How to Save an Atheist

I am beginning to sympathize with atheists.

Not in belief -- no, never!  A year in anatomy taught me that I have far too little faith for that.

But I am beginning to understand their persistent question: "What's the point?"

"Can't you live a worthwhile, fulfilling life without Christ?" they ask.  "Why do you need Jesus to be happy?  I'm perfectly happy without Him.  Are you telling me that everything I do is pointless?  Are you telling me I can't make the world a better place if I'm not a Christian?  Why should I add Him to my life when I can benefit the world just as much on my own?"

"Well," we try to say, "you're not really happy.  You just think you are."

Good try, but no one is going to buy that one.  If I'm out on the weekend laughing and dancing with dozens of cool people; if I have awesome friends; if I laugh all the time; and you try to tell me I'm not really happy, I'm going to raise my eyebrows, write you off as a freak, and laugh at you later with my friends.  It may be true, but try winning someone to Christ by telling them that their life is secretly miserable -- they just don't know it (poor souls!).

"But our sins are forgiven and we get to go to heaven when we die!"  Great.  Apart from the problem of making heaven sound appealing to someone who doesn't believe it exists, you might also try selling the idea of absolution of sins to a relativist.  Let me know how that goes.

There are those drowning in the world.  Those whose need is obvious, who are miserable, who are hungry for grace and meaning and life.  I'm not talking about them (although their need is just as great).  I'm talking about the happy atheist, the content agnostic.  How do we win those who are tickled pink not to be won?

Here, I believe, is our problem: We are standing shouting, "Want what I have!" but do not appear to have anything worth having.

We proclaim divine and radical happiness -- more joy, more freedom, more life -- but don't actually appear to have more of anything.  We aren't happier.  We aren't freer.  No wonder unbelievers question us -- we're no different from them.  Actually, we're worse off, because we have to avoid all those things that are so "sinful" and "pagan" and miss out on all the fun that they get to experience.  Who wants an ordinary life with the only difference being the things we aren't allowed to do as "good Christians"?  Oh, and a strange belief that God became a human and died tacked on for good measure to establish our insanity.

Who in their right mind, being currently happy, would look any further into that?

Christians, this ought not be so!!  Where are the Gladys Aylwards, with the power of Christ to stand in the middle of a prison and command the rioting inmates to cease?  Where are the Hudson Taylors, standing up even while infected with the plague in the confidence that death would not come until his calling to China was fulfilled?  Where are the Vibia Perpetuas, winning thousands to Christ by dying in the arena?  And "I do not have time to tell about Gideon, Barak, Samuel and Jephthah, about David and Samuel and the prophets, who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised; who shut the mouths of lions, quenched the fury of the flames, and escaped the edge of the sword; whose weakness was turned to strength; and who became powerful in battle and routed armies."

Do our lives look like that?  Because that, my friends, is what it is supposed to look like.

But we're too busy proclaiming "Christians aren't perfect, just redeemed" as an excuse to go on living sinful, self-indulgent lives with a great big "FORGIVEN" slapped across it; too busy running back to Jesus at night after running from Him in the day; too busy dealing with our own problems and vices and addictions and annoyances to experience true victory.

Have we stopped to realize that there is more to the Gospel than forgiveness?  There is more to the Christian life than a few moral rules?  There is more to loving Jesus than a ticket to heaven?

We aren't supposed to overcome sin because Jesus is a stick in the mud.

We're supposed to be rid of sin so that the very power of Christ can live within us.

We're supposed to be saved so that we're useful!  He has promised us "newness of life," but we're looking an awful lot like the old life with a few new rules that we don't even follow all the time.

So.

What if we stopped trying to convince people of the joy of the Christian life, and actually lived it?  If we're spending more time talking to our boyfriend or best friend than to Jesus Christ, we have no right to pontificate the benefits of having Jesus Christ as our self-proclaimed "Best Friend."

What if we got reacquainted with the Gospel?  If we have boiled the Gospel down to "forgiveness of sins" and "heaven when you die," we've lost sight of the majority of the Gospel -- and have no right to try to be its representatives.

If our life is anything less than the very presence and power of God Himself, no one is ever going to see a difference.  No one is ever going to want it.  They may ask you why you don't sleep around, but they're not going to join you in that endeavor so that they can go to a place they don't believe in.  They're just going to feel sorry for you.

But when suddenly our life has more -- when it starts exuding heavenly beauty, starts breathing heavenly life, starts wielding  heavenly power -- that's when they'll notice.  That's when it will make sense.  When we look different, when we look like Jesus, when we look like we're supposed to, maybe -- just maybe -- they'll see something they don't have.  And maybe they'll want it.

Yes, we are supposed to make disciples of all nations.

But first, let's remember what being a disciple actually means, and become that ourselves.

Let's have something worth having; something worth giving.

"Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me." | Philippians 3:12

Two Weeks Later

Day 1: October 17, 2012
Experiment began.  Started well in the morning.  Committed not to exceed a certain amount of TV/movies, internet browsing, etc.  Evening found me glued to The Weather Channel and weather website tracking the progress of a potential tornado.  Scheduled sleep hours thrown off due to not wanting to go to a storm shelter in my pajamas.


Day 2: October 18, 2012
Started well again.  A few hours later, curled up under a blanket in front of the television with nausea and dizziness.  Stayed up too late because rice takes a long time to cook.

Day 3: October 19, 2012
Didn't even start well -- woke up with a piercing dehydration headache from the day before's lack of food and water.  Stayed up late because of company.  Ate too many cookies.


A few days later found me looking up at a huge (metaphorical) brick wall.  Here I was, striving to make Jesus Christ my first priority, and I was not becoming radiant.  I did not have a gentle and quiet spirit.  I was not experiencing healing.  I was less healthy and more riddled with anxieties, annoyances and disappointments than ever.  (If you want to become convinced that spiritual warfare exists, try this experiment.)

I took a walk under the stars, promising to pray through this impasse.  I could feel it; I could taste it; victory was at my fingertips.  And then came the whisper of Christ in my heart: Run.

Probably a small command for most of you, but honestly, a solid run for more than about a minute would be nigh miraculous for me.  "Jesus, I can't run."  I turned my steps back toward the dorm.

Run.

I turned around.  I didn't start running right away, but walked until I had undergone sufficient mental preparation; then I started running.

I made it barely a hundred feet.  As I fumbled for my extremely rapid pulse, swallowing back tears, His voice came: Kendall, you can't run.

"I know!  That's what I tried to tell You!  Why did You ask me to?"

I can.

Though it came in only those two words, I understood the whole message: Why are you trying to break through this wall?  It's impassable.  You cannot make yourself like Me.  Only I can do that.  Beating up against this wall will not break down the wall; it will break you.

Why are you limiting yourself with flimsy human rules that do not deal with your heart?  Why are you trying to clean up your outside, when I'm waiting here longing to renew you from the inside out?

Why are you trying to run...when you can't?

One of the many amazing things about this little experiment is that when something I read in Scripture or hear in a sermon grabs my attention, I never hear it only once.  Within a very short amount of time, I hear the same concept from no fewer than two individual, totally unconnected sources.  It's not as though I go out and Google what the Lord spoke to me about; He just does it Himself.

And one thing I have heard over and over and over -- from different places and different sources that I wasn't even looking for -- is this:

"Our old self was crucified with [Christ] so that the body ruled by sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves to sin." (Romans 6:6)

I have always been very tempted to legalism, which means I can also get extremely caught up in the letter of the law while completely neglecting the spirit (just ask me how I've managed to have multiple relationships without ever dating). So when I began this experiment, I started with a lot of rules: Don't watch more than one movie a week, don't get on Facebook more than once a week, have an hour of Bible study in the morning and an hour in the evening, and so on.  And I became so caught up in those rules and wanting to follow them perfectly that the whole experiment became about the rules...not Jesus Christ.

There were definitely practical changes that needed to be made in my life to create more time to cultivate intimacy.  If I put as much time into my friendships as I'd been putting into my relationship with Jesus, I'd always be having "I-haven't-seen-you-in-forever" chats.  There's things that need to go.  But it can't become about getting rid of those things.  It has to be about Him.

Because when I sleep in an hour or get on Facebook on an "off" day, sure, I felt sheepish.  But nothing threw my days off like neglecting time at the feet of King Jesus.  Nothing killed a Bible study quicker than going in with a "check-it-off-my-list" mentality.

