Worlds Meet Up Again

She’s 23. She loves Jesus. She’s got a single ticket for the DMZ. And she’s going to change the world.

Four a.m. wakes her up. With a coffee and these words of life, in the land of the morning calm. Every day, it’s four a.m., with the God who has changed the world.

She’s a teacher. Chalk on her hands. Ill-fitting heels and a denim skirt. Piles of papers to grade. Children to inspire. With Dante and division and documentaries. Most everyday seems mundane. But the ordinary finds Divine. And Divine finds the ordinary.

She’s 26. She’s 31. She’s 34.

Some things look the same. She loves Jesus, her beautiful Jesus. She hopes she always will.

Some things look different. More than the lines when she smiles, she’s not alone anymore. She’s woken up to the best of dreams, with those who call her Kristin and mom. She is making a home in a different world, on this side of the East.

There haven’t been chalk smudges on her skirts of late, but still everyday finds its mundane. Laundry and diapers and dinner. Mr. Rogers, scraped knees with tears, and cleaning a house that never gets clean. Ordinary is loud, the Divine is a whisper. She forgets that she’s going to change the world.

In walks 19. 34 listens.

To a heart that loves Jesus. In one hand she holds a ticket for Africa; in the other those words of life. And she’s going to change the world. It’s in her giddy rambles and the excitement in her eyes. She’s fearless and alive and in love. In love with the One who has redeemed our fall.

34 hears a lot of things over tea that night. She hears hopes and dreams, questions and quirks. She hears the 23 she used to be, and she wants to find her again. Better yet, she wants to find that all out abandonment in God again, that fearless and unscripted devotion.

Word of God speak.

When the ordinary defines every day, find me in the Divine. Find me fearless and alive and in love, running towards the One who has rocked this world with His love. Don’t ever let me forget that I can do anything through Christ who gives me strength. Anything.

I love you 19. Ashley, maybe this will explain the tears in my eyes.

Don’t let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith, and in purity. – 1 Timothy 4:12

Freedom

Today

Amidst
Red white and blue
Hot dogs and hamburgers
Fireworks
And parades

We celebrate our freedom.

But I can't help but wonder
If we're living in freedom
When we're slaves to

Consumption
Indulgence
Self
Technology
Media
Our own messed up desires.

Being an American does not make me free,
Though I thank God for the freedoms this country allows
And the soldiers who have lived and died to secure that freedom.

Being a follower of Christ makes me free,
Because God has rescued me from myself.

Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.
- 2 Corinthians 3:17

Compel Me to You

Wisdom is

Profitable
Precious
Rich
Honoring
A treasure

Proverbs 3:17 says that, "All her paths are peace."
Not always mine.

I can be

Frantic
Driven
Poor
Anxious
Irritable

When wisdom isn't sought.

God invites us to, "Lay hold of My words with all your heart....
Get wisdom, get understanding." (Proverbs 4:4,5)

I want to walk with steps unhampered.
I want to run and not nosedive.
I want to live a purposed life.

Those words of His;
I need to guard them

From
Too busy
Too tired
Too enamored

With me.

Proverbs 4:23 cautions us to, "Above all else, guard your heart for it is the wellspring of life."

Wellspring of life,
Flood over
This Heart.

Sear wisdom
In this soul.
And compel me
To You.

Compel me only to you.

Enough

Yesterday was a doozy.

Adden's three words in the bath kinda described the day. "Stinky. Sorry Mommy." I won't go into any other descriptions cause it's just not a picture you want to have in your head.

After putting the kids down for their naps, I walked downstairs and felt flooded with exasperation. Toys littered the house and stains three months old glared at me. There was dinner to make and a treadmill awaiting and a shower to be had.

Immediately the self-criticism poured in. Who has a house that looks like this? Why can't I have it all together? The ants are going to be parading in the kitchen soon. I need to work out. I reek. Who else smells this bad after a day? Are my kids going to grow up dysfunctional? I must drive Paul crazy. I haven't been a good friend. What is wrong with me?

