divided heart

Hi dear readers. Well, it’s been a while. Last night I was trying to explain to my grandma why I was late for dinner, and she responded, “I know, it was all of those kids you had to take care of!” I felt a bit foolish. Thankfully, I don’t take myself too seriously and was able to eat the humble pie I was served. I feel that I’m in the same place where blogging goes. Why haven’t I posted? It’s not exactly that I’ve been too busy… I don’t really have much to say. But yet I have everything to say. My head and heart are both full and empty, these days. It’s almost as if they’re too full of conflicting thoughts and emotions that I can’t articulate anything or sort any of it out. So they come across as being almost blank. The other day my dad and sister were commenting on my lack of blogging, though, and my dad said that people like unsorted thoughts… So I’ve decided to share some of mine. The following is something that I wrote (and didn't edit!) a few weeks ago, trying to sort it all out. Read with grace…

How's the transition going? First of all, it’s been amazing. I’ve just loved reconnecting with people I love. This afternoon I was over at my sister’s house. This last week she and her husband have been in Ethiopia adopting a 6 month baby girl, and I’ve gotten to spend a lot of time with their 3 little boys. Before leaving, she told me that her youngest was feeling shy towards me, which is completely understandable given that I’ve been gone for the majority of his life! Well, I made sure to prioritize plenty of special “Owie and Alyssa time” while she was in Ethiopia, and today I saw proof that I’d finally secured a place in his heart. We were in the nursery when Owen got up from his nap and wanted Mommy to get him something from downstairs. Mommy, however, was occupied with the new baby, so she could not help. I offered to go down with him, assuming that he wouldn’t want me because he’d woken up feeling very clingy, and he responded by holding up his arms for me to pick him up! And after his snack we cuddled in the chair and read a book. Life was good.

It’s also been amazing to go to church again. I’ve loved singing familiar songs during the time of musical worship. I’ve loved learning new ones in English. I’ve loved listening to my pastor preach in English. I’ve loved attending a women’s Bible study and not leading it (in English). I’ve loved being a real part of Christ’s local body, as opposed to always feeling “other” and not wanting to become too involved lest I create dependency. I’ve felt so cared for by people who approach me in the lobby and tell me that they have been praying for me these last 3 years.

However, there are also things that I don’t love a whole lot. I don’t love having to drive to get places. In Paraguay I could walk most places in Villarrica, and I took a public bus to get between cities. I miss that. Here, I have to go down to the basement and use our treadmill if I want to rebel against my increasingly sedentary lifestyle. That’s a little depressing. Neither do I love having to stay inside because it’s so cold. In Paraguay we didn’t have air conditioning or heat, so there wasn’t a huge difference between being indoors and out. And even though it was freezing in the Paraguayan winters, the sun was always out so sometimes I would go out onto my balcony in the dead of winter so I could soak in some of the warmth from the sun. I also don’t love the complexity of our lives, here. In Paraguay we had our big meal in the afternoon, and then snacky things for dinner. Also, Paraguayans only use like 10 different foods and cook them all up in different ways. If they have a tomato, carrot, green pepper, onion, garlic, beef, rice, salt, and flour, they’re set for a week. There’s not a ton of variety to their diets, and they’re fine with that. Here, though, we get tired of eating the same thing several days in a row. Everything feels like a bigger deal. I loved the simplicity of Paraguay. And I liked eating my main meal in the middle of the day. And I’m finding the price of new clothes to be quite annoying.

