Singing through the Lump

And I will lead the blind in a way that they do not know, in paths that they have not known I will guide them. I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground.—Isaiah 42:16

So…I did it last week, finally. I cried. I admit it.

People have said, “Wow, DC is a cool place—you’ll have lots of fun!” Maybe it is a cool place. But it sure doesn’t look that way when you have to wake up in the dark in order to be on time, or when your commute is stressful and time-consuming. You’re visualizing everything that could go wrong at work and you haven’t even gotten past job training yet. You get lost in what has been named the worst traffic in the country. And even if you do something fun in the city, it doesn’t matter a lick unless you have someone close to you to enjoy it with.

And it doesn’t help if you haven’t had a really good cup of coffee in a long while.

I know—first world problems, right?

But deeper than all of those little physical “problems” is the fact that I desperately miss my people. I’d rather be doing things with my parents and brothers and sister than anyone else. And I miss my church family, young people who will sit down and put their hands on me and pray for me, if I need it. People who are not afraid to touch me.

The reason I cried last week was because I visited a new church. I liked it, but it wasn’t exactly right. Once you’ve had that family connection to a church, it’s hard to accept anything less. I know, I know, I only tried it once, so I really shouldn’t judge this particular congregation so fast, but the whole experience just reminded me how much I wanted instant connection…instant family.

Driving back from church, I stopped for gas, and I was so desperate that I asked some random people at the gas station where they went to church. They were nice people, about my age, dressed in Sunday best. They gave me some recommendations. But then I got back into my car and accidentally drove to Maryland, and (after I asked some random guys at a random car show for directions) I heard this song on the radio about somebody desperately wanting to know God’s will, and that’s when I cried. I tried to make a joyful noise and worship, but the lump in my throat just wouldn’t let me. And I even cried later on the phone with my mom, walking through my neighborhood. Luckily the neighbors weren’t out.

This morning I got all emo and turned to 1 Peter so I could whine about “suffering.” 1 Peter is the go-to book if you feel like you’re facing trials. Even if they are first-world trials.

To those who are elect exiles of the dispersion in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia, according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, in the sanctification of the Spirit, for obedience to Jesus Christ and for sprinkling with his blood: May grace and peace be multiplied to you.—1 Peter 1:1

Right away, I noticed (for the first time) that this letter is to “the elect exiles of the dispersion.” I identified with that immediately. Ok, maybe I am not a missionary in Asia driven from my home and hiding from persecutors. But I do feel pretty exiled. I feel as though I have been dispersed, a word that brings to mind separation from family and familiarity.

But check it: according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, in the sanctification of the Spirit, for obedience to Jesus Christ—and here’s the kicker—for the sprinkling with his blood. Peter is telling them that they may be exiles, but God knew about this from the start. As a matter of fact, they were out there because they were obedient to Christ—who had sealed them (keep in mind, this is the Prince of Peace, the Lord of Lords, the first and last, the ruler of all) with HIS OWN blood.

I wasn’t sure if Peter understood about commuting and coffee, but I kept reading.

Verse 3-4: …According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.

You know, just in case you were wondering about that inheritance thing…it’s eternal. Unlike your life on earth. We get a new life—or, as Paul would put it, “that which is truly life” (1 Timothy 6:19). This is a “living hope.” Which explains why Peter uses the word “rejoice”—in the present tense—in the next verse.

Rejoice. Not really the word I would use to describe my feeble, tearful attempt to worship in the car on the way back from my accidental detour into Maryland.

(For those of you who are wondering, Maryland is visible from DC. So it is not as far as it sounds. I’m just being dramatic.)

Then Peter continues about “various trials,” going on about how we are “tested by fire”…you know, all the things you want to hear if you are feeling sorry for yourself (and if you think that getting up at 5:20 a.m. falls under the “tested by fire” category). But then he says something interesting: Though you have not seen him, you love him.

This is coming from a man who had seen Jesus; who had, in fact, been His most intimate friend when He walked the earth, and had seen Him when he came back from the dead.

Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.

You do not now see him, not in this moment, not in these trials. But you believe in him. And it is in the rejoicing over this hope that we obtain the salvation of our souls.

There’s that word again: rejoice.

Not only do we rejoice, we are filled with the kind of joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory.

I have to wonder how these words must have sounded to the exiled missionaries Peter was writing to, men and women who had been obedient to their calling and were likely were spilling blood, sweat, and tears every day for their faith. They could sing because, in their new eternal lives, although their bodies would perish, their spirits actually couldn’t be killed. To people who were probably being hunted, this was reason enough for joy inexpressible.

D.C. isn’t some evil city or anything, but it is a place where I’ve heard the name of Jesus used as a swear word at least 20 times in the past week. In other words, it’s just like the rest of the world. So when I, an exile from the spiritual nest of my parents and church family, hear the words of Peter, I feel encouraged.