And then, in the midst of my rant, while putting away the dishes in stealth mode, I heard God say, "You are enough." In the noisy recesses of my cluttered brain, I heard the faint whispers. "You are enough." "You are enough."

Over and over again, "You are enough."

And with those words, I remembered Who made me. And Whose child I am. And I remembered that I do have strengths and gifts. And that my weaknesses, my faults, and all that junk that I so desperately hide - is a chance for God to reveal Himself. For His grace is sufficient and His power is made perfect in weakness.

Sometimes I have so much striving in me. And it's an incredible motivator and it's God-given, because these passions are fueled by more fire than I could ever muster. But all that striving sees defeat more clearly. And when I measure my progress by what my eyes can immediately see, I will always fail. And I will always be less than. And I will always hear the contempt of my enemy sneering lies.

Yesterday I needed to hear the words that I was enough. And today I need to hear that I am enough. And tomorrow I will need to hear that I am enough. Cause if I am trying desperately to walk in the footsteps of my Maker -and if His honor is my intent - and if I am striving to live out His purpose for my life, than I am enough. I am enough, because He is enough.

I'm sure that ants aren't parading in your kitchen. Nor stains glaring in your face. I'm sure that your odor trumps mine, but that's disgusting. I don't know what criticisms you're hearing today and I don't know what kinda mess surrounds you. But whatever it is - however these rambles find you - may you know that you are enough. You are enough, because He is enough.

Living With No Applause

Love this quote by Henri Nouwen:

"Perhaps we must continually remind ourselves that the first commandment requiring us to love God with all our heart, all our soul, and all our mind is indeed the first. I wonder if we really believe this. It seems that in fact we live as if we should give as much of our heart, soul, and mind as possible to our fellow human beings, while trying not to forget God. At least we feel that our attention should be divided evenly between God and our neighbor.

But Jesus’ claim is much more radical. He asks for a single-minded commitment to God and God alone. God wants all of our heart, all of our mind, and all of our soul. It is this unconditional and unreserved love for God that leads to the care of our neighbor, not as an activity that distracts us from God or competes with our attention to God, but as an expression of our love for God… We might even say that only in God does our neighbor become a neighbor rather than an infringement upon our autonomy, and that only in and through God does service become possible."

The jammin thing is that Henri's life speaks these words. Once a theologian and professor at a prestigious university, Henri gave up honor and accolades to take care of mentally disabled people in a home. He read them stories, bathed them, cut up their food, repositioned them in their chairs, folded their laundry, held their hands, and helped them in the bathroom. These individuals wouldn't have known they were being served. They may have not even said thank you.

I wonder if the humility of serving kneeled him closer to Jesus. Often I think my vision of service is too limited, too narrow. It's dishing out lasagna at the homeless shelter, it's teaching a lesson for children's church, it's listening to that girl crying on the other side of the phone line. It's what other people can see.

Sometimes I forget that serving God is also scrubbing my bathtub, working my tail off at my job when no one is there, and praying on my couch. It's putting a Tinkerbell band aid on a scratch, it's clipping coupons and cooking dinner, it's getting stuck in a slide with my kids. It's folding endless laundry (and wow do I appreciate my mom more after having kids!), it's remembering a birthday, it's holding a hand. It's what other people can't always see.

God never marks off our serving to designate what is service and what is not. If I am living in God and for God and through God, then I will live to serve Him, whatever that means. In God, the most mundane tasks and the ordinary routines can carry a weight of significance. No one else may see what we've done. There won't be applause or recognition or even a thank you, but there is still an audience of a breathtaking God, who has been worshipped because we have loved.

Justice Praise

My God, He is just.

He is a refuge for the oppressed.
He is a stronghold in times of trouble.
He has never left those who seek Him.
He does not ignore the cry of the afflicted.

In Psalm 9:16, it says that,
He "is known by His justice."

I love that about Him. Like crazy.

He hears those who cry.
He sees their brokenness, my brokenness.
He invites us to intervene.

He's the One who heals.
We are the recipients.
But we are also the givers.

