listen. Invite Him into your tangled mess of thoughts. Say His name. 

When you don't know what to pray, cry out. Say what you feel. Allow the current of emotions to pour out of you and don't worry about what it looks like. Your intercessor cares much more about a heart that is genuine than a polished, eloquent soliloquy. Hannah models this well in 1 Samuel 1 when she "cried and cried- inconsolably...her lips moved but no sound was heard". Even a priest could not understand the depth of her emotion, accusing her of drunkenness, but God was honored by her earnesty and granted the desire of her heart to be a mother. Just let it out. Don't worry about holding it all in. Your feelings don't scare your Father. The Spirit interprets the aching groans and translates to God the Father, while knowing the mind of God. Cry out. 

When you don't know what to pray, go back to the basics. Tell Him what you know is true about His character and what His Word says about you. Stating the truth reaffirms what you believe and solidifies trust. If you don't know where to start, pray Scripture, those God-breathed, truth-filled, living words. Tell Him that you believe that He's God. That He is able to make all things work together for the good of those who love Him (Rom. 8:28). That there is nothing that can separate you from His love (Rom. 8:38). That you are created purposefully and intimately known (Psalm 139). That if you cast your anxieties on Him, He cares and will sustain. (1 Peter 5:7). And say these things with thankfulness. A grateful perspective is the hearty antidote for any kind of bitter, melancholic, resentful, anxious mood. These reminders seem so simple, but maybe it is the simple things that unclutter the complicated ways of the heart. Go back to the basics. 

On those mornings, those shaky weak-hearted mornings when you don't know what to pray, here's a few good places to start. What a relief to know that prayer is not as much a recipe as it is an open dialogue. An invitation to come without walls, to shake your fist at perfection, to express and receive, to be heard. All because of the loving, all-knowing heart of your Intercessor. 

"If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all- how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?...Christ Jesus, who died- more than that, who was raised to life- is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us."

 Rom. 8: 31-34 

 

Portable Sanctuary: Learning the Art of Solitude

"Solitude is more a state of mind and heart than it is a place...whether alone or among people, we always carry with us a portable sanctuary of the heart."

- Richard Foster

 I am an extravert. I am one who measures how good my day was by how many friends I got to spend time with. Or by how many good conversations I had. As a child, my parents' worst form of punishment in response to my disobedience was time alone in my room. I used to lay on  my bed, listen to the sound of people having fun in the living room, and weep at the terrible torture my parents subjected me to. I glean life and energy from people.

In recent days I have found myself in a desert-like state emotionally. Somewhere between wrapping up my first year as a dorm mom, clinging to a personal life outside of work, and saying goodbye to girls I had spent every day with for ten months, I have misplaced the excitement I once had. The excitement to do what I'm made to do: love and disciple people. Apathy has wiggled its way in. Exhaustion has been tugging on my leg like a persistent child. Resent has whispered words, begging to take up residence in my heart. And I am scared. Those things aren't like me...are they?

 So now I find myself inside an old room, lit by large old windows that overlook the ocean. The breeze floats in and touches my hair. This is day 2 of 3 of my personal retreat. It took a few wise friends to help me recognize the early symptoms of a dry, worn out spirit. It was after some persistance that I decided to search for solitude.
 

 

Solitude: [sol-i-tood]  n. the state of being alone; seclusion.

 

I do not like seclusion. Or alone. But I do like learning new things. Solitude is a new thing for me. Here's what I've learned about solitude so far:

It is easily misunderstood.

It is easily chased away by other, seemingly more important things.

It helps me hear the thoughts that sometimes I'd like to avoid.

It is a discipline that adds a new depth to my relationship with Jesus.

It is worth fighting for.

 These two days have been spent on long walks, dinners for one, reading, contemplating, dreaming, praying. Solitude has opened my heart to the idea that being alone does not always mean being lonely. It has also brought me back to the truth that I once grasped so tightly: that apart from Him, I can do nothing (John 15).

So now I retreat into the stillness, refuse to fill it with busyness, breathe in deep, and let my being be filled again with the simple fact that I am deeply and fiercely loved by an Almighty Father. Maybe soon this love will overflow and spill out of me once again. I'm beginning to see the necessity of learning this art of solitude.

Reflections on Rediscovered Joy

One year ago I flew alone over the ocean and found healing. I rediscovered joy.

I shuffled hesitantly through the line toward security at the Portland airport, waving back at my family. Soon I hunkered down into my window seat on the plane, blinking back burning tears. Between naps I wrote words , honest prayers of a heart raw from a season of difficulty and hurt. Words like "fear", "help me", "trust", "revive me". I did not know that what seemed like an ill-timed journey would become a milestone in my story.