Physically, I don’t feel my best or look my best. Let’s be real: my hair looks crappy. My eating habits have been off, I’m losing my tan, my clothes are always wrinkled, and my face is breaking out. My body is confused by my sleep schedule. Between intense workdays and commutes, and living with relatives, I feel like I don’t ever really have a true, honest-with-myself moment alone, or with the Lord. (My relatives are awesome, generous, and a blessing, but it’s not like having my home territory completely my own like I have for two years before.) My whole life is like a hotel. It’s almost like I am a perpetual traveler, someone always on my feet and strapped to a backpack, far from everything familiar and having to adjust myself by the day, and never really finding rest.

Oh yeah…that’s probably how missionaries feel.

And how Jesus Himself felt. Because I am adopted by way of His blood, the way that I feel like an exile is the same way He did: a Son of the living God, stranded in a dead world that doesn’t understand the meaning of the word rejoice.  

Talk about not getting any rest. Jesus was wandering around here with a bunch of guys who woke Him up from much-needed sleep with their cries of, “Jesus! Help us! We’re about to die!”

And when he got into the boat, his disciples followed him. And behold, there arose a great storm on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by the waves; but he was asleep. And they went and woke him, saying, “Save us, Lord; we are perishing.” And he said to them, “Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?” Then he rose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm.—Matthew 8:23-26

Jesus wasn’t sleeping on the job. He was just trying to get a little rest…Dude was tired, ok? But even more than that, He trusted His Father. He knew the plan from start to finish, and He knew He wasn’t destined to die in a boat on a dinky little sea. (He knew exactly how He would die, in fact.) He could rest, because He knew who was in control.

Peter saw Him, and went and woke Him up, because he was afraid. But we do not even see Him, and yet we love Him. More than our physical bodies are saved from the storm; the outcome of our faith is the salvation of our souls.

Let’s revisit the very first lines of 1 Peter again:

To those who are elect exiles of the dispersion in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia, according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, in the sanctification of the Spirit, for obedience to Jesus Christ and for sprinkling with his blood: May grace and peace be multiplied to you. Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! He is in control. He’s got His eye on the ship. And it is not going down. I mean, especially if you followed Him into the boat, which is apparently what the disciples did. And what I have done. I know I am not preaching on another continent or running Bibles into China or rescuing children out of slavery. But I know for a fact that I have been called here.

Check out the link at the bottom of this post for an awesome song. It’s about wanting to stay in a comfortable place in a little nook of Jesus’ glory, but being called higher by God.  Story of my life, right? I could sit in a comfortable place with my Bible on my lap, with plenty of sleep and complete control of my schedule, and I would grow…but in verse 13, 1 Peter says, Therefore, preparing your minds for action, and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ.

Prepare your minds for action. Being still is very important (it is what Jesus told the storm—or the disciples, however you choose to view it—to do), and we should never compromise on time being still and communing with the Lord. But we also must move. We must set our hope fully on salvation. We must step onto the boat.

The bridge of the song says: “And I will be yours, Lord/I will be yours for all my life.”

As painful as early mornings are, and as out-of-control as I feel, in my heart of hearts, I would rather be His than my own. I would rather have that which is truly life. And so I guess I must learn to sing through the lump in my throat. What looks like a storm to me is something that Jesus can look at and say, “Peace. Be still.”

Rejoice. And, may grace and peace be multiplied to you.

Oh, and side note: if you pray for opportunities to share your faith with your coworkers, it will happen. It might even be forced to happen, in diversity training, when you are made to go through a list of touchy subjects and discuss what they mean to you, religion included.

Just fyi.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=twnAwiO1O9U

I seriously want to join this band.

Stepping...or running...out in faith...

...do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.--Philippians 4:6-7

This is the path that I ran on the other morning. It is just a wooded path—the same kind I have run on before. I know how to run, and I am familiar with gravel and trees. It seems straightforward enough to go running.

I’ve been down so many wooded paths by now, however, that they all start looking the same—and there’s the problem. It is comforting to be surrounded by trees…. But the setting is so familiar that they all start looking alike, and I am not quite sure where I turned. Gravel is plain and commonplace, but if I have never run on this path before, I have no idea where it leads. It could be incredibly long, or just a quarter mile. If I keep running, I have no clue how long I will have to run until I reach the end. If it begins to rain on the path, I don’t know how much farther I will have to go until I reach shelter, or what that shelter will even be, if there is any at all. I generally can tell what direction I’m going in relation to where I started; but whether or not I will get back there is another story.

This first week, my life in the DC area has already begun to look like this path: the familiarity of woods and running, coupled with the terror of not knowing what is just around the corner, and having none of my little everyday comforts on a strange road—just myself and my shoes. It’s like looking at your face in a spoon: everything looks the same, only it’s upside-down.

Granted, I have lots of family here, and I am living with my great-aunt and uncle. But I live in the suburbs, a far ways out, and that makes for a long commute.

That has stressed me out more than anything: the logistics of getting from one place to another. There are about a million different ways to get to anywhere around here, and they all take different times and different routes according to the time of day or week or month or year, so it is really just a lot to take in. Take into that the fact that many people I have spoken with who live in the city itself have looked at me funny (literally) when I told them where I am living, like I am some kind of idiot.