Way harder than those little differences, though, is the emotional confusion. I really miss Paraguay, yet I’m so glad I’m home. Furthermore, I am getting really weary of people. I absolutely love my family and have been dying to be a part of their lives. Yet I’m feeling tired at the same time. Last month my brother and his wife moved to Chicago. I was SO happy to finally be able to be a part of their lives and help them move. Yet I just wanted to be alone. I am exceedingly thankful to be home during this incredible period of my sister’s family’s life. I’m so thankful that I got to help babysit my nephews, last week, while Danielle and Karl were in Africa getting Selah. I wouldn’t have traded one second of it for anything in the world. And I’m so thankful for the freedom to spend lots of time playing aunt and sister, this next week, while Danielle adjusts to life with 4 little ones. But even though I wouldn’t trade it, at the exact same time I just want to be alone. I’m thrilled that my best friend, Sarah, only lives 2 hours away and that we’re meeting for lunch this week, yet I don’t feel like making the drive. I’m thinking about Fiona, Renee and the kids, Amy, and Carol all the time, and am missing them like crazy, yet the thought of writing is so daunting that I’ll go days without even checking my e-mail. I’ve probably checked Facebook twice in the last 2 months because it’s so overwhelming and depressing. And speaking of faltaing in my communication, both Dana and Angela have written or called, and I would genuinely love to catch up with them. But I haven’t called them back because as much as I want to see them, I just want to be alone.

So what’s it been like to be home? Wonderful, draining, and confusing. All at the same time. I wouldn’t trade my life for anything in the world, but tonight I feel tired. Yet I don’t want to miss out on anything, so I won’t say no. So I want to go over to Danielle’s tomorrow. And I want to drive to see Sarah on Tuesday. And then I want to go over to Danielle’s on Wednesday. I’m so excited that Owen’s bonding with me. I’m so glad I get to pay special attention to the older boys while so much focus is (rightly) on their new baby sister. I’m absolutely loving the fact that I’m the one who gets to help out my sister. Seriously. Loving it. But at the same time, I just want to be alone. It’s a bit confusing, really. Oh, and nobody will drink terere or mate with me.

Thank You

“How are you feeling about leaving Paraguay, Alyssa?” I’ve probably been asked this question at least 10 times in the last week. Trying to be self aware, I’ve probably asked myself the same things four times as often. The only response that comes to mind is “Thankful.” Over Christmas I got to host my beloved family in my beloved town of Villarrica. Despite having neither water nor air conditioning much of the time, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. Renee described it best by saying that when your favorite people come to this place you’ve come to love, your world is perfect for a short amount of time. I felt that. I felt honored that they’d spend the money to come down. I felt deep respect for them that they had such great attitudes despite being physically uncomfortable. I felt pride when I got to watch them laughing with my Paraguayan friends. I felt so thankful.

As soon as they left, I began packing. I felt thankful that I was able to sell, gift, or pack everything in my apartment. I felt thankful for the memories made in that place. I felt thankful that my apartment had become a refuge of sorts, for various friends. I felt thankful for the growth experienced in my small group which met weekly on the red couch and white armless arm chairs of my living room. I felt thankful for the meaningful times I’ve shared with the Lord out on my balcony. As I closed the door and locked it for the final time, I just felt thankful. As we drove out of Villarrica I wondered when I’d be back. We passed the park where I did the majority of my training for the marathon. I felt thankful.

When we arrived at the hotel, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility of rural Paraguay. I remembered sitting at the dinner table with my family, last Christmas, and announcing that I thought Paraguayan landscape to be my favorite in the whole world. The different shades of greens from the trees that cover the rolling hills like green down blankets set against the blue sky , the birds singing and flying against the backdrop of fluffy white clouds, and the bright purples, pinks, oranges, yellows, and reds of flowers all make me sad to leave this place. The song of the birds and a gentle breeze which ruffles the leaves of the trees fill my heart with pure peace. And then the sweet, sweet company of Ana, Suely, Liz, Giselle and Laudes all make me echo Goeff Moore and the Distance who sing, “It’s good to be alive!” I felt especially thankful as we sat outside on the porch for dinner, last night, looking at the sunset, feeling the breeze, and listening to my precious 12 year olds tell me stories about themselves as little girls (in English!).

