Exercise and Extreme Missions

I love reading pretty much the entire content of mission websites. It really opens my eyes and my heart to the nations and their needs. A few days ago, I was reading about a mission to the Peruvian Amazon. At the bottom of the short descriptive paragraph were the two words "Extreme Mission."

Ha! said I. Horrid advertising. Who would agree to go on something called an "extreme mission"?

There was silence for a moment, and then the answer came: Well, Kendall... You said you would.

Hrrrmm.

"Anyone who does not take his cross and follow Me is not worthy of Me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for My sake will find it."

When I gave my life to Christ, I declared that nothing was too extreme. Nothing was impossible. I agreed to believe that He would be my Provider, my Defender, my Everything. I promised that I would lay down my life day after day.

And I want to say to Him, "No, God. That's too extreme"? He gave up everything for me, and I would refuse to please Him because I like my own comfort and safety too much?

The words "Extreme Mission" should, in most cases, be superfluous to us. We should be delighted to do something the world considers extreme. We should count the cost, but count it at the foot of the cross, and there find that nothing is too much to ask of us who owe our lives to Jesus Christ.

The little dialogue with the Holy Spirit continued. The Peruvian Amazon can wait. I have something a little more attainable that you can be doing right now.

Thrilled to be let off the hook for a while at least, I was eager to find out what this might be.

Suppose I did call you to Peru. Suppose I called you to go on this "extreme mission" one day -- to travel three days by boat to reach the unreached, to have little more than the clothes on your back, to trust Me for your next meal, to walk for miles on end without stopping. Could you do it?

Apparently reformed by my previous hesitation, I answered triumphantly, "With all my heart!"

Your heart, yes -- but what about your body?

Long, awkward pause. "Now that's just mean."

No. No, I could not do it. Not because God can't take care of me, but because up until now, I have not taken care of what He gave to me. It would not take long for my body to give out on me. And so He began to impress it on my heart: My life is not my own. My heart is not my own. My mind is not my own.

My body is not my own.

And so, Peruvian Amazon in my future or no, I have entered what I like to call "Extreme Mission Training." For me, that consists of, well, working out. Becoming a good steward of what God has given me. "Extreme Mission Training" wouldn't usually be as pathetic as thirty minutes on a treadmill every day...but hey, I'm also learning some things about humility.

"If there be any reserve in my giving to Him who so loved that He gave His dearest for me; if there be a secret 'but' in my prayer, 'anything but that, Lord,' then I know nothing of Calvary love." ~Amy Carmichael

God has asked me for several things in my life that are incredibly dear. After much arguing, He wins them from my grasp, and I promise, "Everything, God. Everything for You."

Except the things I don't think He could possibly use. It's amazing the things I think God couldn't care less about; the things that I think are small enough that I'm entitled to keep them for myself.

Are you willing to go to all lengths for your Savior? Maybe He is calling you to reach the unreached; or maybe He's preparing you for that call by asking for something else that seems much smaller. But for the God who could use five loaves and two fishes to feed thousands, nothing is too small to give Him. There is nothing He cannot use.

And there is nothing He is not infinitely worthy of.

Yet

There is a tiny little word in the Bible that I think is my favorite. It occurs most notably in the Psalms, as David cries out to his Lord, or in Job. They pour out their troubles, baring their broken hearts, and then almost always follow with a single word: Yet.

"Yet You are enthroned as the Holy One..." "Yet will I praise Him..." "Though He slay me, yet will I hope in Him..." "Yet in my flesh I will see God..." "Yet You heard my cry for mercy..." "Yet for Your sake we face death all day long..." "Yet I am always with You; You hold me by my right hand."

There are two different ways in which this word appears. One demonstrates man's faithfulness to God ("Though He slay me, yet..."). The other displays God's faithfulness to man ("Yet You are...").

Too often, my "yet" turns into a "but." "I know You want this, God, but..." "I know what You're calling me to do, God, but..." My answer should, instead, be, "My heart desires something else, yet I will obey." "I am afraid, yet I will follow." The conjunctions mean essentially the same thing; yet there's something so defiant about the word "yet." It refuses to give into circumstances. It refuses to complain. It declares, "Nevertheless." It cries, "In spite of all that surrounds me." It defies circumstances.