I am unaccustomed to stress; I don’t often do it, to be honest. After I’ve been submerged in my little Christian hippie hidey-hole all summer (my parents’ house), where everything is about and for and through and around and inside God, this city is a bit of a shock to my senses.

I didn’t really prepare for that, because I didn’t spend this summer thinking that far ahead. I was busy tending the home fires, and learning to sit at Jesus’ feet. Now the world is coming at me, slapping me in the face like a cold, smelly updraft from the city sewer.

I think the issue goes deeper even than logistics.

But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like. –James 1:22-24

That’s really what I have feared: becoming that person, a person who thinks she is receiving the implanted word (verse 21, just above), but then gets on the Metro and gets consumed by the day’s “civilian pursuits” (2 Timothy 2:4). A person who has such a long commute and such a brain-absorbing job that she never makes enough time to talk to Jesus.

I don’t want to become entangled in civilian pursuits. I would rather be tucked away in my little hole. I just don’t like to be bothered with all that stuff…you know, daily life.

Yesterday afternoon, after reading the employee handbook and faxing my paperwork and trying to plan this commute thing, I had a moment when I honestly thought, “Do I have to do this? Father…can I go home now? Jesus…Can I be excused?”

I am very much a Peter. “Cool!! I wanna walk on water!! Let me try! Oooh, oooh, pick me, Jesus!....Wait…hold on…aaaahhh, what am I doing??? I’m sinking! Help!!” (Matthew 14). Or: “I will NEVER deny you, Jesus! We’re bros!” …[less than 24 hours later]… “I do not know that man” (Matthew 26).

Needless to say, I can be a bit, um… wishy-washy. (Although I prefer the term “cautious.” It sounds better.) In my natural state, I am introverted and love-lazy, and I would rather operate in the imaginary realm of adventures instead of having one for real.

But my spiritual self is different from my natural self. My spiritual self is the first one to accept adventure, and seek it out gladly. Which makes for an interesting contrast in a high-pressure situation. Even though I will keep going, my natural self might wake up and hyperventilate a few times on the way…forgetting that, spiritually, this path is one I have chosen. I wanted to go running.

As much as I have grumbled internally over the past few days (what happened to that verse about “do all things without grumbling”?), I asked to be here. I asked for adventure, for a place to serve the Lord, to not be afraid to go where He calls me. I did not realize that I, a little stranger who is set apart by blood covenant from the alien planet on which she has landed, would fall face-first into “the world.” And several times over the last few days, I have wanted to retrace my steps and go back the way I came.

But it’s too late. I’m already on the path, and I don’t know how I got here. I only know the general direction I need to go, so I am going to have to keep running until I find my way back around.

I have thought to myself, how can I ever, ever love this city? How can I ever take it into the possession of the One who called me to it? (Deuteronomy 1:8).

How can I go and claim a place for God if I don’t even want to be there?

I read Isaiah 49 the other day. (Thank you, Jesus Calling.) It is widely accepted that this chapter is about Jesus.

I will make you as a light for the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.—verse 6

Someone has to carry the word, right?...And I did kind of volunteer….

Hop down a few verses:

Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are continually before me. Your builders make haste; your destroyers and those who laid you waste go out from you. Lift up your eyes around and see; they all gather, they come to you. As I live, declares the Lord, you shall put them all on as an ornament; you shall bind them on as a bride does.—verses 15-18

I don’t know much about all those builders and destroyers and stuff, but I do know that God can no more forget about us than a mother can forget about a nursing child. He is full of milk for us—He longs to give it to us, the helpless babies who need to be nourished. And Jesus binds us on Himself like a bride binds on ornaments. Not the masculine, grim-faced God that people often imagine, huh?

You know what’s cool about that?

Jesus is not the jewel in my crown. He is not something I put on. I am the diamond that He wears. Once again, I am not the point here. He is. And yet, I still get to be beautiful.

Last night I talked to my mom and my brother, and they really helped me out. My brother, twenty years old though he is, just said, “You’re stepping out in faith. God has your back in this adventure.”

He’s right. I asked for an opportunity to step out in faith, and He has given it to me. He has bound me on. He has everything worked out. I can just see Him up there shaking His head, saying, “If you would just calm down and stop striving for a minute, I will show you how I have worked all this out already, daughter.”

So, last night, I got out my guitar and played a little worship, and I gave it all to Him. All my commuting, all my living situation(s), my new church (yet to be found), my new friends (also…yet to be found), my training, my coworkers—every last thing.  I needed that reminder from my brother (who is not just a natural brother, but a spiritual brother as well) that when you step out in faith, God has your back “in this adventure.”

I slept a lot better after that.

Then this morning, I hit up James chapter 2—“faith without works is dead.” For an example of works, James uses the story of Abraham being willing to sacrifice his son Isaac—not exactly a “good deed,” or a “work” that would be approved by the little old ladies in Sunday school. But Abraham knew God had given him this son; he believed God when He said that his line would continue through Isaac—even if that meant He had to raise Isaac from the dead. “Works,” then, are acts of faith—not just saying you believe that God will protect you in the fire, but actually walking into it.