This morning the Lord woke me up before my alarm rang and invited me to spend some time alone, with Him, this last morning in El Interior (non-Asuncion). So here I sit before a huge window looking out over the hills, listening to the birds, and watching the girls sleep. I’m thinking back over these last 2 ½ years, wondering where in the world to begin, and the only words that come to mind are “Thank You.” To write out the specific things for which I am thankful feel shallow, because words cannot begin to describe God’s goodness to me over these last years. Yet I feel compelled to do it anyway, despite my absolute inability to so.

Thank You, Lord, for bringing me 5000 from home in order to draw me to Yourself. Thank You for settling me in Villarrica, against my wishes, where I could discover my love of teaching and share life with these amazing young women. Thank You for placing me on this SIM team with the Stirlings, Givens, Stouts, McKissicks, Floyds, Houghs, Stirlings, Givens, Gilliams, Camerons, Elliots, Dreilings, Terhaars, Fiona, Cherlynn, Gina, and Kait. Thank You for quieting me. Thank You for helping me run the Buenos Aires marathon. Thank You for all who came down to visit me- Hope, my family, Carol, the Breuers, Adam, Mel, and Diane. Thank You for the faithfulness of my supporters and churches. Thank You for giving me the opportunity to write. Thank You for calling me to prepare for grad school and encouraging me to read. Thank You for the written word that allows us to draw life from those who have lived before us. Thank You for Augustine and Thomas Merton. Thank You so much for Fiona, Lord, and the plans You have for her. Thank You for la Iglesia Biblica de Villarrica, and Centro Educativo Internacional. Thank You for providing Internet in my apartment. Thank You for Skype. Thank You for Eric. Thank You so much for Eric. Thank You for fresh fruit juice and fresh fruit, in general. Thank You for the cool breezes and the sweet birds. Thank You for my electric blanket, hair dryer, and electric space heater. Thank You for ice and terere. Thank You for this precious 7th grader who just called to me, “Hi Teacher,” from her top bunk. Thank You for nail polish. Thank You for cameras. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You for loving me and calling me to Yourself. Thank You for Paraguay. And now, thank You for calling me home.

it's all about me... right?

My small group has been reading through Isaiah. We've been especially struck by how much God hates pride, His condemnation of those who live as though there’s nothing wrong when things are very wrong, and our smug self-centeredness. In addition, I’ve been feeling somewhat fearful about the future of our nation. Conservatives forecast dark days ahead and their predictions can discourage even the most optimistic among us (which I am not!). On top of the economy, the war in Iraq, our lingering presence in Afghanistan, the tension between Iran and Israel, the elections, and the doom of the first half of Isaiah (we discussed 15-24, last night), for the last week I’ve been making my way through a video on the early Church. Yesterday it concluded with the crucifixion of Peter, beheading of Paul, children being fed to dogs, and the general persecution of Roman Christians under Nero. And I became very afraid (not to mention that when I fell down the stairs, last month, I was faced with my wimpishly low pain tolerance. I remember sitting in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, trying to steady my breathing, and thinking that I'd totally renounce Christ if ever tortured, and that I'd never manage to have a child without an epidural).

And then like a brick it hit me that the persecution I feared for the future is a present reality for much of the Christian world. Present. Meaning that it’s happening now. Happening not even to strangers, but to my “brothers and sisters.” Yet I don’t really care because it doesn’t affect me, personally. In Amos 6:1-7, God challenges His people (who are currently living comfortably in Jerusalem and Samaria) to look around them at the cities that have already fallen to the Assyrians. “Do you really think you’re so much stronger than them?” God asks. “Hello! If they’ve already been destroyed, why in the world are you still thinking that nothing bad is going to come to you?” (my paraphrase). He then condemns them for going about their lives- enjoying nice furniture, eating good food, buying non-essentials like nice lotion- not caring about everything that’s happening all around them, because they aren’t personally experiencing pain. Yet. For their complacency, God says that they will be the first to be taken into exile.