Justice and praise are all wrapped up in each other.
Entangled and intertwined.
Co existent and co dependent.

Because God is a God of rescue,
He beckons us
Out of our comfort
To love as He loved
And to seek justice for His people.

And when, when we've discovered that our purpose
Is more than attaining a quality of life
And less about remaining comfortable and secure
Then, we will find delight in treasures untold.

God, I want to praise you with all my heart.
I want wonders to tell about.
Help me to live within Your passions.
Because mine aren't worth dying for.
And Yours were.

(Reflections from Psalms 9 and 94)

A Real Question

I'm a native New Englander. So all the adages apply.
I love long-necked clams. I sprint into frigid cold waves headfirst. I bleed Red Sox blood.

Us New Englanders are also said to be hard-headed, independent, and stubborn. Or maybe that's just me. We are a hard working people, up before the break of dawn. We've got clearly defined circles of trust. And we can sniff out fraud pretty easily. Which is why:

I want people to be real.
I want church to be real.

Now I am in no way here to bash the church. I adore the church and I adore my church. I would defend the church to my grave. We are a desperate people made beautiful by a Savior.

But I wonder if we're doing more alienating than welcoming sometimes.

First example, church signs. They infuriate me. In my opinion, they belittle and cheapen and shrink something so magnificent into a corny little quip. I would never enter a church, upon seeing:

Be Fishers of Men.... You catch 'em, He'll Clean 'em
A lot of kneeling will keep you in good standing.
Are you wrinkled with burden? Come on into Church for a faith lift!

Words carry a lot of weight with me. And because of that, the churchy words have gotta go also. We've got so many cliches. Stuff that no one would understand outside of sanctuary walls. Can our language be real and authentic? How can we communicate truth without alienating the vast majority?

All that being said, communicating one's faith isn't easy. I have wrecked on many attempts. I am pretty sweet at stumbling over my own words. Sometimes I sound like a salesman pawning a cheap ware. It's been awkward and fake and too driven and weird. And for that, I am sorry. So sorry. Cause my God is nothing short of breathtaking.

Which brings me to a question I unearthed the other day in a book called The Organic God, by Margaret Feinberg. This question is the reason for my rambles. My eyes immediately welled up in tears upon hearing:

"What do you love about Jesus?"

Hmmm... Now this, this is simple and yet profound. It doesn't alienate or cheapen. It invites and welcomes a response. I think this question goes well with coffee and a friend. Or a stranger. Or my Dad.

Gotta wake the kiddos up from their naps soon, so I gotta run. But I can't wait to share what I love. And even better, I can't wait to hear what you love. Anyone?

"What do you love about Jesus?"

Beautiful Disaster

Why are you downcast, O my soul?
Why so disturbed within me? -Psalm 42:5

Sometimes, it's not a crisis that gets me down.
It's all those little things.

Fever and chills. Aches.
Too sick to take care of my own kids.
Stacked dishes, spots on the carpet.

A macaroni and cheese flop. (And it was bad.)
The feeling of incompetence.
Of putting others out.

Cancelled get togethers with friends.
Quarantined in the house.
A feverish son who bawls every time he coughs, poor little man.

I don't mean to complain.
And certainly don't mean to mope.
I've got it good, I know. Really good.

It's just that I want to be honest today.
I want to cry. I am crying. It's just been one of those days.
And yet, in this honesty, I feel shame.

Shame cause these tears aren't becoming of a follower of Christ.
Shame cause I just don't have it all together.
Shame cause of this transparency:

Raw and ugly and condemned.

Yet in this place I find You.
Or did You find me?
I probably wasn't listening.

Curled up in a ball, like a child in grown-up skin.
You love me and forgive.
Without the threat of shame, You love.

I am a beautiful disaster, but You knew that all along.
You made me human. And that I am.
And the beauty. That's all Yours.

Where can I go from Your spirit?
Where can I flee from Your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, You are there.
If I make my bed in the depths, You are there.
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.
Your right hand will hold me fast. -Psalm 139:7-10

Your right hand holds me fast
In laughter and strength
And in that awful crisis moment
And in every little thing that just doesn't add up quite right.