I think I’ve got a big toe in right now—stepping out in faith.

I know people around here think I’m naïve. They don’t say so, not in so many words. But I can tell by their faces. They see my smile and my attitude, my warm love, and they really think I don’t know anything about the world. They probably think I’ve never watched the news, that I’m a sheltered youngster with a country accent who ain’t seen much of the world.

But I’m not naïve. I just know who has my back.

The Lord of the universe has engraved me on the palms of His hands, and it is His love that they see in me, if they see any. The devil wants to steal that from me. But you know what? I am keeping my eyes on the back of Jesus’ head, because I am following right behind Him. The last thing you ought to do after you follow someone into the wilderness is turn around and start trying to find your way yourself, right?

I may have my eyes wide open and an eyebrow raised, but I’m getting my feet shod with the gospel of peace (Ephesians 5), and I know what direction I am going, even if I don’t know how to get there. Praise the Lord, that we are able to enter His rest, even while we’re running!

A Car of a Different Color

 Psalm 78:25—He split rocks in the wilderness and gave them drink abundantly as from the deep.

The verdict is in. The hardest thing to pack? Not clothes. Not books. Not shoes.

Arts and crafts supplies. …Seriously, where did all this stuff come from?

But I have been surprised about this packing thing. Let me tell you why.

My brother’s car was destroyed about six months ago in a hail storm. (I’m not sure, but I think he prayed his old junky car away...)  Since then, we’ve just had four cars in the family, so he, Dad, and Mom have been sharing two vehicles between them. Luckily, I’ve been here this summer to give people rides, but when I leave, Mom is going to have to go back to sharing, which will be difficult, because the bro will be in school, and Mom will be working again. (She’s a teacher.) She suggested last week that perhaps I should leave my (very beloved) car here, and just lease a car when I get to DC—something she hadn’t thought of, and which I believe the Holy Spirit inspired her to say.

If you know me (and if you are reading this blog, you probably do), you know how much my bright red Honda Fit means to me. She (her name is Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle, in fact) was the first new car my parents had ever bought. I paid the down-payment with money saved from my high-school jobs, and my parents drove not-so-great cars themselves to be able to afford the payments while I was in school. So it surprised me that I only hesitated for a split second after Mom suggested this lease thing before I agreed wholeheartedly. It was actually a relief for me. I didn’t want to have to worry about Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle getting stolen or damaged or whatever. (DC traffic was just voted worst in the country, fyi.) And if I leave her here…well, as Forrest Gump would say, “Good. One less thing.” My parents are getting an extra vehicle, though not in the way they expected; I will have enough money, abundantly enough, to afford a lease payment.

And my next thoughts surprised me, too: if I like my new lease car, I’ll just keep it when the lease is up, and sell Tiggy to pay it off.

Again, those of you who know me (probably 100% of readers) are gasping. Sell her??? A year ago, I wouldn’t have considered it. My car has always had a lot of sentimental value for me. (I mean, I still use personal pronouns when referring to her…)

But now I know what Jesus meant when He said, “Don’t even carry two tunics” (Matthew 10:10). Once, in small group, we had a lengthy discussion about whether or not the second tunic was underwear, because someone thought Jesus was telling His disciples to go commando. I think He was talking about overcoats, but that’s beside the point. Basically, what He meant here was that extra stuff was going to weigh them down in their work for Him, and the Lord would make sure they had what they needed when they got where they were going. They didn’t need to worry about it. In the words of a wise woman: “ain’t nobody got time fo’ dat.”

Stuff just isn’t worth the trouble. Even a much-beloved car. Glue sticks, construction paper, and acrylic paint can be tossed overboard. (Again, if you know me, that astonishes you to hear.)

I am pleasantly surprised to discover that God has done a miracle on me once again. The girl who, genetically, was destined to be a hoarder (no, I mean for real—there are actual hoarders in my family…) can now let go of stuff, drop it on a dime, and move somewhere new. I can get other stuff when I get there. Then I can throw that out and move again. Because you know what happens to all that stuff?

It rots. It decays. It will eventually burn. What’s that verse about “all of heaven and earth passing away”?...I think that might include craft supplies.

Since we’re just taking one car, I am in the position of having to choose which “supplies” I can do without. And I’m finding, as I am determining the value of my possessions, that most of them really aren’t that valuable.

I’m not going to pull the “starving kids in India” card here, berate American consumerism, or give you some sticky line about life being more important than stuff. I will tell you, however, what Jesus said:

Matthew 6:25-26—“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?”

That’s easy for me to say, in my suburban American lifestyle, right? But I didn’t say it. Jesus did. And He wasn’t being figurative here. He literally depended upon his heavenly Father for His basic needs (two tunics or not).

Let me take a moment to praise the Lord for my sister’s job.