In Isaiah 22:12-13 and then 24:7-8, God seems to be critical of those who are enjoying this life. But God gave us all of these good gifts, right? Doesn’t that mean we should just enjoy them and be grateful? But then I thought about James 4:9: “Be wretched and mourn and weep. Let your laughter be turned to mourning and your joy to gloom.” That sounds a lot like these verses in Isaiah. But why? Again, He created a good world for us to enjoy, right? I was so confused. And then it hit me: right now, the world is NOT good. Right now God has permitted evil to reign and the whole creation is under a curse. Right now, I think I’d have to agree with God’s state-of-the-world address in 24:5- “The earth is also polluted by its inhabitants, for they transgressed laws, violated statutes, broke the everlasting covenant.” And then all of the sudden the beatitudes made sense to me, for the first time in my entire life (italics are my additions):

Blessed are the poor in spirit who walk humbly before God- for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn that this is NOT the way things are supposed to be- for they will be comforted when all things are made new.

Blessed are the meek who are unassuming, don’t demand their rights, and humbly serve one another, following the example of their Master- for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness to govern this earth- not just personal holiness, but the righteousness and justice upon which the world was founded. Blessed are they who long to see justice come to those who abuse power and wealth to oppress others because they think that no one will stop them. Blessed are they who recognize that there are limits to the laws of supply and demand, that the invisible hand does not inevitably provide for the needs of societies’ most vulnerable members. Blessed are they who long for an equitable distribution of the earth’s resources- for they will be filled when the Lord judges the earth, which He certainly will do.

Blessed are the merciful who extend mercy to the undeserving, because they understand the extent to which God has had mercy on them- for they will be shown mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart who are not distracted and seduced by their natural desires, but wholeheartedly want to see God’s kingdom come. This includes seeking God’s kingdom MORE than personal comfort- for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers who walk in their Father’s footsteps of working for peace and reconciliation- for they will be called sons of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake- for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

We are supposed to be living as foreigners, here. We are aliens. This is not our home. This is not the way life was supposed to be. We close our eyes to the injustices and pain of the world, much as the Israelites did when the surrounding nations were being crushed by Assyria. We turn off the news because we don’t want to hear any more about wars and rumors of wars in the Balkans, suicide bombings in the Middle East, stonings in Africa, hostages taken by terrorists, aid-workers killed by radicals, converts mutilated by family members, pastors’ families beaten with iron rods by the governing authorities, Church leaders being sentenced to years of reeducation in labor camps, and Christian schools collapsing on hundreds of children. We turn our heads, close our eyes, turn off the television, and forget about it all. We lay down on our beds inlaid with ivory, eat our choice meats, drink our wine, use our lotions, and refuse to create space in our hearts to mourn for Jacob. Because the destruction has yet to reach our front door, we ignore it and enjoy our lives, pretending that we are living in the good world that God intended. But we’re not. I don’t have the answers. I don’t know how we should live when our brothers and sisters are suffering and we are not. But I know that we cannot continue living as if nothing is wrong. We cannot. We must not.

First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out-
because I was not a communist.
Then they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out-
because I was not a socialist.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out-
because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, but I did not speak out-
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me-
and there was no one left to speak out for me.

written by Martin Niemoeller, a German Christian, in 1945

little girls?

I’m feeling nauseous. I’m SO angry. Tonight I went to the dance recital of one of my precious 6th graders. Her number was very cute, thank the Lord. She was great. The others, though, weren’t so stellar. The show opened with a group of older girls in red tangoing to “Roxanne” from Moulin Rouge. Now, I'm not criticizing the song, itself, but the context. There were LITTLE, LITTLE kids there and it was SCARY- for ME! And I'm 28! It was dark, the girls were in red, the setting of the song is in a brothel, and it was SO loud and violent sounding. I was really unnerved. Then, unbeknownst to me, one of my little 2nd graders also participated. Innocent, beautiful, full of life, precious, precious, precious 2nd grader. Her group danced to Mambo # 5. Mambo # 5! Now, a group performed that same song while I was a student at Taylor, so I know I can’t be too judgmental (though I was mad at them, too!). And honestly, it’s VERY catchy. I have a hard time not liking it, as a matter of fact. And maybe he’s not talking about getting with Jessica, Monica, Tina, Rita, Mary and all the other girls. Maybe he is really just saying that he wants to flirt with them… all night long. Maybe. So let’s say it’s a really innocent song. But come on- second graders? WHY would anybody with half a brain teach second graders to act like Cuban show girls? I mean- it was SUPER cute, if you aren’t worried about their chastity and future identity as young women. Really, it was. But is it worth it? Let the little girls be little girls, for goodness’ sake!