Redemption came cause I needed it.
So I'm wondering why I default to shame over just being honest.

And I wonder what
friendships
churches
marriages
parent/child relationships
whatever

Would look like with a little more honesty
a little less pride
and a whole lot more of the right hand of God,

Holding us fast.
In every moment we find ourselves in.

What Little I Know About Change (After the Fact)

Yeah, this post may have been relevant two weeks ago. But it’s not now. Oh well. I was never quick with the punches anyway. Always the last to turn in her test, run suicides, or respond in a debate. So, with lightening speed, here goes one delayed uptake on our nation’s transition of power.

If anything, Obama’s inauguration ushered in a hope of a better tomorrow for many Americans. He utilized this notion in his campaign and people rallied behind him in droves. We are clearly a people desperate for hope, for something better than now, for change. We want to know that America’s standing in the world will improve and that the price of food will go down; that our soldiers will be safe and that our children will be spared of the heartaches of our day. We want to know that our jobs are safe and that are streets are getting there. I want to know these things, I want to hope.

Yet hope and subsequent change do not hinge on a presidency, though it be the highest office in the land. They’re not hinged on programs or politics or droves of people who really, really want something. Change begins in our hearts, in our homes, and in the private decisions we make. Change beckons us out of that deep, scarred place within us; a place that can’t help but be selfish and cruel and wanting, always wanting. A measure of change may come at the hands of determination and guts and will. But the kind of change that makes people whole again - always comes at the hands of a Savior.

Twelve years ago now, I found change in an old abandoned parking lot in the city. Two hours before work every day, I met with God here. Me and Him and those words of His. Those life giving, beautiful, crazy, don’t make any sense words. Words like, “Let the dead bury their own dead,” and “A bruised reed He will not break” and this insane notion that, “All who touched Him were healed.” I didn’t understand the half of it, but I wanted to. With every question, more were provoked. And with every answer, more were provided.

So we kept meeting there, in this place. Come fall, winter, spring, summer. Every day, two hours. And all I wanted was more. More of God, less of me. (Something I still need by the way.) In a place of emptiness, I found myself whole. Whole to love again like He first taught me how. Whole to receive the Hope that first came into this world, anyway. Whole to give that Hope away. Desperation could leave its scars on my razor filled tires and on the innocents that walked in my classroom, but I knew there was Hope. And I was going to fight for it. Because He fought for me.

I think that’s where hope and change really hinge, anyhow. They hinge on a God who fights for us. In our loneliness and in our fears and in those doubts we’re swimming in. In our vices and in our grieving and in our weakness, He fights. He is for us and not against us. For us and not against us.

Now that is some crazy kind of Hope. And that Hope will always be relevant (which is why I decided to post this molding, after the fact blog anyhow:)

In Hope,
Kristin

An Ode to Fleecy Footed Jammies

It's those jammies. You know the kind, those one piece fleece kind with feet. They got to me the other night. Got me all choked up and stuff. Over jammies.

As I was holding Adden before bed, I kept looking down at his feet. All zippered in, nice and snug. I wondered how long he would wear those kinda jammies. Maybe when he's seven, but not likely. He already wants to be big like Daddy. And these are little kid jammies.

My eyes welled over jammies.

Maybe it's really not about the jammies after all, though, you think? It's about a little boy, drooling in his momma's arms. It's about being cozy and safe and loved. It's about a one year old's dreams of conquering the kitchen cupboards. It's about a woman's dreams coming true... to hold this little one and to call him mine.

My

Little

Boy.

Forget if this crazy kiddo robs me of sleep and sanity nights without number. Forget if he delights in pulling used coffee filters out of the trash. Grinds everywhere.... Forget if he creates implements of destruction with a mere fork or pen. Forget if I really never know where my toothbrush has been before I go in for a brush. It's always a gamble.

He's my little boy.

And for this season, I will delight in fleecy jammies. You know the kind, with the feet.