She has been searching and purposefully praying for a new job for a long time, and it has been hard for her to get one because she doesn’t have a college degree. She interviewed recently for a part-time bank job in a town that is a long commute away, and she was willing to take the part-time position. However, the lady called her Friday to say that the part-time position had been filled, BUT they were hiring for a FULL-TIME position at the bank in OUR hometown—literally five minutes from our house! She went in that afternoon to inquire about it, and they gave it to her on the spot! Praise God!

So, she went into her old job the other day to resign. To put it nicely, her workplace has been “unfriendly.” Needless to say, we all prayed it would go well for her when she resigned, because she doesn’t have time to give two weeks’ notice. Guess what? They gave her all of her remaining vacation days, so she is actually off this week before she starts her new job, and she’s getting paid for it!!!

Extra, unexpected abundance. God don’t give His children junk. We ask for bread, and God gives us a wedding cake fit for His son’s bride. Even when we are willing to settle for less, He blesses us beyond what we expect. It may not be exactly what we want—but I think that is because most of the time we don’t know what we want. Basically: when you resolve to follow Christ, when you set out to do His work on the earth, He will provide for you. My sister is a girl after God’s heart. This woman wakes up praying. I know her genuine desire is to please Him. I have watched Him provide for her so she can set about His work.

As Christians, we are adopted sons and daughters, right alongside Jesus in the family tree (Galatians 3:26-27 and 4:6; Romans 8:15). To say that we are not worthy to be provided for is saying that Jesus, who is also a son, is not worthy. Maybe you never thought of it like that before, but it’s the truth.

Matthew 6:19-21—“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Treasure implies something stored, something laid up, something so valuable that all of your hope rests in it. Are you tossing your anxiety about stuff overboard—or are you putting craft supplies in your treasure chest? ’Cuz I hate to tell you, but in that case, your heart might be buried in a pile of glitter and paintbrushes, as mine once was.

God is sometimes called Jehovah-Jireh, or “our Provider.” My mom (who used to be a breastfeeding consultant, coincidentally) likes to remind me that this name can be translated as “the breasted one”—literally, a caring, familial mother who provides children with milk from her own body. That’s how much God cares for you.

Yet, Jesus said, “So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple.” (Luke 14:32)

That sounds harsh. But don’t look at me. Look at Jesus. He said it.

The aim of our relationship with God is not solely for Him to pour down physical blessings on our head. I also don’t think we should all throw everything we have away and go live naked in a cardboard box. And I’m definitely not implying that we should be idle time-wasters, waiting for God to throw a Porsche convertible down on our heads. (I don’t think that’s what the “birds of the air” do, at least.) All of these reactions to what Jesus said are missing the point.

This is the beautiful irony: the stuff really just doesn’t matter when you are following Him, yet when you are in Him, He provides for you beyond your expectations. We don’t have time to be idle, and we don’t have time to be earthly workaholics anxious about our stuff, even stuff we need.  The time is short.

People have real needs—food, water, clothing, shelter. When Jesus walked the earth in His physical body, He had to be concerned about these things too—and He probably had to think about it a lot more than your average middle-class American. He knew the power of God, and He knew that the Father could wave His hand and provide for whatever needs Jesus and His disciples had—often beyond their expectations. But they had to be willing to give up their stuff—the possessions that gave them a sense of identity, a sense of earthly security, a certain level of comfort—to do what was asked of them.

Paul said, “But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you.” (Philippians 3:13-14)

God certainly has revealed things to me, degree by degree, over the past several years. My walk with Jesus is more important than my clothes, shoes, hot glue gun, or even my car. It is even worth more than my comfort. Because I have found a joy in the Lord that does not compare with anything on earth. Truly. My prayer is that as I am more and more challenged in this, I am more strengthened in it also.

I’m not saying I’m better than you because I am some kind of hippie unattached to possessions. There are plenty of missionaries out there who would beat me in the poverty contest. And I still enjoy shopping sometimes. But I just want to praise the Lord for freeing me from my fleshly desire to hoard provisions as though they would disappear and leave me hanging. I just want to praise God for offering me a joy and a peace that makes me want to heed Jesus’ call to trust in the Lord for all of my needs—which, when I am walking closely with Him, turn out to be surprisingly few.

My life has been the story of full baskets. When I was a child, my family was poor (by American standards), but through prayer, we always received God’s provision. Food appeared on our doorstep (sometimes literally). I have personally received all kinds of financial blessing and physical provision from God—completely free education, a free place to live in DC, random gifts showing up at fortunate times, free meal upon free meal…even down to the brand-new comforter one of my roommates won right before I moved in with her; I came in and found it lying on the bed, waiting for me. None of this extravagance was expected. All I did was pray for provision. Each blessing has been a reminder: “I got this. You just get yourself busy with my work; I’ll do the rest” (Matthew 6:33).

Matthew 16:8-10—“O you of little faith, why are you discussing among yourselves the fact that you have no bread? Do you not yet perceive? Do you not remember the five loaves for the five thousand, and how many baskets you gathered? Or the seven loaves for the four thousand, and how many baskets you gathered?”