So I was already a bit piqued about the innocence of my precious Camilla. And then another one of our 6th graders entered as an Arabian belly dancer. Yes, that’s right. 6th grade. Arabian belly dancer. I refused to take pictures. And I gotta say- they were GOOD. They were really good. If I was a man… how can I say this… I wouldn’t have been thinking of them as the 6th grade CHILDREN that they were. That was when I felt physically ill. And honestly, the way they danced took a LOT of talent. But why in the world would you teach them to use such incredible talent for THAT? I don't know- maybe somebody could start a special pre-marital dance studio or something. But 6th graders? It was unbelievable. I left midway through. The girls I came to see had already performed and I was just done.

OK. That’s my rant. I really did try not to be judgmental. I asked myself if it were possible that cultures could celebrate the sexuality of the female body without it being sinful. I asked myself if I’m just being a prude. And then it struck me that a few of my wonderful, godly friends are dancers and have probably learned such dances. And that maybe I’d be a mom, someday, and my little girl would want to dance. And I hope she can. I wish I could dance. But would it mean that she’d be exposed to THAT? Would it be worth it? And then I thought of the time I had to decide whether I’d play a character in a high school musical that had to swear. And then I thought of Jennie, who I’m sure has had to reconcile such things. When is art just art? And when is culture just culture? And when does it not matter, that being art or culture doesn’t make it acceptable or good? I know there’s not a simple answer. Well, I don’t think there is. But if anyone has any thoughts on the topic, I’d love to hear them.




And just for the record- something that struck me several weeks ago- it’s interesting to me how our society both advertises women’s sexuality and complains that they are objectified. Hmmm. Which do we want people to notice about us- our bodies or our brains? Because they sure won’t be struck by our brains on first glance. Unless we’re frumpy. Then they may assume we’re really smart. I ask because it seems a bit inconsistent to draw their attention to our sexuality while demanding that they treat us as asexual beings. If we want an egalitarian society, than maybe we should consider not running around half naked. And men- if you really want to be liberated... or liberating... why not make a conscious decision not to give special treatment or attention to the hot girls? Just a random thought from a boring Puritan.

Let us Rejoice and be Glad

Come, let us sing for joy to the LORD; let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation. Let us come before him with thanksgiving and extol him with music and song. For the LORD is the great God, the great King above all gods. Come, let us bow down in worship, let us kneel before the LORD our Maker; for he is our God and we are the people of his pasture, the flock under his care. Psalm 95

Sing to the LORD a new song; sing to the LORD, all the earth. Sing to the LORD, praise his name; proclaim his salvation day after day. Declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous deeds among all peoples. For great is the LORD and most worthy of praise; he is to be feared above all gods. For all the gods of the nations are idols, but the LORD made the heavens. Splendor and majesty are before him; strength and glory are in his sanctuary. Ascribe to the LORD, O families of nations, ascribe to the LORD glory and strength. Ascribe to the LORD the glory due his name; bring an offering and come into his courts. Worship the LORD in the splendor of his holiness; tremble before him, all the earth. Say among the nations, "The LORD reigns." The world is firmly established, it cannot be moved; he will judge the peoples with equity. Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the sea resound, and all that is in it; let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them. Then all the trees of the forest will sing for joy; they will sing before the LORD, for he comes, he comes to judge the earth. He will judge the world in righteousness and the peoples in his truth. Psalm 96