I want to reassure you of just one thing, my friend, that you may wonder from time to time from the midst of this crazy whirling thing called life.

It works.

When I opened my Bible hungry for God, asking for His guidance, direction, and voice...I have never seen an hour fly by faster.  I have never had such victorious, peaceful days.  I've never seen anxiety and peevishness flee that quickly.

Christianity's practical.  Christianity works, because our old self died with Jesus Christ 2,000 years ago, and if we believe it, we are dead to sin, and sin is not our master.

How often do we reckon that as truth?  Not nearly as often enough.  How often do we reckon all of Scripture as truth?  Not nearly often enough.

So my two weeks are over.  But I'm not done, not hardly.  I'm just getting started.

Or rather...He's just getting started.

Feel free to join.

The Purchased Life Experiment

I haven't been here recently.  I could give you the typical reasons: I'm busy, so much schoolwork, no time for my little blog and bloggy friends.

Those would be lies.

There are two reasons I haven't written.  They may seem to conflict, but they don't.  I can't explain it.  I just know it to be true.

The first reason is that I have to write what the Lord is currently working in my life, and what He's been working these past few months is far too intimate to share with the internet.  The words He has spoken to me are -- at least for now -- just between me and Him.

The second reason is that I've had a serious lack of inspiration.

I don't know how that works -- that He's been so active, but yet I have nothing to talk about.  He's been speaking, but am I listening?  Am I implementing it?

I don't think so.

I think I'm too busy wasting time, wasting my life.

I want more.  I want to grow every day.  And then I fritter away my hours surfing the internet, watching television, or doing any other number of things that are so unimportant and frivolous.

So what do I really want?

Do I want to grow in Jesus Christ, or do I want to be a mindless time waster?  Because with the activities my time and energy are directed toward, it sure seems like the latter is what I really want.  And that is both sad and pathetic.

So I've decided to try a little experiment.

For the next two weeks, I'll give the best hours of my day to Jesus Christ.

It will have to look a little different depending on the day because of school.  But what if every day, for the next two weeks, I jealously guard my time with Christ?  What if I give Him more than a passing 15 minutes in the morning and 15 minutes in the evening -- the paltry amount He's been receiving for most of my life?  What if I take practical steps to avoid Facebook, avoid television, and spend that time diving deeper into the Word and reading about people from Christian history who truly understood the purchased life?

Would things be different?  I can't imagine they wouldn't.

So starting tomorrow (Wednesday is an awkward time to start, but why wait another day?), I'll completely revamp my life for the next two weeks.  You won't see me on Facebook much.  If you call or text me during certain hours I've set aside, you won't reach me.  If nothing at all changes within my heart during that time, I'll join the multitudes who have deemed this lifestyle too "radical."  I'll go back to my little 30-minutes-a-day, don't-drink-swear-or-have-sex life.

But honestly, I just don't see that happening.

To be honest, it was extremely hard for me to make this decision to even try it.  Leslie Ludy compares it to surrendering a handful of worthless pebbles for a truckload of priceless jewels, and here I am, clinging to my pebbles.  It's pathetic, the things we seek after more than Him.  The things we are unwilling to give up to get more of Him.

If I fail to hold up my end of this, I'll be straight with you.  I'm not going to sit here and tell you that spending more time with Christ doesn't make a difference, if I didn't spend more time with Christ.  I'm sure all of you know how easy it is to say we're going to start something, and then completely neglect to actually do it.  And that's part of the reason I'm announcing this experiment to the bloggy world.  Now you know.  I can't pretend I didn't decide to do this.  I have all of you who know full well that I did.

So pray for me, friends, as I embark on this journey.  I'll be sure to let you know in two weeks what has happened.

"I have often wished that there were some way to bring modern Christians into a deeper spiritual life painlessly by short easy lessons; but such wishes are vain. No shortcut exists! God has not bowed to our nervous haste nor embraced the methods of our machine age. It is well that we accept the hard truth now: the man who would know God must give time to Him! He must count no time wasted which is spent in the cultivation of His acquaintance. He must give himself to meditation and prayer hours on end. So did the saints of old, the glorious company of the apostles, the goodly fellowship of the prophets and the believing members of the holy Church in all generations. And so must we if we would follow in their train! May not the inadequacy of much of our spiritual experience be traced back to our habit of skipping through the corridors of the kingdom like little children through the marketplace, chattering about everything but pausing to learn the true value of nothing?" | A.W. Tozer

I'm With You

You've probably seen it or done it before.  You have to do something...something absolutely terrifying.  And four words suddenly make it so much more bearable.
 
"I'll go with you."

It's something I've done for my friends.  It's something my friends have done for me.  Even if it's as simple as having your friend up on Google Talk while you make the most terrifying phone call of your life (I'll never forget that, dash)...they're there.  They're thinking of you, praying for you.  They're feeling what you're feeling as much as they can without being you.

You don't expect them to do whatever you have to do for you.  They won't break up for you, go through surgery for you, or take a life-changing test for you.  It's not that they don't want to...it's just that it doesn't work that way.

"What if I go with you?"  Sometimes that makes all the difference.  Things we would never do by ourselves, we allow to become possibilities when we have the promise of a nearby friend.

At my very first piano competition, I was unexpectedly asked to announce my name and piece to the audience.  I promptly burst into tears.  I wanted to run away, and if I'd had my way, I would never have come back.

But somebody went with me.  My mommy held my hand, walked me to the front of the room, and sat beside me while I played.  She couldn't play for me.  But she was there.  Her nearness made me, if not bold, at least a little less of a coward.

Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.

Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.

Yet I am always with You; You hold me by my right hand.  You guide me with Your counsel, and afterward You will take me into glory.

"This is something I have to do alone," we sometimes say.

No, my friend.

There is never anything you have to do alone.

He won't do it for you (though there's one small thing He's already done in your place).  But He'll be there.  He's thinking of you, feeling what you're feeling in a way even your closest friend can't.  And His nearness is enough to make us, if not bold, at least a little less of a coward.

He's there.  It's as simple as that.  He's there and always will be.

And that, my friends, is what has been on my heart throughout my long absence from this blog.

He's there.

Heat and Hope

I know two things for certain.

1. God will call me overseas at some point in my life.

2. I hate heat.

Unrelated, you say?  Check the facts:
-Port-au-Prince, Haiti: 88 degrees, 70% humidity, RealFeel 99 degrees
-Entebbe, Uganda: 81 degrees, 70% humidity
-Bracitos, Guatemala: 93 degrees, 65% humidity
-Dominican Republic: 82 degrees, 84% humidity

Yes, I really am talking about the weather.  It's a real problem for me.  I walk outside in the heat and forget how to breathe.  My blood pressure skyrockets, my heart rate spikes, and the only thing I can possibly think about is getting to air conditioning.  To put it in brutally honest terms, I guess I'm afraid of heat.

This is a recent problem.  A problem that has only developed since the further development of Christ's call on my life - a call that beckons to the least of these in poor, un-air-conditioned, hot countries.

At first I took it as a sign.  "Okay, I'll never go to Haiti.  God's calling me somewhere else."  Up popped Google to educate me about more feasible places, like Siberia and Antarctica.

But two days ago, as I brought a request about the current heat before the Lord, He spoke the following verse with power:

"For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline." | 2 Timothy 1:7

God never uses fear, panic, or anxiety to speak to His children.

By "fear" I don't mean He doesn't use the "fear of the Lord," because He certainly does.  I mean He doesn't use what we know of as fear.  He doesn't speak through phobias, paranoia, or anxiety attacks.  I know of a person who had a panic attack every time they stepped inside a church.  Does that mean God was telling them not to go to church?  God is far too creative to simply scare us out of something He doesn't want us to do.  Over and over and over again, we are told, "Fear not!  Be not afraid!"  If a message comes with fear and intimidation...you can bet it's not from Him.

And these attacks are not to be tolerated.  Anything that is not for Him is against Him, and we have a duty to fight back; to not accept it; to invite Christ to conquer.  Look what we are given: a spirit of power!  We are called to overcome fear and fight Satan's attacks through the all-encompassing power of Christ -- for the same power that raised Christ from the dead is ours through Him (Ephesians 1:19-20).