And I will give thanks and thanks and thanks for just this.

Sure, God is on that thankful list. And Paul and Selah and the rest of my family of course. Our home. Freedom. Church. The Bible. Good health. Food. Clean water...

But sometimes, at least for me, these big ticket items lose their grandeur. They become ordinary, everyday, commonplace. They never lose their magic or wonder, but I do.

I do.

Sometimes the best thing I can do for myself and my family is to make a practice of excavating even small, seemingly insignificant gifts. And saying thanks for them.

Cause really. If I fail to thank God for fleecy footed jammies, I'm going to look right on past everything else in my life too.

Ever Since I Have Known You...

What are you known for?

I've been diving into Deuteronomy lately for whatever reason. And Moses had some scathing things to say about the Israelites. To the tune of, "You have been rebellious against the Lord ever since I have known you." (9:24)

They were known for their rebellion.

It was how they were perceived, what they were characterized by, and where they achieved their identity.

For them, rebellion was born out of fear and unbelief. Small origins fueled a misplaced identity which in turn ruined a people.

They were known for their rebellion.

What are you known for?

Quiet Me.

Guard your steps when you go to the house of God. Go near to listen rather than to offer the sacrifice of fools, who do not know what they do wrong.

Do not be quick with your mouth, do not be hasty in your heart to utter anything before God.

God is in heaven and you are on earth, so let your words be few. (Ecclesiastes 5:1-2)

I've held onto these words for about a week now, with adoration.

Since I've gotten mobile, there has been an endless list of to do's, frantic scurrying around, and anxiety creeping into my heart and mind and sleep.

My heart races, my head pounds, my soul wraps itself in preoccupation. And it's absurd.

I find myself running after life, with Jesus at my heels. The One I claim to adore so quickly becomes an afterthought, just another item to be checked off under the loads of laundry.

David once said (in Psalm 16:4), "The sorrows of those will increase who run after other gods."

I guess I can understand why. A deep, deserted unfulfillment steals the best of me when I fail to seek first my Love. Remnants are all I have left to give to those whom I love the most... Paul, Selah, Adden...

Today I needed to be reminded that

In repentence and rest is your salvation,
In quietness and trust is your strength...

These words are my healing salve, a pause from the frenzy, a reordering of priorities.

But the sentence ends in...

but you would have none of it. (30:15)

Jesus offers us life to the full. So much so that it makes us whole. And spills over onto everyone we know and even those that we don't. It's an ocean wave crashing into a sippy cup. There's no way to hold such goodness in.

I'm not sure if it's just me, but I often choose to "have none of it. " I would rather navigate my own way, run after every lesser cause, busy myself with the drone of my comforts, and hear myself talk and worry and harbor fears and complain and confide in everyone else but Him.

Still all that is not my God - within me. Quiet me.

Seeking peace,
Kristin:)

Of Life and Loss and A Bring It On Kind Of Hope

Today was my 5K. I was going to run it pregnant. They say it's fine to run these things pregnant as long as you don't get out of breath. The night before the rupture I ran the race in its entirety in a hefty 45 min. I was barely jogging, but I wanted to protect our little one. I felt strong and healthy and amazing.

Twenty eight hours later, my feet couldn't hold me. I reeled from pain, head spinning, eyes unable to focus. The doctors first diagnosed me with food poisoning, then gas. I was sure hoping for monstrous gas, as that would mean that I hadn't food poisoned our family (or Aunt Suzy) or lost a baby.

When we heard the latter, our hearts sank. I couldn't stop wiping away tears. As they wheeled me into surgery (which was sort of fun- they rammed me into a door) I remember praying for Jesus to hold my hand. I'm sure this was anesthesia driven, but I thought he laughed and said that my hand wasn't good enough. He was going to hold me. Weird stuff.

When I woke, I felt somewhat hopeless. At the same time, I felt the God of all hope carry me through something that I didn't think I was strong enough to handle. Maybe it was the morphine or maybe it was some crazy infusion of the Hulk, but the first tangible words I remember thinking were, "Bring it on."