This morning, let us praise the Lord and rejoice in the day that He has made. Let us thank Him for setting Barak Obama before us as our president. Let us thank Him for sovereignty placing this man in this position at this time. Some of us wanted him to win. Others did not. Let us thank Him that we live in a democracy and had the opportunity to make our voices heard. But now the choice has been made, so let us thank the Lord and honor our government. We prayed that His will would be done. And it was. For those of us who believed that God’s will was to elect McCain, and cannot imagine otherwise, are we really claiming to know the mind of God? Obviously, His will was for Obama. His thoughts are higher than our thoughts, and His ways higher than our ways. For there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. It is inconsistent to call ourselves Bible-believing Christians if we refuse to believe that God willed Barak Obama into office. And if we fail to honor and respect him, we are disobeying the express Word of God. If God calls us to serve as prophets in our nation, may we be faithful to that call. But may we refuse to be agents of self-fulfilling prophesy and naysaying. If Obama appoints liberal judges to the Supreme Court, let us thank the Lord that he holds in His hand the heart of the king. If American professionals are forced to choose between their convictions and their jobs, let us thank the Lord for the opportunity to suffer with Jesus’ body all around the world, that we may, someday, share in His glory. If life gets harder, let us rejoice that trouble produces perseverance and we know that nothing can separate us from the Love of God that is in Jesus Christ our Lord. Let us do everything without complaining or arguing, that we may be blameless and pure children of God, without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which we may shine like stars in the universe as we hold out the word of life. So let us keep a tight reign on our tongues and meditate upon that which we learned in kindergarten: if you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all. But no worries. We have lots of nice things to say, because the earth is the Lord’s and everything in it.

Knowing

Wow. I haven't been a very good blogger, lately. It's not that there's nothing to say... it's just that I haven't had the words or creativity to say any of it. Something's coming, though, I can feel it brewing. Sometime in the next few months, I'll be writing about the Emergent Church, specifically reviewing what I remember of Rob Bell's Velvet Elvis and Brian McClaren's A New Kind of Christian. We had an incredible, incredible SIM women's retreat, this last weekend, and talked about it, a bit, so I'd like to articulate some thoughts. But I can't be bothered with all of that, just yet, because I'm into all of the end-of-the-school year jazz, end-of-Paraguay-jazz, preparing-for-the-next-step-jazz (i.e. grad school applications and car shopping), reading up on election news, and irresistible Skype calls. Did I mention irresistible Skype calls? And on top all that jazz, Joel Rosenberg's Dead Heat is consuming (ha!) every "spare" moment I have. But no worries. At the rate I'm going, I'll know how the world ends by tomorrow evening, at which point I may find time to blog. Until then, though, I just came across something I wrote back in March 2008 that may serve as a backdrop to the Emergent Church stuff that I post, later. Thanks for reading :)

Knowing

March 25, 2008

I used to know a lot more than I do, these days. I knew how to be a good Christian. I knew how to inductively study the Bible using the historical grammatical method. I knew the difference between inerrancy and infallibility, and how all scripture was God breathed and good for teaching, rebuking, and training in righteousness. I knew the difference between the civil, moral, and ceremonial codes of the Torah, and that we only have to follow the moral ones because we’re not a theocracy and because Jesus fulfilled the ceremonial part. I knew that God demanded the genocide of the Canaanites because of the cancerous affect their idolatry would have on the purity of Israel’s worship to YHWH. I knew that the conquest was a physical foreshadowing of God’s final judgment. I knew that Israel’s social injustice and spiritual idolatry ticked God off and sent them into exile. I knew that Ezekiel saw His glory depart and then return only with the incarnation of Jesus. I knew that the Sermon on the Mount was idealistic and impossible to keep. I knew that I was saved by grace through faith, because I had believed in my heart that God raised Jesus from the dead and confessed with my mouth that He is Lord. I knew how the Church sold out during the era of Constantine. I knew that I could never participate in such things as the Crusades. I knew that Martin Luther was a hypocrite and anti-Semite. I knew that Hitler used Luther’s speeches to in support of killing off the Jews. I knew how 1948 was a fulfillment of OT prophesy. I knew, though, that God was not pleased with Israel’s treatment of the Palestinians, and would certainly hold them accountable. I knew why the US trade laws needed to be changed. I knew why debts needed to be cancelled. I knew why Christians should never be Rich in an Age of Hunger. I knew that churches shouldn’t remove people from positions of leadership because they were going through a divorce. I knew that girls should never, ever get into the horizontal position with their boyfriends. I knew that Mormans and JWs were certainly not going to heaven, themselves, and were barring multitudes from entering. I knew that missionaries should never impose their home cultures upon indigenous churches. I knew that US Christians should give all their money to starting these churches, yet shouldn’t allow them to become dependant upon foreign money. I knew that missions was to be incarnational, meaning missionaries were supposed to be poor, yet missionary children should never have to actually suffer for their parents’ choices. I knew that God willed that family always comes first. Always. I knew that I, personally, was responsible to free sex slaves in Asia, sweat shop workers in India, Israel, Palestine, coffee growers in Africa, and child soldiers in South America. And I needed to save people from AIDS. I knew so much.