Here, Jesus was trying to give the disciples a figurative illustration of the “leaven of the Pharisees and the Sadducees,” and His disciples were distracted talking about their physical need for bread.

Really, guys?...Yet I feel like Jesus has to come to me sometimes and say, “Really? Do you not yet perceive? Do you not remember?”

I think that, by now, I am starting to remember. And that is why I am ok with leaving my bright red car behind. I don’t have time to be concerned about what color my car is. Most of the time, I don’t even know what I need, but I have learned that, whatever it is, it will be waiting for me when I get to the place He wants me to go. I’m along for the ride (no matter what vehicle gets me there).

I will be packing my underwear, though…just in case anyone was wondering.

New Wallpaper

There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.—1 John 4:18

This week, the Lord suggested to me that I read the Timothys. I don’t know if you know much about Timothy, but when I picture him, I think of this teenage kid whom Paul just threw out into the world to preach the Gospel. I’m sure that’s not what actually happened, but I think that’s the way I picture him because that’s a little bit how I feel right now. I’m not a teenager (praise the Lord), but I feel very much inadequate to fulfill the role to which I’ve been assigned.

I read this verse: “…for God gave us not a spirit of fear but of power and love and self-control.” (2 Timothy 2:7)

That verse is familiar to me. It’s the one you whisper in the dark when you are seven and you wake up in the middle of the night after a terrifying dream. (Ok, maybe that only happens if you are the child of children’s ministers who read you the whole Bible when you are seven….)

But now that I’m NOT seven, I suddenly realize what Paul meant.

I thought God had cleaned house on my fears last summer. I asked Him to show me my fears; and He is faithful to answer our earnest prayers. But I tell you, THAT wasn’t a fun day.  I could list all the deep, dark fears He revealed to me here, but I don’t want your eyeballs to fall out while you read 25 pages. It was like a spiritual zit exploded (not to be gross, but…that’s kind of what it felt like.) OUCH. Then God began the healing work.

I discovered, at the bottom of the fear barrel, the nasty slime that my fears had marinated in: that I wasn’t trusting God with my deepest and fondest dreams. All of my fears were connected; what seemed like silly fears really took root in deeper issues. Sin breeds more sin, the Bible says. And “anything that does not proceed from faith is sin.” (Romans 14:23)

You know what “does not proceed from faith”? Fear. And that makes fear….sin.

Again…ouch.

 It was like I was saying, “Ok, God…you can have my life. You can have my job. You can have my future home state/city/country. I completely trust You with these things. But….my social life…and my future marriage….oh yeah, and my identity…these things that really really matter to me…Well, don’t bother with it. I got this.”

How dumb is it for us to tell God “I got this”?

As we draw near to the light, things are naturally exposed (Ephesians 5:14). Our fears are exposed. And, as any seven-year-old knows, when your dad switches on the lights, your fears don’t look that scary anymore. Yet, many of us still cling to our fears like a security blanket. (Leave it to humanity to do the thing that makes the least sense.)

Fears are comfortable. They determine how we behave, and they become routine, something familiar, like a cup of coffee in the morning. For example, (the feminist in me cringes to even write this) I used to be afraid that I would not get married on my timeline. So I exercised to have the kind of body I thought this abstract man wanted; wore clothes I thought would attract him; hung out with people nonstop just in case he was there, just in case I would meet him. Needless to say, I was very proactive about my dreams…for fear I’d slip back into being that ultimate-introvert teenager who was socially disengaged and never dated anyone.

Crazy, right? And though I did not consciously realize this is what I was doing, it was happening nonetheless. But, like most other people on the planet, I sought comfort in the fear that motivated my everyday behavior. Even my thought patterns were familiar. They spun around and around again like that spinning wheel thingy at the casino—the comforting click of guaranteed loss.

But hallelujah! Praise God! Through the leading of the Holy Spirit, He revealed these fears to me last summer—and the simple prayers of a repentant daughter to a loving Father got me free. The Lord taught me to trust Him with some of my biggest dreams, and it was a sweet surrender. I was like, “Woah, awesome, God! You are totally amazing to be sanctifying me in this way!”

Meanwhile, He was saying, “Wow, glad we got that toe fungus out of the way. Now we can really focus on your broken femur.”

He loves us enough not just to move into our hearts, but to pick out wallpaper.

A couple weeks ago, I had a checkup on my spiritual femur. I freaked for a minute about moving to Washington DC.

What happened was, I saw this girl I graduated high school with in Big Lots. (I promise this is related.) I remembered her being pretty and smart. She is happily married, and has two of the cutest kids you’ve ever seen. I told her what I was doing, and she said, “Oh…I never finished anything…” She was probably thinking that she could’ve had a master’s degree, like me. But as her adorable baby smiled up at me, I couldn’t help but think, “Wow, she has the life I wanted.” Not to say I regret my education. I would do it over again in a heartbeat. But I have always wanted, more than anything, a family. (And you wonder why I had all those other fears associated with marriage….) I wasn’t jealous, exactly, and I was aware that my life so far has gone just the way it should; I was just simply sad.