Me? Bring it on? Who did I think I was? I'm a wimp about all things. But all of a sudden it was like I knew Who God was. He felt stronger to me than ever, more real, more there, more present, more good. I felt like with God I could tackle the world. He gave me grit and hope to fight stuff bigger than me. Not me alone. But, God with me. Together. Bring it on wasn't taunting more pain to come my way. But it was my way of saying, "Hurt just blasted you. But you're going to make it. And you don't have to do it alone." Bring it on.

Remember the first diagnosis as food poisoning? It wasn't out of the question as I've food poisoned people before. Okay, maybe just one. My roommate Andrea when we lived in Korea. But it was just an innocent mishap with frozen pizza. Anyway, I thought my lack of culinary skills had struck again.

The afternoon before the rupture, I had made Paul's great aunt a bunch of mini chicken pot pies. While I was chopping carrots, I couldn't get these words out of my head. Assuming they were for Aunt Suzy, I wrote them down in a little card and sent it with the meal. What I didn't realize was that those words were also for me.

If God is for us, who can be against us?
Who (or what) shall separate us from the love of Christ?

In the book of Romans, Paul says that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. Not trouble, hard times, persecution, famine, nakedness, violence...not death nor life, not now or later, not anything.

So I began to think. If no pain in this world can separate us from His love, then every pain in this world can cement us to His love. Not so much the pain in and of itself, but what He does with the pain. How He heals it. How He loves us through it. How He holds out hope if we are willing to open our hands and accept it.

And come on now, though this ordeal was bad in my eyes, it's nothing in comparison to the hurts around me. There are widows and orphans and displaced people groups and single moms working their tales off and HIV ravaging a continent. There are slaves and children in a messed up foster care system and teenagers trying to find their way. There are homeless families and dads burying sons too early and marriages falling apart and thousands of children dying today cause of the food crisis. And then there's my neighbor and I've heard her crying next door.

Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

My Jesus' love is the only thing that can heal any of my scars. All of the physical ones outside of my ability to control. And all of the self-inflicted ones from past failures, fears, and forgetting a very real God who wanted me to know Him. Not simply as Savior, but more completely as Lord. He has made me whole. But it would be a travesty to hoard this healing for myself.

He has come that we might have life and have it to the full. But when you're scarred by the brokenness of this world, sometimes you can't see beyond your own pain. That's why we need to meet people where they're at, where their scars are. John Perkins says that we need to be sensitive to people's needs as they define them. "Their needs as they feel them. And we love them around their needs." This takes more listening than talking, more seeking to understand than striving to be understood, more getting dirty in the trenches than appearing clean in the pews.

It's ladling soup at the homeless shelter and searching for lice in unclean hair. It's buying new clothes for children at the trailer park so that they can look nice when they go back to school. It's giving money to organizations that help fight child trafficking, because children deserve the right to be children. It's hearing the same old story from your grandfather, because he doesn't have anyone else who will listen. It's seeing with your own eyes what is going on in Africa. It's adopting a child from India or rescuing one from the foster care system. It's loving the children you've got like crazy, even when you don't feel like it.

It's messy and inconvenient and sacrificial and more than you want to know and tiresome. This is love. This is what Jesus came for. He consistently met people where they were and sometimes just offered water. Then He shared with them their real need for Himself -for the author of life to heal deep, brutal scars, hidden in their hearts. By His wounds we are healed.

I'm not sure how you're scarred today. But every hurt matters to a God of love. I'm not sure who around you is crying. But if you have been healed by Jesus, there is no greater honor than to give your Hope away. Maybe physically first, then spiritually. No matter what kind of hideous pain is standing in front of us, we can say, "Bring it on," cause we don't go it alone. We hold a God sized strength inside us, a God sized hope, a God sized love that can heal any wound.

Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

This is my beautiful Savior.