What lies are you believing?  What fears are you accepting?  Dear friend, they are not of Christ.  With Christ there is freedom and life...not fear.  So invite Him in to tear down the walls.  Stand against whatever cripples you and overcome through the blood and resurrection of God Almighty.  Fear Him alone.  Heed no voice but His.  We have also a spirit of self-discipline that can consistently say "no" to the fear that rises.  We are invited to cast our anxieties upon Him, for He cares for us.  We need not be entrapped by worry and anxiousness any longer.

"But now, this is what the Lord says - He who created you, O Jacob, He who formed you, O Israel: 'Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.  When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.  When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze." | Isaiah 43:1-2

Sovereign

Life spins out of control sometimes.

It's nothing to be ashamed of.  It happens.  It happens to everyone.  Really, it happens to everyone, pretty much every day.

We are never in control.

"Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation?  Tell Me, if you understand.  Who marked off its dimensions?  Surely you know!  Who stretched a measuring line across it?  On what were its footings set, or who laid its cornerstone -- while the morning stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy?" | Job 38:4-7

He...

...the One who laid the earth's foundations...

...He is the One in control.

He is sovereign.

And there is no sweeter truth.

The Christ-life is deeply practical.  It is not simply for moments of riverside meditation.

It's for moments of raw pain when a well-loved man slips away with the sun.  It's for moments of loneliness when best friends are half a country away and other close friends might as well be.  It's for moments when year-old sins whisper lies in the darkest minutes of the wee-morning hours.  It's for moments of deeply difficult sacrifice as a hand that has clutched long and tight is slowly, painfully pried open to yield up the treasure it so fiercely protected.

"Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."

Faith is following when there is no light, because we have seen His face, we know His goodness, we know His leading.

Faith is falling to the ground, looking up, eyes filled with pain and confusion and doubt, and declaring, no matter how tremulously, "Oh Lord...Thou knowest."

He knows.

How it thrills my heart!

"God has a plan."  How many times have you heard it?  Is it cliche to you, or is it truth?

Can we not rest?

Can we not sit back, say with deepest reverence, "Thou knowest," and rest in His boundless, shore-less, reckless love?

For yes...His love isn't put off by our confusion.  Our doubts do not stop it.  The pain that overwhelms us is not too deep a hole for His love to spill into and spill over.

Rest is not easy.  But He is sovereign.  It is freeing.  It is the only reason we can rest.  'Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus!

Wherever you are at today, my friend, may the sovereignty of an all-loving Friend rest heavily upon you.  He sees.  He knows.  He acts.

Sovereign.

Broccoli Love

I would like to talk to you about a controversial topic.  There will be many people who disagree with me, but I would like you to try to overlook it, because the controversial topic isn't the point of this post.  It's just an illustration.  So work with me, people, work with me!

This controversial topic is broccoli.

For the sake of this post...no one really likes broccoli.  And that's controversial because I know there are plenty of people who like broccoli.  I actually happen to be one of them.  Still.  For the sake of argument, we shall define broccoli as "that green vegetable that mothers force their children to eat because it's good for them, but that no one really enjoys."

Okay, now that we're on the same page, I can get on with the real point of this post.

I would like to propose that most of us look at Jesus and His love like we look at broccoli.  We know we should take part in it because it's good for us, but we don't particularly enjoy it, and it's certainly not our first choice.  We will run to other things to satisfy our hunger, because broccoli just isn't tasty enough to warrant eating enough to fill you.  And no matter who you are, I'm going to guess that broccoli is nobody's comfort food of choice.

"I'll eat my broccoli first," you promise, "but I'm going to get through it as quickly as possible so that I can have that cake."

"I"ll go to Jesus first," we promise, "but I'm going to spend as little time with Him as possible so I can move onto things that actually make me feel better."  (Which, incidentally, could also be cake.)

His love is not a broccoli kind of love.

His love is not a, "Yeah, I've got Jesus...but I need other stuff too" kind of love.

His love is not something we proclaim, but abandon when the rubber meets the road because we find it insufficient.

At least, it shouldn't be.

"You will delight in the richest of fare" (Is. 55:2b).

"Those who seek the Lord lack no good thing" (Ps. 34:10).

"Take delight in the Lord" (Ps. 37:4).

He's not supposed to be a to-do.  He's a delight.  Being near Him is a thrill...is a joy.

Look at a few examples here.

"Thinking he was the gardener, [Mary] said, 'Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.'  Jesus said to her, 'Mary.'  She turned toward him and cried out, 'Rabboni!'  Jesus said, 'Do not hold onto Me..." (John 20:15-17)

Sometimes it frustrates me, the little details that are left out of the Bible, but we are left hints.  Jesus would not have told Mary not to hold onto Him if she weren't clinging to Him.  In her delight at seeing Him (and seeing Him alive!), she just had to hug Him!  Jesus was huggable!  God is huggable!  Doesn't that make you happy??  (Well, I know a few people who don't like hugs...but doesn't that make most of you happy??)

And then what about this one:

"Early in the morning, Jesus stood on the shore, but the disciples did not realize that it was Jesus.  He called out to them, 'Friends, haven't you any fish?'  'No,' they answered.  He said, 'Throw your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some.'  When they did, they were unable to haul the net in because of the large number of fish.  Then the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, 'It is the Lord!'  As soon as Simon Peter heard him say, 'It is the Lord,'...he jumped into the water" (John 21:4-7).

As soon as he realized it was Jesus...Peter had to be near Him.  He could've stayed in the boat and gone with everyone else like a sane, dry person, but no; he had to get to Jesus.  Had to.  This wasn't even the first time they had seen Jesus alive, either!  Peter already knew that his Lord was living.  This was simply another encounter, another chance to be near Him.  And by golly, Peter wanted to be near Him.

People don't throw themselves at stiff, serious sticks-in-the-mud.

People don't jump into the freezing cold Sea of Galilee to get to boring, judgmental  killjoys.

His presence is something powerful.  It is something fulfilling.  And it is something we are all in desperate need of.

He waits for an invitation -- an invitation to come and be all that we need Him to be.  An invitation to fill us up and cause us to realize that with this love washing over us, nothing could ever be that bad again.  Anything this world can throw at you is only a surface wound, only a scratch.  The enemy's got nothing on you; your God is for you.

He is enough.  He's not just good for you.  We are meant to delight in Him.

So grab a party hat and put on your dancing shoes.

This is a God worth celebrating.

How He Loves

The first thing I notice is the color.  The colors here are more intense, more beautiful than anything I've ever seen.  The deepest green; the most vibrant, dark pink; the crispest blue sky.
Heaven? I wonder to myself.  No; I don't know how, but I know it's not heaven.  It's here.  It's now.

I see myself, dressed comfortably in jean shorts and a T-shirt, walking along a path.  I'm laughing -- giggling, even.  My heart leaps inside of me in a way I can't explain.  Indescribable joy, bubbling up into laughter I can't hold back.  Not the hysterical kind, not the polite kind, not the funny kind; but the kind that comes from a deeply happy heart.

I'm not alone; Love is here with me.  He takes my hand, and my smile grows even larger, if that is possible.  He shows me the intricate details of the flowers we walk alongside.  He points out a squirrel who startles and runs as we approach, his tiny little feet bringing yet another smile to my face.

The slightest crisp breeze brings a fresh feeling to the already fresh spring day.  Everything is perfect.  "This day is for you," He tells me, and somehow I know that this is not a "day" in the way we think of a day; it is a season, a season of the heart.  My spirit is a flower-filled, verdant garden, but the joy I feel is from the presence of my Father in that garden.  He is the one who makes it grow; He is the one who turns it green; and He is the one who brings laughter bubbling out of my mouth.

He smiles at me, a smile His face can barely contain.  "This is how I love you."

The vision disappears, another taking its place.


There is no laughter here.   It's quiet; it's bare.  The sky is flat, the air hot and dead.  Not a breath stirs.  There is no rustling of leaves, no scurrying of squirrels.  All I can see for miles is sand.  Hot, gritty, and barren.

My skin is burning as the sun beats down on it mercilessly.  I know I would be crying, but the desert has dried out my tears; I need every last drop of hydration just to stay alive.

But I'm not alone.  He's here.  I see Him waiting, and I know I've rebuffed Him time after time.  He could shelter me if I asked Him, but I've insisted on remaining on my own.  There's something so human about the desert; standing on my own brings me an ache I'm not sure what I would do without.

But remembering the times we've shared in the garden, I make the choice. I let Him come, and become lost in His shadow.  In His arms, a cool breeze begins to rush over me.  He's close, closer than I've ever let Him be before; I need Him close.  I need healing.  His presence is water to my dry heart.