I had to take these feelings to God. After I prayed about it, I discovered that this was just a sneak attack of that old fear: that my timeline isn’t His.

What if I move to Washington, and that defers my dreams (having a family) for a year?

The very next morning after my freak-out, I read in Genesis about Jacob’s dream. You know, the one with the shiny dudes climbing the ladder. Jacob had his own dreams for how things should go, and he (like me) was a little…um…proactive; but God gave him a literal dream. God gave him His dream for him. And He said, “…in you and your offspring shall all the families of the earth be blessed. Behold, I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land. For I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” (Genesis 28)

There is no possible way that Jacob could have envisioned Jesus. Yet, through his family line, Jesus would be born to bless all of the nations of the world with salvation. God was effectively saying, “I will always carry out my promises. If I tried to tell you what I was doing, your head would explode. Just go with it. My dreams for you are SO much bigger than your own.”

So when I saw that girl in Big Lots, I was being asked once again to recommit my plans, my timeline, to God. I was being asked to meet Him here, in the now, in what He is asking me to do today, and be obedient. I was being asked to listen to the Holy Spirit on a moment-by-moment basis, not knowing what is going to happen, and being completely out of control.

And that’s scary, folks.

This all-out invasion of your very body is not a comfortable thought to the flesh. But, like it or not, He stands at the door and knocks—not so you can come out, talk to Him, and retreat back into your home like He’s a door-to-door salesman—but so that He can move into your spirit. Like I said, He’s picking out wallpaper. And if He is moving in, well…that means your little pet fears are gonna hafta move out.

But here’s where Timothy comes back in. (Promise that wasn’t a pointless tangent.) If you back up, like any good little Bible nerd does, to the verse just before 2 Timothy 2:7, you get this:

“For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands, for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.”

So…we get the Holy Spirit to power the fruits of love and self-control. Love and self-control cannot dwell where fear dwells. Selfishness (the opposite of these) often has to do with fear—fear of not getting what you want, fear of getting hurt, fear of people taking advantage of you….etc.

But that’s not all. Paul reminds Timothy here of the strong faith of his grandmother and mother, and then tells him to fan into flame the gift of God—the power of the Holy Spirit, which Paul conferred to Timothy “by the laying on of [his] hands.” In other words, he is telling Timothy not to be afraid of using his gifts, not to be afraid to submit to the Holy Spirit, not to be afraid of being obedient to God. Paul was a guy who knew what it cost to follow Jesus, to choose God’s plan—to let Him move in and pick out not just wallpaper, but curtains and a loveseat.

I’m not scared of moving to a new place and making new friends; been there, done that. I’m not scared of getting lost (I finally have a smart phone), or of being mugged (although several people mentioned the crime rate as soon as I told them where I was moving…thanks, guys).

But I might be a little afraid to submit to God. Because that means I’m out of control. And for sure, I feel very inadequate to exercise my spiritual gifts.

That’s why they’re spiritual gifts. Because the Spirit powers them—and I am going to have to depend on Him. Which is scary.

What are you afraid of?

I know God will bless me with a family. But that’s where my dreams stop. God’s keep going. They require full operation of all of the gifts He’s given me, and my full-out commitment to lean on the Holy Spirit. And, after some sincere prayer, I decided I don’t much mind if Jesus picks out a loveseat, and a recliner, too. Because He’s going to be living in me for awhile. In fact, for eternity.

How’s that for a new timeline?

Time to trash the bushel....

Isaiah 52:7—How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings the good news, who publishes peace, who brings good news of happiness, who publishes salvation, who says to Zion, “your God reigns.”

I have never before considered writing a blog, because I thought they were solely for self-promotion. And I am not a big fan of self-promotion.

Or the Internet, really. …Or technology in general….

So for a moment I questioned what the Lord meant when He put this idea into my head. I (in my judgmental flesh, admittedly) always thought that blogs were for people who wanted to post pictures of their lunch, or for folks think everyone on the Internet cares about their political opinions, their social drama… (and)or the pretty cupcakes they made.

In other words, I have judged bloggers as people seriously out of touch with reality.

They say that what irritates you about others is what you hate in yourself.

I was the fourteen-year-old who wrote on the neon pink pages of my diary that I would become a famous writer by the end of high school (haha)—and did not care enough about others to make an effort to have many friends. I was love-lazy and self-involved, a textbook introvert who just didn’t think other people were worth the time. All I did was write by myself at a hand-me-down desk in my room…and shared my work with no one.

Not narcissistic at all, right?

As I got older, I decided to actually live my life. But there were struggles in the real world that I didn’t expect. When I look at pictures from my senior year of college, I want to turn away. That girl was unhappy, self-serving, restless, manipulative: a daughter aching for a Father, yet longing to be in control, to have Him do things her way. I belonged to Jesus, surely; my parents were sold-out charismatic Christians, and my childhood had been filled with faith and miracles. Even so, I couldn’t make up my mind whether I wanted Him or not. I knew what kind of sacrifice I would have to give: myself.