Except Jesus. Sure, He was my Savior. But I didn’t know Him. Since then, everything has changed. Now, I hardly know anything. Anything. Except Jesus. Somehow, I believe that He is merciful and loves me. Somehow, I believe that this love causes Him to point out things in me that are serving as a barrier between us. Somehow, I believe that this love knows my desire to do right and know Him. Somehow, I believe that He knows that I know that I don’t know and He’s ok with that. Somehow, I believe that He knows about my craving for Him and craving for my flesh, yet my desire to let it go, yet my fear of being without it. Somehow, I believe that He is my Shepherd and will unstop my ears so that I can hear and recognize His voice. Somehow, I know that He knows I am just dust and has mercy on me, this rich, spoiled, selfish, wimp of a white girl who is desperate for Him. Somehow, I hope that He won’t let me go to hell. Somehow.

I used to have so many beliefs that tethered me to God as ropes hold a boat close to the shore. I never strayed far, and everyone thought I was really close to God. And I was, geographically. And often times in content, too. But now most of them have been compromised. In their place, God has thrown me a single chord stronger than all the others. But it’s the only one. If I lose it, I’ve got nothing else. I’m scared. And yet comforted. Let us fix our eyes, then, upon Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith, who is surely able to do more than we can ask or imagine, and keep us from stumbling and present us before His glorious throne without fault and with great joy.

an ode to my sister

The following is actually something that I wrote in July '06, but in light of a few recent conversations with full-time moms, I thought I'd re-post it. You all are my heroes.

At the end of this year’s family vacation in California, I told my sister that the next blog I do would be called, An Ode to my Sister. Spending the entire week with her, her three little boys, and her husband, I was constantly awed by her selflessness. Good moms are nearly always on the clock. They don’t have the luxury of leaving their work at the office. They are always in charge. They are always Mom. Always. And the thing about my sister, is that she never ever complained. Her boys would never know they were wearing her down to the bone. She never made them feel like a burden. Never. She had amazing self-control. I can’t even begin to count the number of times my feelings of frustration and exhaustion would have gotten the best of me. But not Danielle. She always smiled. She always spoke kindly. Even on the plane ride home, after an entire week of running, she sat between her 3 and 4 year old and played with them the entire 4 hour plane ride home. She is my hero. I always talk about how I want to be more like Jesus. Well, for all of my reading, serving, presenting, and teaching, I pale in comparison to my sister, the stay-at-home-mom. And really, when I see the cost of completely giving up my comfort, time, goals, self, for the sake of others, I’m not sure I really want to be like Christ quite that badly. It’s one thing to talk about dying to Self when you know you always have the choice of whether or not you want to die. Danielle surrendered the right to chose the moment she had kids. Dying isn’t optional for her. She never just checks out and goes to her room when she needs some time alone. She’s always on the clock. Always. She is my hero.