It is not the same as the garden; but we are so close, I cannot wish to be anywhere but here.  He brought me here for a reason: If we stayed always in the garden, I would never have realized how near He could be, how near He wants to be.

And even as the sun beats down around us, He whispers tenderly that He holds all my tears in a bottle, even the tears that have never left my eyes.  His strong, deeply emotional voice tells me that He will make the Valley of Trouble a door of hope.

He whispers once again: "This is how I love you."

And in the middle of the desert...joyful laughter begins to bubble up.


The garden will be all the more intimate because of the desert; the desert is bearable because I remember the garden, and allow Him to come and speak words I would otherwise find superfluous.

Both are so necessary.

Both are His love.

Intriguing Title*

My high school's free planner was pretty ridiculous.  I loved my planners, and I kept all of them -- they not only document the dates of most of the significant events of my high school career, but I also gave them awesome covers (do the words "fairy hippo baby" make you as happy as they make me?).  But these were those school planners that had inane "quizzes" in the corners about topics such as, "Are you a responsible person?" and "Are you a kind person?", determining the answers through questions that most likely involved baby whales, trees, and recycling (not that there's anything wrong with that).

One of these weekly "assignments" was actually rather meaningful.  I don't think it was an original idea, as I've heard it again since, but I liked it.

The silly little box in the corner of the page that was only useful when I was extremely bored...asked me to write my own obituary.

I never did it.  I recall some thoughts about Mt. Everest and bungee jumping, but beyond that I never put much thought into it.  I was in tenth grade, I had forever to figure out what I was going to do with my life.

But as I've watched people around me, I've discovered that so much of what we dedicate our time to will be so useless at the end of our lives.  The time to decide how we want to be remembered is now, and the time to start living that way is now.

What will people say one day, hopefully years from now, when they consider your life?

Imagine the following scenes -- people at funerals, lining up one-by-one to explain how the person who passed on has impacted their lives.

"Jimmy had so much stuff," a young man says tearfully.  "The amount of money in his bank account was really meaningful to me."

"Bob had so many Facebook friends."  *sniff*  "That changed my life."

"Annie's clothes will really be missed.  She had the cutest shoes."

"Janie went so many places, I didn't really know her.  But oh!" a woman exclaims with a sob, "she had really great Facebook pictures.  I'll miss those Facebook pictures."

"I think what I'll miss most about Audrey...is her thigh gap."  A tissue comes out.  "She was just the perfect size!" he wails, shaking his head.

Of course that's ridiculous.  Of course people aren't going to talk about the number of Facebook friends you had, and they'd better not talk about a thigh gap (which, by the way, I'd never heard of until I came to college).  That's just wrong.  These are not the things that matter.  These are not the things that last.

So why is it that these are the sorts of things we spend our time trying to achieve?

"Let not the wise boast of their wisdom or the strong boast of their strength or the rich boast of their riches, but let the one who boasts boast about this: that they understand and know me, that I am the Lord, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight." | Jeremiah 9:23-24

How about this instead?

"He forgave me when I didn't expect him to, undeservedly and unreservedly."  (Col. 3:13)

"She valued me above herself."  (Phil. 2:3)

"He did everything with a joyful spirit, no matter how degrading or mundane the task."  (Phil. 2:14)

"She lived in absolute freedom."  (2 Cor. 3:17)

"He introduced me to Jesus Christ."  (Mat. 28:19)

"She loved me as Christ loves." (Eph. 5:2)

"He desired nothing in this world more than Jesus Christ."  (Ps. 73:25)

"She feared God, and became fearless."  (Is. 8:12)

Here is my challenge to you.

What do you want people to say about you, at the end of your life?  Looking back, what will they remember?  What do you want them to remember?

And once you've figured out what you want that to be, go after it.  Stop at nothing.  If it is to be your legacy, make it a strong one.  If it's Facebook friends, get adding.  If it's a thigh gap, get at those squats.

If it's Jesus Christ, get on your face.

Let it be said of us that we gave to reach the dying
Let it be said of us that our hearts belonged to Jesus
Let it be said of us that we spoke the words of life
Let it be said of us that we lived to be a blessing

"What is the secret to great living?  Entire separation to Christ and devotion to Him.  Thus speaks every man and woman whose life has made more than a passing flicker in the spiritual realm.  It is the life that has no time for trifling that counts." | Amy Carmichael

*I couldn't think of anything exciting.  I am currently taking suggestions for the title of this post.  Let me know.  If I use your idea, I'll give you a virtual hug (oh yeah, get excited).

Unfinished?

Once upon a time...a woman asked an artist for a painting.

She didn't specifically ask...but she did set up a canvas in his studio.

And the artist, you see, loved to paint.  So if someone gave him the opportunity to paint, he thrilled in it.  He rejoiced in it.  And he painted.

A few weeks after he had begun painting, the woman heard about his work.  Furious, she went to see the artist.  "I didn't ask you for a painting!" she exclaimed.  "I have no wall space, nowhere to put it!  I wanted that canvas left blank, maybe for later, but certainly not now!"  She glanced at the painting, already underway, already marked by the master artist's brushstrokes, already symbolic of hours of loving, passionate work.  "I want that thing destroyed."

The artist protested.  "This will be one of my finest works," he told her.  "If you don't have room for it, I will find someone else to give it to, someone who will love it and appreciate its beauty."

She did not listen.

The artist was agonized.  "Please," he begged her, "I love this painting.  I have spent hours planning it, designing it.  It is meant to be cherished."  He trailed his finger over the just-dried paint.  It was already beautiful; how much more beautiful could it be when it was finished!

But with a shake of her head, the woman reached out, grabbed the painting, and ripped it apart.

The artist wept.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm not an artist.  But I do remember a time when I was younger that I was knitting a scarf.  I was very, very proud of my progress on the scarf from the first stitch onward.  One day, in my carelessness, I let the needle slip out, and the entire scarf unraveled.  I was most distraught.

The scarf wasn't finished yet.  I could start over.  I could even do it differently if I wanted to.

But even the few rows of uneven stitches represented hours of hard, shaky-fingered, careful little-girl work.

Everyone (hopefully) would sympathize with a little girl whose unfinished scarf unraveled.

We would call someone cruel who destroyed a painting whilst it was still under the artist's brush.

We would weep with someone whose novel's first pages were thrown into the fire, though the remainder had yet to be written.

Let us, then, weep for the Master Artist, the Divine Author, whose work is so often destroyed mid-brushstroke...mid-word.

It's not a baby yet, but you wouldn't dare feed a smile-less Mona Lisa to the flames.

It's not a human yet, but you wouldn't shred the first hundred pages of War and Peace and justify it by saying it's "not a book yet."

It's not finished yet, but even if it's not, what does it matter??

What does it matter?

Do you see?  Do you understand?

I can in no way stand in judgment on any woman who has had an abortion.  I have no idea what she has been through.  No idea.  But somewhere along the way, whether by herself or someone she trusted, she had to have been lied to.

She had to have been told, "It's okay...it's not finished yet."

Oh, we are all not finished yet! praise God!  But may we ever see the love, the planning, the passion that went into our creation!  How can we justify destroying something simply because the final touch has not been added?

Simply because it's "not done" doesn't mean it isn't already beautiful.

Simply because it's "in progress" doesn't mean it's not already indescribably precious.

I have nothing to add, except that I pray our hearts may be broken, enlightened, and move to action.

May we fight to keep the Artist's canvass under His brush.

Happy Fourth Quarter!

Did you know me this time last year?

I was a senior in high school -- and I was one of those senior girls. A senior girl who, while everyone else delighted in the arrival of their graduation robes, tried on hers with misted eyes. A senior girl who, while everyone else exclaimed how excited they were to get out of the house, clung teary-eyed to her mommy. A girl who had to make "crying dates" with her shower so that she wouldn't lose it in class (although that still happened multiple times); who had to practice the graduation song dozens of times at home until she could get through it without choking up; a girl who hugged more and cried more during that last quarter than you would ever believe. A girl who dreaded every end and sobbed through every last -- and a girl who missed the magic of every new beginning.

Everyone tried to tell me. "Things are ending," they would acknowledge, "but they have to end so that new things can happen."