Submerged in a liberal arts program at a large university, I tried to fit in by not fitting it. I attempted to recreate myself every day. Life was a performance to a nonexistent audience, one that couldn’t have cared less how hipster my music was, what dress I wore, whether or not I pierced my ear a second time or got drunk at a party. God forbid (though He didn’t) that anyone EVER think I was one of “those people”—a Christian who was unable to connect with nonbelievers, judgmental, hypocritical, goody-goody. I WOULD NOT be that. Although I was still a believer, still went to church, still read my Bible, I was determined that I would be artsy. Bohemian. Counter(Christian)culture.

Although I would have died rather than admit it, I wanted to be what I was trying to make it look like I was trying not to be: cool. I wanted to prove that I could be a Christian, and still be acceptable to the world—the “adult” world, the “artsy” world….whatever any of that meant.

Talk about being out of touch with reality.

I look at those pictures, and I see a frustrated girl in pain, but unable to pinpoint what part of her body the pain was coming from.

It wasn’t as horrible as I make it sound; I don’t mean to be dramatic. It’s just that in hind sight, I realize what I was missing. Something happened between that eighth-grade journal and this summer. I admitted what I had known all along: I didn’t need to recreate myself; I needed the Holy Spirit to recreate me.

I decided a little less than two years ago that I was going to give up my vision of my life and follow Jesus, letting go of what everyone else thought (or what I thought they were thinking about me). A lot of circumstances led up to that point, and I am a slow learner, but my life has not been the same since.

And I never want to go back there again. So I didn’t want to write a blog.

But this verse kept coming to me:

Revelation 12:11: And they have conquered him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they loved not their lives even unto death.

We shall overcome—not only by the blood of our Savior, but by the word of our testimony.

Many of my believing friends have been encouraged and built up by the word of my testimony, by the stories of my daily walk with Christ—how He frees me from this or that mentality or sin, how He brings me to realize important things, how He teaches me to love, how He surprises me—how a girl has fallen more and more deeply enraptured with a Father. My testimony is a daily thing. Tiny miracles, little sparks of light—and sometimes big explosions—characterize my everyday experience, now that I’ve invited God into my life.

Ephesians 5:8-9: …for at one time you were in darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of the light (for the fruit of light is found in all that is good and right and true)…

I have watched in amazement as the Lord has transformed so much darkness in me into the fruit of light. And I do not share these blindingly brilliant colors enough—for fear of being awkward, of not being understood, and—worst of all—of people thinking I’m a sap, or that I’m (shudder!) cheesy (my eighth-grade self’s worst nightmare).

But I am not afraid anymore.

Psalm 34:4-5: I sought the Lord, and he answered me and delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to him are radiant, and their faces shall never be ashamed.

I just graduated with a master’s and I am going to move to Washington DC in about two weeks—a city about which I literally said, “I don’t think I would ever want to live there.” I strongly dislike snow and politics, and I especially dislike being far away from my family (who lives in Mississippi). So you can imagine that giving up my dream of moving to the beach and going to DC instead was about as scary to my human reasoning as writing a blog. But…never say never to God, folks. He’s called me, and I’d rather follow Him anywhere than be stuck in my comfort zone. I just know that over the next year, as I do my time in my 11-month job, God is going to grow me in ways I cannot even imagine now, and I want to proclaim His name and give Him glory for all of those things.

2 Corinthians 12:11: If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness. …because that will glorify my Savior all the more!

So, after thinking about this blog idea (and arguing a little with the Lord about it), I realized what it will be: a testimony that will solely and completely glorify the Lord, for the encouragement of believers. It is as much for YOU as it is for me, because I hope that by reading it, your hearts may gain courage, may be built up by my words. I do not want to be love-lazy anymore: you are worth it to me. And so is Jesus.

1 Thessalonians 5:11: Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing.

It’s time to trash the bushel—I’m not hiding my light anymore.

In the words of Peter and John: “Whether it is right in the sight of God to listen to you rather than to God, you must judge, for we cannot but speak of what we have seen and heard.” (Acts 4:19)

And the psalmist: I will thank you in the great congregation; in the mighty throng I will praise you. (Psalm 35:18)

If I ever use these pages to self-glorify, I hope one of you posts a nasty comment. I promise not to post pictures of myself and tell you that I’m going to Wal-Mart or that it is raining.

I just want to be a prism—transparent, boasting in my weakness—being filled with the light of Christ and shining out the fruit of light in rainbow colors on the world. (Yeah, that sounded cheesy…so what??)

And maybe, along the way, I will learn to love even “those people” that I have trained myself to roll my eyes at—you know, the people who post pictures of their lunch and commentary about their eye doctor appointments. …God, who searches hearts, is able to change mine. Hallelujah!

Go with me on this journey to glorify the Lord. I want to show you how He makes my dirty feet beautiful on the mountains. This page is just another step. And I’ve got my good shoes on.