 

 "You, O Lord keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light..." Ps. 18

 

 "If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me." Psalm 139:9

Day 1:

I woke up today in Africa....

The moment my feet reached Ghana soil I was greeted with warmth. Literal humidity, yes, but especially the dispositions of the people who lived there. Hugs, smiling eyes enthusiastic to see one from a far away land. Thrown into a leadership role on our team, I felt as if I was placed onto a fast-paced treadmill that my feet could not keep up with. I myself had nothing to contribute; I was emotionally & spiritually empty. Yet there was a gentle, but rock solid force sustaining me, driving me forward if only one hesitant step at a time.

 

Day 3:

First day in the schools today. PB & J, long bus ride, team members quickly preparing a plan, dusty courtyard. 1200 kids in uniform surrounding me. Oh, their faces. Their smiles. “Can I be your friend?” says the 8-year-old girl who has linked her arm in mine. I shake their hands and they don’t let go. They touch my arm- wondrous eyes at the comparison of light and dark. Little fingers run through my hair. Dramas performed, we shared Jesus and asked who would like to pray. Little arms reach in the air, eager to show their commitment to Jesus. I explain that they are God’s children and He loves them. I will see them again at the party in Heaven. They giggle. Heaven opens. Angels rejoice. My soul sings. These are your beloved ones, God. I am just happy to be here, sharing how my life has changed because of you.

The next week was filled with hundreds more children, the distribution of fliers advertising the festival we were putting on the next week, and many opportunities to be patient with the Ghanian's relaxed planning style. I was asked to be a sort of diplomat for local pastors; my mission was to ask headmasters of schools if they would let our American team give them a presentation. A man named Seth drove me around in a blue car that seemed to be made out of tin. We cruised over potholes and weaved between traffic as he chauffered me from school to school. "They will see your angelic white face and they will say yes" he excitedly spoke as a toothy white grin gleemed on his face. As if The Lord had already cleared the path for us, every headmaster gave their consent.

Day 6:

Such joy and love in Ghana. God bring a revival in their hearts. Bring a revival in mine too...

We helped put on a 3-day Festival called Ghanafest 2012 in the large public square that was right on the Atlantic coast, complete with skateboarders, African & American musicians, and the bold Gospel words shared by Reid. Trained as a counselor, I was privileged to pray with multiple women to receive Christ. I will never forget the utter peaceful content written on their faces. We danced and sang together after and I asked, "How do you feel?"

"I feel so happy!" was their reply. Their words came out sweetly as if in a song. I turned my eyes toward Heaven, cried, and breathed a prayer of gratitude.

I often look back and wonder if it was the country of Ghana that left such an indelible mark on my life or something else. Now, a year later, I see that traveling to Africa was the catalyst to healing. Healing could have found me while I was back at home or on any other continent for that matter, but I see God's hand in choosing Africa as the setting to this beautiful chapter of my life. He needed to get me to be so far away from comfort, from familiarity, from family that I had no other choice but to lean into Him. As I leaned heavily into Him, so aware of my desperate need, I re-discovered something. I discovered a steady rhythmic beat, the heartbeat of my loving Father, completely unchanged and unaffected by the waves of change in my life. His heartbeat pulsed like the drums of the rastafarian men I met in a market place. A rhythm of constancy, a rhythm of celebration, a rhythm of love for me, His treasured one. Despite what my circumstances had told me to feel, I knew then with such deep conviction that my God was and always will be good. I could trust His heart.

A year ago in a place across the sea, I found healing. Or rather, healing found me. And as I danced and laughed with my whole heart, hand-in-hand with African brothers and sisters, I rediscovered joy.

"You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever!" ~Psalm 30

When it's a good idea NOT to listen to your heart.

I sit today pouring over words, a third cup of tea my companion. So many words bounce around inside of me. 

 I confess that a grey fog has visited my heart today, a haze of unwelcome thoughts invade. Why do they shout so loud? Inadequacy. Fear. Self-consciousness. I am uncertain as to the origin of this grey fog but I do know that it is unsettling. And I would like it to leave. 

 My friends, on days like today it is easy for the grey fog to do the speaking, to define who I am. I have heard it advised to "listen to your heart". What if my heart is shouting what is not true? Days like today remind me that sometimes it's a good idea NOT to listen to my heart. Instead, I lean in closely to the One who designed me. I look to Him to define the messy parts that need re-ordering. I look to Him to anchor my soul as it rides the waves of the tumultuous sea of feelings.

I choose truth as my guide, shown to me in the ancient written Words of Scripture, the kind words of a close friend, and recalling ways that my Counselor has sustained me in the past. And soon the loudest voice is truth. I prefer its calming melodies to the offbeat rhythms of my heart any day.