I would have laughed in their faces if I hadn't been crying (rude, I know). I didn't care about beginnings. I couldn't understand why more people weren't feeling this way. Silly and melodramatic as it sounds, a little part of me died when I graduated from high school.

I never asked God why I had to graduate and move on. That just comes with life, and He certainly ought not except me from the human task of growing up. But I did ask Him, many many times, why it was so hard for me when it seemed to be so easy -- so exciting -- for almost everyone else.

"It is not that everything that has anything to do with ourselves is in itself wicked and deserving of death. It did not mean that when Jesus said, 'Not my will...' There could not have been even the smallest part of His will that was wicked. It was a choice to lay down everything -- the good He had done and the good He might do if He was permitted to live -- for the love of God. The same choice is offered to us... Little deaths have to be died just as great ones do" (Elisabeth Elliot, Passion and Purity).

God never answered why I was so devastated about moving on to a new stage of life. Maybe I'm simply more inclined to form strong emotional attachments. Whatever it was, it was settled and not going to change. But what could change was what I did with it.

In the grand scheme of things, moving on from high school is not what most people would call a "great death." But it still had to be died. I had to give up high school and everything that came along with it -- the comfort of familiar friends, teachers, events, drives, everything I knew -- they all had to be forsaken, changed, died to.

But it has taken nearly a year for Christ to impress the following onto my heart:

"There is a big however. It is this: We are not meant to die merely in order to be dead. God could not want that for the creatures to whom He has given the breath of life. We die in order to live" (Elliot).

I can hear you now. "Kendall, you're over-spiritualizing graduation."

Perhaps in your experience, it wasn't (or won't be) nearly this big of a deal. Perhaps no one, no one at all can relate to this. But my friend, this paralyzed me. I was unable to move on and embrace the new life that I had been so graciously given. I could not enjoy it fully, because all my new experiences were mixed with the memories of a past that I couldn't get back. I'm a naturally joyful person, and this fought hard to take that away.

That part of me died, and it stayed dead.

It took the realization that it really has been nearly a year for me to make an effort to fight nostalgia. It took realizing that my life has been on hold, even as it whirred by me, for almost a year! Life is too short, my friend! I cannot spend a year wishing it was an earlier year! I cannot spend a year too focused on old acquaintances to reach out and make new friends! I cannot spend an entire year of college in high school!

I know you may not be able to relate to this yet. But from what I have seen of people beyond me in years and wisdom, there will come a time when you wish you were facing anything but
now.

But we are told to make the most of every opportunity. We are told to forget what is behind and press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of us. We are told to see that He is doing a new thing.

That part of me died for a reason -- so that it could live again. So that it could be brand new. And oh! He has been waiting far too long for me to come to Him and beg Him to begin that new thing.

Giver of good, help me love the now!

To love the now!

Whether you are a middle schooler about to begin high school next semester, a senior thinking back on the past four years and looking expectantly to the end of May, or you have moved beyond those stages and are smiling at all the life I have left to live (much of which I am sure will blow high school out of the water)...may you love the now. May He help you love the now. If the now is filled with laughter, may it spill out onto everyone around you. If the now brings you heartache, tears, and little death upon little death, may you have the courage to die, knowing that you are meant to live again.

Laugh with me. Cry with me. Feel whatever you're feeling with your whole heart, and don't be afraid of it.

But don't be afraid to let it go, feel something new, and do something new.

Happy Fourth Quarter, my friend. May you live it with your whole heart.

After Kony

I haven't shared the Kony video on Facebook.

Does that make me a terrible person?

I mean, maybe it's because by the time I found the time to watch it (tonight) it had already been posted so many times that my adding to the constant "So-and-so and 17 other friends shared a link" would have seemed redundant (although with this campaign, I guess that's the whole point). Maybe it's because I thought people wouldn't watch a 30 minute video if I shared it (after all, I didn't -- I waited until Invisible Children actually came to my university). But come on! I'm usually on top of this whole "Facebook sharing" thing! I'm behind on my game! (Actually I'm usually the person who starts "round 2" of a viral video, oblivious to the fact that everyone has already seen it months ago.)

I love the fervor, the passion with which people have greeted this video and this issue. They know it's important. They want to do something about it. I think that's great. I signed the little pledge card, hung up a poster in our dorm room, and yeah, I cried when I watched that video. I agree -- let's do something.

But there's something that's bothering me. Not with the issue, not with the campaign, the organization, or any of that (please do not think I am criticizing IC or this mission to see Joseph Kony brought to justice).

It's that nagging worry that this will be it.

I'm not accusing people of, "Oh, all of a sudden you care." YES, please care! I'm so glad you care now! Care now, because now is when you've heard about it!! We can hardly care when we do not know.

But the video expires December 31, 2012.

So what next?

Will this fizzle out?

Will this be it?

Lord willing, when it works, and this man is stopped -- what then?

Will we rejoice in the victory, but then simply return to our everyday lives?


There is a child soldier in Burma named Shwe Dara. He was nine years old when I purchased his dog tags this past summer. As of that moment, he was on active duty.

The story broke my heart. He was more than a concept, he was a name, a human being. For weeks, I clutched those tags close to my heart and whispered prayers for Shwe Dara, a child half my age forced to carry an AK-47 that I myself would have a hard time lifting.

And then the dog tags got too noisy to carry around. Other worries started occupying my mind. Shwe Dara was pushed to the back burner, his tags hung on a hook, and his name become unfamiliar on my tongue once more.

But he's still out there. Unless he's been killed -- God, may it not be -- he's still Shwe Dara, a little boy living in Burma with dreams and a personality and a favorite food. Has the ministry from which I learned his name rescued him? I don't suppose I'll ever know. But what I do know is that even though the novelty of his story has passed, his story is still going on; and thus, so should my love and my prayers and my support for this little boy.

So my question is: Now that you know stuff like this exists, what will you do? When this video no longer appears in your News Feed twelve times in an hour, will you still have a heart and a mind for the slave? Will you still plead for them on your knees? Will you speak up for those who cannot speak up for themselves, even when you have no reminder?

Will you remember? Because let me tell you, my friend, the children living in this hell certainly remember. This is not a fad to them. It's not a trend. It's not a viral video. It's their life.

And they are not the only ones. Millions of orphans live on the streets, sniffing glue to ease the hunger that gnaws at their stomachs. Billions of people live in poverty, drinking water that you and I wouldn't even deign to swim in. What about them? Could we take the enthusiasm with which we have met this cause, and go hard after helping them as well? "Stop At Nothing," say the posters. Will we stop at nothing for the billions of beautiful people left after this is over?

America knows now to be passionate. So let us continue to be passionate. Let us be educated and active, and never, EVER lose this fervor. If we fought like this for every cause, for every orphan, for every man woman and child living in poverty, can you imagine what could be done?? I am so glad this video got the ball rolling, but let's keep it going long after Kony is gone.

I am a hopeful, prayerful optimist that our nation can wake up and start fighting for something.

May this passion never end. Oh Lord...let us wake up, and NEVER fall back asleep.

"Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter -- when you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?" -Isaiah 58:6-7

Over My Shoulder

I live on the second floor of a two-story, apartment-style dorm complex. It's pretty great. Okay, really great.

Tonight, for the first time, I was in a downstairs apartment for an extended period of time. I hadn't realized until now how much noise travels downstairs. My first thought was, "Oh! Our poor downstairs neighbors! I wonder what they've heard?"

My second thought was a much more panicked, "....What have they heard??"

I wracked my brain, trying to think of embarrassing things I've said loudly. There's probably many of them. And even worse...have I said anything about other people?

God gently but piercingly spoke to my heart. The way you speak should be such that you should never even have to worry about that.

Oh, so much conviction.

The Lord brought to mind five categories of persons I believe we should be mindful of when we speak. In fact, I believe we should be imagining that they can hear every single word we say. I would like to share those with you.