I Confess

Sometimes I don't know what to do with You God

I bury You underneath idle conversation
I launch You against unsuspecting targets as if You are a weapon to be wielded
I strip You of your majesty when fear takes precedence over faith
I forget You and the world that lives beyond what I can see

If how we live our days is how we live our lives (Annie Dillard)

Then this apathy needs drowned in waves of forgiveness

Show me how to live and love well

And to ever, forever, point to only You

I Once... And Then

I once...

Sprinted after everything but God.
Abhorred every bit of who He made me to be.
Denied any trace of His existence in my life.
Left a wake of hurt in my footsteps.

And then.
And then He found me.

He beckoned.
Breathed significance.
Carved His own name upon me.
And erased all that was wrecking havoc in my life.
As the east is from the west.

I once was lost, but now am found.

I am found today
Living in freedom and joy and faith
Holding out hope that God can restore the most broken of lives
Treasured in His eyes
And Treasuring my One great Affection,
This Jesus.

So Few Words...

My Dad is gentle, quiet, unassuming, and humble. He is someone who has little to say, so you listen when he speaks. He loves Dunkin Donuts coffee, the Red Sox, and his family. It's that simple. But loving people who can be unlovable at times (me:) is not simple. It requires all the patience, stamina, and sacrifice that you can muster. And he has done that, day in and day out - in great health and with cancer and Crohn's disease - for as long as I can remember.

My Dad teaches me that God listens to what I have to say. Even if I just ramble on with nonsensical junk all the time. He hears me and He cares.

My Dad also helps me to understand the weight of God's word. God doesn't talk our ears off. He hasn't given us libraries chock full. He's given us one book. So I'm thinking that whatever is in that book must be drenched, just sopping wet, with meaning. And yet His voice - the only one that can speak to my deepest need - gets drowned out by noise - text messages, the microwave beeping, emails, the droning TV, screaming children, magazines, work, websites, facebook, whatever.

I want to love my Dad more. I need to love him more. He's the best Dad ever and I thank God for giving him to me. But I also want to learn to love my God more. He is my everything. To do that, I've got to still the distractions and carve out quiet. In that silence, with His few simple words, I will find wholeness. I will find complete.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. I love you.

To Live on Purpose

Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:

Who, being in very nature God,
Did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
But made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant.

- Paul, in Philippians 2:5-6

Our speaker at church this weekend drove home this premise:

To know God is to love Him is to serve Him.

Paul and I were talking last night about the general state of our youth group. From what we've observed - the kids, for the most part, serve God because it's what we're doing at the time. They're not opposed to serving God, but they're also not crazy about it. There are the select few that head to the homeless shelter whenever the opportunity presents itself and are always clamoring to help more in other areas, but most of them have to be nudged a good bit. And some, with nudging, could still care less.

So maybe the serving isn't there cause the love isn't? And maybe the love isn't there cause the knowledge of God isn't? I guess our daily decisions always point back to our hearts. Our lives will tell a story of who God is and whom we are not. It's easy to say that the kids have some work to do, but I've got to be honest and say that I've got work to do. I need to know God more. I need to love Him more. And I need to serve Him more. At the end of the day, I want my life to have been lived with significance. And I want it to say that God is my everything.

I Am Not...

I am not a wife, a mom, a daughter, a sister, a friend (my relationships)
I am not an educator (my training)
I am not an early childhood teacher, youth group leader, children's church coordinator, or writer (my work)
I am not disciplined, motivated, creative, independent, idealistic, sensitive, or encouraging (my gifts)
I am not scheduled, impatient, anxious, busy, perfectionistic, or critical (my weaknesses)
I am none of these.
I am a naked soul clothed in the righteousness of Christ.

This is my Prayer of Identity. Its purpose is to help me remember who I am, instead of trying to be what others want me to be. When I strip away the layers of performance, ability, or expectations, what remains? Who am I without my role as a wife or mother? Who am I without my education or work? What is my value without accomplishment?

I suppose that I waste a lot of time being what others want me to be, as opposed to what God has uniquely created me for. I also suppose that my view of myself impacts my view of others, whether I intend it to or not. Jesus said that love does not seek its own. If that is true, and I believe that it is, what layers of expectations do I throw on others? Do I love regardless of how someone measures up or fails in that regard?