1. Our Friends. I love my friends. I love them a lot. And they're pretty great. I don't tend to criticize them, because they don't give me a lot of reason to. But if they could hear every single word I speak about them, would they feel honored? Would they feel treasured, loved, encouraged and uplifted? One hundred percent of the time? If we notice something less-than-admirable in them, should we not take this concern first to Christ and, if appropriate, to the friends themselves? No one should ever hear derogatory comments about the people I do life with. If I would not say it to their face, I should say it to no one.
2. Our Enemies. I'm not sure I have any "enemies," so perhaps I'll define this more loosely as "people we don't particularly like." Sometimes, personalities don't click. Sometimes, circumstances cloud our opinions. Sometimes, we try to hold non-Christians to the same standard to which we ought to hold ourselves. Whatever the reason for our distaste, it needs to be brought to the feet of Christ, and left there. "Love through me, Love of God," Amy Carmichael pleaded, and He can do it. If the people we're not naturally particularly fond of could hear what we say about them, would they be amazed at the unconditional, consuming love of Christ pouring through us? Or would they find rejection and disdain? May it never be!
3. Our Parents. I cannot tell you the number of times a child has posted something on Facebook, thinking their parent will never see it, only to have the parent find it. First off, how embarrassing. And secondly, what good does it do? Speaking negatively about our parents behind their backs is only destructive. It solidifies opinions that they are careless, worthless, brainless, or what have you, and it does nothing to address any real problems that might be going on. I realize that not everyone was given parents like mine, and there might be real hurt involved. But if they could hear what you said to your friends -- what would they do? How would they feel? Would it encourage them to be a better parent, or would it just make them angry? Can we not at least give them the honor of speaking to them directly?
4. Our Future Spouse. If I am going to be blessed with marriage, my future husband is alive. He's out there somewhere. He's doing something tonight. Maybe he's wondering what I'm doing. And how would he feel...if I was giggling about someone other than him? Let me tell you, some of these days, he would have been horrified. Sickened. Heartbroken. This has less to do with how we speak about our future spouse and more to do with honoring them. If my guy could see the way I speak with and about the opposite sex, would he feel honored? Would he be impressed by my gracious, ladylike, decorous speech? Or would he cringe, his heart aching for me to be more cautious with my words?
5. God Himself. Not to make God sound like a creeper or anything, but, uh, He can hear you. And He tells us that "men will have to give account on the day of judgment for every careless word they have spoken" (Matt. 12:36). Wow. That one always convicts me. How many times do I speak without thinking? How many times do I speak without considering that my words are to be an offering of worship to a Most High God who gave up His life for me?

There is so much in Scripture regarding the tongue. God wants that part of our life, and He has every right to claim it. May our speech ever be such that finding out our downstairs roommates can overhear would be far from a concern -- it would be a blessing, for they would be overhearing the most uplifting, Christlike conversation they'd ever encountered.

"Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen. And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you." -Ephesians 4:29-32

The Romance of Life

My very own Valentine Dare was a personal success. A rousing success.

A total turnaround in the way I approach life.

It started with an early morning. A very early morning. But that was okay, because I knew Jesus was going to give me a gift.

It was cold and rainy. But that was okay, because I knew Jesus was going to give me a gift.

Classes were long and tiring. But I didn't think about that for long -- I was waiting for a gift.

My eyelids were heavy all day. But my heart was awake, because I was anticipating a gift.

I got a gift. More than one, really. Lots of little ones, and a day with the king of Kings.

And the greatest part of the day was when I heard Him whisper, "Let's do this every day."

I began to notice gifts in the strangest of things.

A lab that got out early. A spontaneous Starbucks run with a sweet friend. Warmer-than-of-late weather. A playful squirrel.

And even better, I was always looking. Always asking. Always anticipating. Always excited.

I think, my friend, He has a gift in every day.

It might be small.

But it's there.

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." -James 1:17

Life is more lovely when you're always looking for a gift.

Let's do it.

The Valentine Dare

I love the cliches that single people get to hear around Valentine's Day. Now, I'm not trying to be unkind to anyone who says these sorts of things. In fact, I believe many of them to be completely, wonderfully true, and yes, I've probably "encouraged" single girls with them (between text messages from a boyfriend -- sorry ladies). However, I shall give my unfiltered, gut reactions, because let's be honest -- true as they are, in the moment we're feeling lonely, they really don't help. Let's look at some of these cliches and their typical responses, shall we?


Number 1: It's okay, one day your prince will come!
Well, that's all fine and dandy, Miss In-A-Perfect-Relationship, but in case you haven't noticed, "someday" is not "today," and saying that he'll be here one day is about like telling a famine victim that they should be happy with the thought that one day, their food will come. I'll probably die before he ever gets here, so you just enjoy your Valentine's date.

Number 2: Valentine's Day is just another day. Like St. Patrick's Day or Secretary's Day. Or Adopt a Rescued Rabbit Day.
Ah, yes. Just another day. A day when people post gushy statuses about their significant others on Facebook. A day when I have to take pictures of my friends as they prepare for their romantic dinner. A day that was designed specifically to remind me, and only me, of my single, alone, destitute condition. Oh, that's totally normal. I mean, I wear hearts and paint my nails princess pink every day -- don't you?

Number 3: Serve others on Valentine's Day.
Ehhhh... Sounds great and all, but then I'd have to leave the house, put on clothes, abandon this really delicious mint chocolate cookie ice cream, and see all the people staring at each other longingly anticipating their date. I mean, I know it'd make me happy, but that's just too much effort...

Number 4: Valentine's Day is a great reminder that singleness is a wonderful opportunity to prepare you for the day when you finally meet your future husband.
Here's the problem, my friend. People have been preparing me for the day I meet my future husband for years. But they've never prepared me for the day that I don't.

Number 5: Jesus is enough.
That one's sticky. You're just trying to make me feel bad, aren't you? So what, because I'm not jumping up and down out of joy for being single, I'm a horrible person? Are you saying I don't love Jesus?? Are you???


Even truth, in the midst of loneliness, doesn't always make us feel all hunky dory.

Truth is, Jesus is enough.

But I'm not going to tell you to go off, lock yourself in your closet and pray for seven hours on Valentine's Day (although that could be pretty cool...maybe you should).

I want you to take a challenge with me.

I want you to go to Jesus, still your heart before Him, and ask for a Valentine.

Don't be specific. Don't ask for a Camaro. And please, for goodness' sake, don't ask for a boyfriend (or girlfriend).

Let Him surprise you.

Ask for Him to open your eyes to something...anything...a special gift, hallmarked just for you, and signed by the Prince of Peace and Lord of Life Himself.

Ask Him for the best Valentine's Day gift ever.

And then look for it.

Be constantly asking, seeking, searching, looking. Notice the small things. Let your eyes be opened, your heart be softened.

And then at the end of the day, even if you didn't notice anything specific, you'll find, to your shock, that you spent the day in sweet communion with One who loves you better than life itself. Instead of moping, of wondering "when" "why" and "who," you shall find yourself in the midst of the greatest, most passionate and most important love relationship there ever was. And that, my friend, is a gift in and of itself.

"Bare heights of loneliness...a wilderness whose burning winds sweep over glowing sands, what are they to HIM? Even there He can refresh us, even there He can renew us." -Amy Carmichael

Faith and Sight

I don't think God is real because the Bible says so. I don't think God is who He says He is in the Bible merely because the Bible says so. And I really don't think the Bible is true because it says so...in the Bible ("Kendall, why do you think the Bible is true?" "Because it says so." "Where?" "In the Bible." "But how do you know that what the Bible says is true?" "Because the Bible says so...").

*sidenote: How strange does the word "Bible" start to look after typing it nine times? Is that even the right word? Am I talking about the right thing??*

We walk by faith, not by sight, but that doesn't mean I blindly accept the Bible just because I want to.

I accept the Bible not because it says it's true, but because I've experienced it to be true.

"Experiences are circumstantial," you may say. I can accept that to a degree, but I know who I am because of Christ, and I know who I'd be without Christ. I know that when I beg Him, "Speak," He whispers gently to my heart. I know that when I plead, "Hold me," I'm filled with a comfort I can't explain. I know that when, as I lay in my bed at night, I call upon the power of Christ, my mind is yanked back from places it shouldn't go, and I experience victory that I know I cannot achieve on my own (I've tried!).

So I don't believe God is true because I think the Bible is true.

I know the Bible is true because I know God is true.

I know because I've seen His power, and the power of His word to set the captive free. I know because someone like me should never be able to experience a feeling of absolute freedom and purity, but I've felt it. I know because I've seen the impossible accomplished in my life. I know because on days when I should be tired and irritable and snappy, He comes and says, "You don't have to say yes to that; you can say yes to Me." I know because He's said yes. I know because He's said no. I know, because me and God? We're good friends, He and I. And now, even when I can't see, I've experienced enough of Him to go forward blindly, trusting in His goodness and His character.