I think I need to quiet the voices of others more and live loudly the voice of my God. He says," You are precious and honored in my sight and I love you." Not because of the roles that I live out, the successes or failures of each day, or the approval or disdain of others. He loves me just because. And that means that I need to love just because.

A Gesture of Hope

Nothing is sweet or easy about community. Community is a fellowship of people who do not hide their joys and sorrows but make them visible to each other in a gesture of hope. In community we say," Life is full of gains and losses, joys and sorrows, ups and downs- but we do not have to do it alone. We want to drink our cup together and thus celebrate the truth that the wounds of our individual lives, which seem intolerable when lived alone, become sources of healing when we live them as part of a fellowship of mutual care."

-Henry Nouwen

I stumbled across this quote today and fell in love with it. In our individualistic society, we often shun community because we think we can do everything ourselves. So every evening, we escape into our places of refuge and lock the doors. We don't know our neighbors and sometimes we don't even know our friends.

I will admit to you that I am one of the worst offenders. It's really hard for me to connect with people sometimes. One, because I'm so awkward and often uncomfortable in my own skin. I feel like people won't really like the person that they get to know. Second, when I invite others to live life together with me, they see my vulnerabilities. And then I am found out, unmasked, transparent. In this case, it's good for me to remind myself that none of us have it all together, ever. And in the realization of that, there is freedom.

The truth is, I know that I need others. We all do. God created us to laugh with each other and to cry with each other. He created us to challenge one another and to confess our failings to one another. Too often I find myself concealing weakness or minimizing hurt. And I assume that I'm not alone in my guise of perfection.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is this - call me to community. Yeah, I need tons of alone time, but I also need others. And if we get together, I'll look past your inadequacies if you can pretend you don't see all the clutter in my living room, that annoying eye twitter of mine, or the fact that I can rarely piece two legitimate sentences together these days.

No Small Life

Recently, the subject of living a life of purpose came up in a conversation that I was having with a friend. She just couldn’t see how her life was being lived for God when it seemed so ordinary and plain. This is someone who has seen suffering around the world firsthand and yet is living in the here and now of her life, just following God everyday, as best as she knows how. She was wondering how she is making any kind of difference whatsoever.

Her questions and concerns struck a nerve within me – like, I almost couldn’t respond to her without bursting out into tears myself. This is my heart. I also want, more than anything, to live a life of purpose. I want, more than anything, to change the world. I want to bring healing and hope and love and joy to a desperate, broken people. But you know what I do? I change diapers all day. I comfort a crying baby. I undercook cookie bars. I watch Elmo and Mr. Rogers. I play with singing caterpillars and disturbing little glowbug creatures. I read the same book at least 20 times a day. I clean toilets and wash dishes. I lose my patience. I cook chicken till it’s so tough that it’s hardly edible.

Looking at my everyday tells me that my life is small. It’s such a far cry from changing the world. But this is where God has placed me right now. My sphere of influence consists of my husband, my children, my extended family, and the people I come in contact with everyday – the grocery store clerk, the single mom living next door, the Starbucks lady (okay, so I wish I could see her everyday, but I’m trying with all my might to reduce my drive-thru brews.) By the way, is it fairly obvious that I think about coffee all day long? It’s got me reeled in, I tell you!

Anyway, God has asked me to be faithful in the here and now. I need to love my Jesus and my sphere of influence with everything that is in me. I can’t judge how effective my life is from my vantage point. My eyes are so not observant, my vision so small. I just have to trust that God is building something in these days that will be beautiful in the long term – that all of these seemingly meaningless tasks -the burnt oatmeal, the vacuuming, the scrubbing- and all of these days sitting on the floor and playing with baby dolls – are maybe not so little after all. When I live in God, for God, and because of God – than no thing in life lacks purpose, meaning, or substance. Somehow, God will love people to Himself and He will change the world, even with what I deem as a small life. And it would be really cool to see Him use Elmo, dry chicken, and potty training stories in the process.