So I believe that Jesus is the Son of God; that belief in Him means salvation and freedom from the tyranny of sin; and a whole SLEW of other things under that umbrella not because a book told me so (I mean, books say Harry Potter is a boy who goes to Hogwarts, but I don't think that's true) but because I don't know how to explain what has happened in my life any other way. Not merely the important reading of Scripture, but the fulfillment of Scripture in my life -- that's why I'm willing to give my life to this, and I won't for one second count it wasted.

"I hear these people asking me, How do I know what I believe? Well, I'm not the same me, and that's all the proof I need." -Britt Nicole, "All This Time"

When I Grow Up

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I love this question. The possibilities are endless, and so fascinating. My first-ever answer to that question, back when I was four, was the very predictable, very little-girl "ballerina." (Does it make it more unique that I wanted to be an evangelical ballerina?) However, 14+ years of ballet training, while teaching me dedication, hard work, and how to spell "Pas de bourree," have only served to convince me that my calling is not to shout the Gospel from the stage en pointe (the last thing the audience would be thinking about is "grace"!).

I loved to dream. From choir director to flight attendant, from computer analyst to mom, my elementary, middle, and high school days were filled with daydreams about "when I grow up."

Well, I'm not grown up yet (though Time is trying to convince me otherwise). But my "when I grow up I want to be" hasn't changed, not in two in a half years. Lay it down, God has whispered. Give it to Me, be willing to have it changed, wrecked, taken away. But He has given my dream back time and time again, and I don't anticipate it changing anytime in the near or distant future.

How did that even happen? For years, I had a new career idea every odd Tuesday. I would determine to be a veterinarian, and off I would run to learn all I could about how to save the animals. The next Tuesday I was going to be a periodontist, and I mentally prepared myself for staring in peoples' mouths all day. And how could I forget the dozens upon dozens of games of "dental hygienist" that played out on TV trays, so long ago that I've changed bedrooms three times since then?

How did a dream finally stick?

It will always be a bit of a mystery to me. I think I've gone to my mom more than once exclaiming, "How in the world do people who don't know Jesus figure out what to do with their lives?" (Really. If you don't personally know Jesus, number 1, Jesus is AWESOME and we should talk, and number 2, if you've figured out what you want to do with your life without Him, I want to know how you did it!)

Of course, when people ask me, "How did you know you wanted to study nursing?" my answer doesn't sound anything like, "My macaroni and cheese noodles fell into the shape of a stethoscope."

I've come to realize that it's not necessarily what I do with my life. It's why.

"People who do not know the Lord ask why in the world we waste our lives as missionaries. They forget that they too are expending their lives ... and when the bubble has burst, they will have nothing of eternal significance to show for the years they have wasted." That quote by Nate Saint was the inspiration for the title of this blog, and I still love the thought it contains.

We're only given one life. It's not practice. It is preparation, but if we fail to make the one choice that needs to be made, we don't get to come back and try again. And if we hoard our lives, we don't get another chance to come back and serve those whose lives might have been brighter had we given of ourselves.

So yes, I'm going to be a nurse. But more than that, I'm going to be a missionary.

Will I go overseas? At some point, I have no doubt. But I could also be a missionary right here. You don't have to live in Cambodia to be a missionary. You can live in Smalltown, USA. You don't have to be a doctor or a teacher to be a missionary. You can be a store clerk or a florist. In fact, one of the greatest missionaries I know is my mom. She's never been to Africa in her life (that I know of) and she left healthcare a while ago, but that doesn't keep her from giving her life away right where she's at.

With this in mind, I can see the value and the importance of every single occupation and calling.

So I'm not sure we all need to be sitting around wondering what we ought to do with our lives. I guess you don't need to know Jesus to understand what you ought to do with your life (though I still think He is so helpful!). It's not as though there's this one magical thing we're supposed to do, and if we don't do it we'll be forever cursed. If you're supposed to do it, Jesus will lead you to it. But in general, I think He works through our talents and through what we enjoy. There is nothing more spiritual about being miserable or being bad at something. He has designed us for a purpose, and He wants us to both enjoy that purpose and be effective for the Kingdom in that position.

So have fun with your life, my friend. Have fun!

And there's this really cool thing I'm starting to realize.

We don't have to wait until we grow up to be missionaries.

To Love the One

"One death is a tragedy; one million is a statistic."

Joseph Stalin said that.

No, I don't usually start my posts with quote from socialists. I don't usually end them with those quotes, either. Or put them in the middle. Or anywhere. Okay, in general, I don't quote socialists, communists, or other people of like repute.

But to be honest, this quote gets me every time...because it amazes me how easy it is to think that way.

Here's some statistics to get the ball rolling.*

• There are 143 million orphans in the world.
• There are 3 billion people living in poverty.
• There are 27 million victims of human trafficking each year.
• 45% of the population of Kenya is Christian. With a population of 41,070,934, that means that more than 2 million people do not know Christ -- in Kenya alone.
• Only 50% of Americans even claim to be Christian. That means 156,616,022 people do not even profess to spend Sunday in church.

And I find it far too easy to look at that and say, "It's not that bad."

Oh, that terrifies me.

If there were a little girl living in Zambia, starving, afraid, alone, abandoned, with no one to love her...and she was the only one in the world...you can bet that I'd be coming to my parents, pleading to go to Africa, begging to be provided a way to get to that child. But because there's 143 million of those children...suddenly it's not as urgent?

I would give all I have for the one, but the millions hardly disturb me?

There is something so, so wrong with that.

To get an idea of the magnitude of the situation, I thought I'd give you a little help in the form of some crazy stuff I learned from Louie Giglio:**

• A million seconds ago was twelve days ago. (143 million orphans, 27 million modern-day slaves)
  
• A billion seconds ago was in 1975. (3 billion people in poverty)

Okay, that just blows my mind. It does. So I did a little math of my own. If you were to count every single orphan, one per second, every second, it would take you almost five years. If you were to count every single person in poverty, one per second, every second, it would take you until 2123 -- one hundred and eleven years of counting every single second.

Guys, we don't live long enough to count them all.

When I realize the magnitude of the situation, it suddenly becomes so easy to write it off as a statistic. Perhaps a heartbreaking statistic, but when there's a sea of billions in front of you, what do you do with that? I don't look at a football stadium filled with people and say, "Gee, I love that football stadium." I don't know anything about the people there (except that they all likely enjoy football). I can't see their faces, I don't know their stories. I don't know how to love the many.

Jesus loved the many, by loving the one.

He had this uncanny ability to see the entire world, and focus in on one face, one story, one life. And that single story moved Him to give His life.

He loved the many by loving the one.

Jesus understood that the millions are composed of individuals. He didn't love numbers, He loved people. Yes, God so loved "the world," but the world...it's made up of people.

And so are those statistics.

And then it begins to hit me. 143,000,000. 27,000,000. 3,000,000,000.

What can I do against that?

From a human perspective, I can't even make a dent.

But to Jesus, one person is a huge dent. He smiles and says, "That one is so important to Me. That one is incredibly precious to Me. It makes all the difference in the world. That one is Mine."

To Jesus, even one is reason to rejoice. It's reason to sing. And it's reason to die.

I want to spend my life for the one. I may not know their names. But I'm determined I will...one by one.

*Statistics from Adventures in Missions and the CIA World Factbook

**"How Great is Our God," Louie Giglio

Me and Tebow

I believe something insane.

You're going to laugh at me (but probably not "LOL." More just "L." Inside.). You might roll your eyes, and write me off as proving myself to be an ordinary female in the year 2012. But I promise I'm perfectly sane in the clinical sense of the word, and that I have a point, so please bear with me.

I believe that, if He wanted to, God could arrange a marriage between me and Tim Tebow.

No, this does not mean I'm going to write "MARRY ME TIMMY" on his Facebook wall. I shall not have "Future Mrs. Tebow" shirts made. I even promise that not a single line in my prayer journal will say anything even remotely along the lines of, "Please help Tim realize that he's perfect for me, and that we're meant to be.... Now if only You'd arrange for me to meet him...."

I could have also used Josh Groban as an example. Last year, I would've used Michael Buble, but he's what we like to call "taken" (every happiness to Mr. and Mrs. Buble!). You could insert pretty much any (single) famous (male) person in this scenario, and I would still believe the same thing. If He wanted to, God could do it.

But my point is this: No offense to Mr. Tebow, but God has someone better in mind for me. In fact, He has someone better in mind for everyone...except the real future Mrs. Tebow. At the end of my life, I won't look at my husband and say, "Gee honey, you're great and all, but I would've been a lot happier in life if my last name started with 't,' ended with 'w' and had 'ebo' in the middle."

No, no, no. That's not the way God works.

"If you could marry anyone in the world, who would it be?" I sometimes ask myself.

And then I answer myself, "My future husband."

Oh goodness, I don't know who he is. But he's perfect for me. He's better (for me) than Mr. Tebow, Mr. Groban, and anyone else you can come up with (my knowledge of eligible famous people is sorely lacking). That's just how Jesus rolls. And the same man who will be "best" for me would be "less than best" for you.

"If you settle for less than a man who is fully yielded and surrendered to the King of all kings, you settle for less than God’s best for you. You may not feel worthy of a noble, gallant, Christ-built Warrior Poet who will lay down his life for you. But this is exactly what Christ is to you. And this is exactly what He desires for you in an earthly prince" (Leslie Ludy).

I'm not saying these famous young men cannot be exactly this to a young woman one day. I'm very hopeful that with the platform they have been given, they will showcase the beauty of a Christ-centered love story that will inspire hundreds to pursue deeper intimacy with the Author of such beauty.

But Jesus wants the best for you. And He knows what that is. He knows who that is.

And for all but one woman...that's not Tim Tebow. (Unless he's called to singleness!)

So that's why I'm not going to come to God tonight pleading to meet the young QB. I'm going to come to Him and stand for the man He actually has for me. I'm going to intercede for his purity, his relationships with others, and his relationship with Christ. I'm going to pray for an attitude of absolute givenness to Jesus, and I will pray the same for me.

Because as many times as I walk away from an article about Tim Tebow exclaiming, "He's such a good guy!"...I know that whoever Jesus has for me is a pretty good guy, too.

The Life I Owe

"Everything looks wonderful. As soon as we receive the report on the background check, this position will be yours."

He winced. He knew what was on that report. He wasn't even sure why he'd applied for this position. As soon as they saw what he'd done, he'd be turned away.

He left the building, his head lowered, his heart downcast. He would never be able to escape his past.

"Excuse me."

He stopped, and turned toward the owner of the voice. He recognized him -- the son of the owner of the company.

"I understand you've applied for a position here."

"Yes, but --"

"But your background check will make you ineligible."

He narrowed his eyes, confused how the young man knew about that.

"I'd like to offer you my background check. It's entirely clean. All the good I've done will be credited to you, and all the wrong you've done will be credited to me." He extended his hand. "You need only ask."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She'd studied hard, but it hadn't done a lot of good. She'd failed, and she knew it. It had been her heart's desire to get into the class, and a passing grade on this test would have allowed her in. But she could not do it; she would not even be allowed to retake the test.

The next day, a boy her age approached her. "I got a 100 on that test yesterday," he told her. "And if you'd like, you can have my grade."

She laughed. "That's not possible." He was cruel for letting her hope.

"It's quite possible," he said earnestly. "I'm serious. Would you like your name to appear at the top of my perfect test?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"For the multiple crimes you have committed, you have been sentenced to death."

Resignation began to set in. Her hand were bound, the chains digging painfully into her wrists. Her clothes were tattered from the long walk to the gallows. She prayed for a quick death; the man with the whip was eying her greedily.

There wasn't much of an argument she could make. She'd done it. Every single accusation was true. She was deserving of death.

A man approached the guard who had announced her sentence and whispered something to him. The guard looked shocked. "Are you sure?" she heard him say. The man nodded.

With a shake of his head, the guard approached her. "You may go free," he said in amazement, unlocking her chains. "Someone has agreed to die in your place."

She laughed.

It was all she could do. It was ridiculous. "There's been a mix-up," she said. "No one knows me, and certainly if they did they wouldn't agree to die for me. I'm guilty."

"Your record will be wiped clean, and all further infractions will be considered paid for by this man's death."

"I'm telling you you're wrong," she said, confused and baffled. "I'm a criminal, and you should tell this man the world's better off without me."

"Oh, I agree with you," the guard assured her. "But it isn't proper to disagree with the King's son."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ridiculous? Yes. Unlikely? Absolutely. Impossible? You might even say that.

Yet something even more ridiculous, even more unlikely, even more impossible was accomplished.

For us.

O Love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in Thee;
I give Thee back the life I owe,
That in Thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

Married? Me?

When I was eight years old, I was convinced that Prince Charming was waiting just around the corner. My cousin Katie and I would dress up and act out weddings, naming our grooms (actually, most of the time I made her be the man...sorry, Katie) and tossing plastic eggshell halves as make-shift flowers.

When I entered high school, I was excited. Lots of people meet their spouses in high school...don't they?

Um, no, Kendall, they really don't. Maybe some. But not "lots."

When I entered college last year, finally people were saying, "You know, Kendall, you'll probably meet your husband in college!" And I was like, "Huh? Yeah, sure, whatever."

Secretly I was thinking, I was more prepared for marriage when I was eight than I am now.

True? Probably not. Okay, definitely not. But I had far more confidence in my feminine abilities as an eight-year-old. No one had told me girls needed to look a certain way. No one had told me I should preferably marry someone handsome and rich. And attracting a man? Not a concern. We would see each other from across the room, our eyes would meet, and we'd be married in the morning.

By freshman year of college, marriage had become an item on a to-do list with several to-do items under that bullet.

"Be mysterious."

Got it. Guys don't need to know everything about you. I'll work on it.

"Be available."

That's easy enough. I'll just...

"But don't appear desperate or over-eager."

Um, okay, that means I should.... Huh?

"You have to be physically attractive to the opposite sex."

Alrighty. Make-up, check. Nice clothes, check. Hair, still recovering from my poor decision to chop it all off, but hey, shouldn't he love me anyway?

"Be interesting."

Oo! Oo! I know, sometime in the next year I'll go to an exotic location where I'll save a dying breed of mutant pygmy giraffes. Don't worry guys, I got this one.

"If the moon is half-full and you come across three trees with knots that look like faces, you can text him first, but otherwise..."

*sigh*

How about this one?

Be consumed by Jesus Christ.

Heh, yeah... That doesn't sound very effective. If I surrender myself completely to Jesus Christ, won't He, like, send me to a third-world country where all the men are three feet tall and I'll smell bad all the time? "Exude the odor of vomit from caring for the malnourished" is nowhere on that list underneath the glowing bullet point "Get Married"... And neither is "Become a Nun." In fact, I'm pretty sure those two bullet points cannot co-exist, and if Jesus had His druthers, wouldn't every woman be a nun? Uh-uh, no way. Giving myself to Jesus, and the marriage dream goes out the window. I just don't see that happening, so, buh-bye.

"If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask Him!" -Matthew 7:11

Jesus doesn't get enjoyment out of making peoples' lives miserable.

No, really.

You see... He loves you. And He wants the best for you.

We need not fear giving ourselves up to Him.

We do, usually, have this expectation, though. We expect our life to be given back to us. Our dreams, our hopes, our wedding ("Here's my marriage, Jesus. Just remember, this is a five-year maximum loan. I expect it back before then. Preferably with interest.").

Yeah... I'm not going to guarantee that you'll ever get it back.

But giving it up to Him is not a certain death sentence to your dreams. Giving your dream of marriage to Jesus does not mean that you resign yourself to certain lifelong singleness. My dream of getting married is very much alive. The wedding location is planned, I know what kind of dress I want, and I have four or five names I still need to put into a hat to figure out which one of my amazing friends and family will be my Maid of Honor. And this dream will be fulfilled...if that's what's best for me. Otherwise, single life will be even better than getting married. I firmly believe that. If Jesus does not call me to marriage, that means that life without marriage will be more of an adventure and more glorifying to Him than life with marriage would have been.

Marriage is not the goal. Jesus Christ is the goal. He loves to fulfill dreams, because He is good! He knows you and He loves you. He sees every longing of your heart, and He has ultimate power to either fulfill those longings, or change them.

Married? Me? Maybe one day. But I'm ripping all those little bullet points from my to-do list...even "Get Married." "Be Consumed With Jesus Christ" is number one on that list. Scratch that...it's the only thing on that list. Because when we pursue Him, when we fall in love with Him, when we allow Him to satisfy us beyond what is imaginable, everything else will fall into place.