In my Senior Thesis, I wrote, "Jesus describes a wholehearted love for the Lord. This love is not a partial commitment or a mere pastime; it requires 'all.' An individual who loves God in this way is not coolly affectionate. He is enthralled by his Lord, and this love affects every single part of his life." Jesus does not always ask for the things that are easy to give. He asks for the things that require more than being "coolly affectionate." He probably wouldn't ask me for my baking skills, seeing that I bake about once a year and am really quite bad at it.

But He will ask for the things -- the people -- that I care most deeply about. He will ask me to surrender things that have changed me, things that have the strongest hold on my heart, things that have shaped who I am. And once He has them, I have a choice. I can sit in rebellion. I can be angry at Him for asking for those things.

Or I can say, "Yet..." Despite all that He has taken, He will give even more: More of Himself. More of the only thing I will ever need.

And when I feel like my world is spinning out of control... When I feel like my heart cannot take any more... When my greatest cry is for my heart to simply be kept alive... Yet He is always with me. Yet He is enthroned in heaven. Yet He is God, and more than worthy of the best of my heart.

Change

I hate lasts. I hate them a lot. I don't care that lasts lead to new beginnings. I'd like my old beginnings to continue on.

But they don't. They come to an end.

Last night was my last prom. And as my last prom, it was also my last high school dance. It was wonderful, it was beautiful, and I'll have those memories forever, but when I got home, what I did was cry. I sobbed into my pillow and told God I can't do it. I can't graduate. I can't leave home and go to college halfway across the country. I can't wake up in the morning and not have the promise of seeing the beautiful faces of the people I've come to know so well the past four years. (They tell you that by the time you hit May, you'll be thrilled to graduate and get out of there. Tripe, I tell you, tripe!)

And it hurts so badly, sometimes I just want to scream. I want to hit something. I want to squeeze my fists, I want to rip up a really big plant, I want to go underwater and not come back up until I have the promise that everything will stay the same.

But things don't stay the same. Nor should they. They change. I understand it. But that doesn't mean I like it.

There is something so crucial about going through this time of change in my life. As I've gone through all these "lasts," I've been forced to ask myself, What is my constant? When I wake up in the morning, what is my trust in? While everything around me whirls out of control, what am I counting on to stay the same?

And that's when I realize that my trust is in the wrong things. My trust is in waking up to a queen-sized bed and a semi-messy room. My trust is in knowing exactly how many stairs lead up to the kitchen. My trust is in the view from my family room. My trust is in knowing exactly where every outlet is in a given area. My trust is in the mommy who never fails to remind me, "Text me when you get there." My trust is in a little blue Corolla. My trust is in a boy whose hugs I look forward to every Thursday. My trust is in a girl I can count on to hug me, and laugh and cry with me no matter what I'm going through. My trust is in a school where everyone knows your name, and you know everyone's name. My trust is in teachers who can always tell when something is wrong. My trust is in knowing I can run to my mommy's room if I get sick in the middle of the night.

And all of that is about to change. I'll be going to a place where I don't know the number of stairs leading up to a dorm room. Where I'll have a twin bed. Where I have no idea what my view will look like. Where I'll no longer text my mommy every time I go somewhere. Where I won't have a car, where I'll never get those Thursday hugs, where that girl will only be available by phone, where no one will know my name for a long time, where teachers haven't learned what I look like when I'm upset, where if I get sick in the middle of the night, I'll be all alone.

I've never been so terrified. I wish I could stay four years old for forever and sleep in my parents' bed when I get scared of the dark. I wish I could stay eight years old forever and have the imagination that never runs out of names for its dolls. I wish I could stay twelve forever, just on the brink of being a teenager. I wish I could stay seventeen and eleven twelfths forever, grown up but still held close by that childhood home.

I wish I didn't have to grow up. I wish things didn't have to change. Big girls don't cry...but now that I'm a big girl, I've never cried so much (as evidenced by the six tissues that have been used while writing this post).

But in the midst of it all, I hear whispered softly to my heart, I'm so glad you're sad. It means you understand how much you've been blessed. I'm so glad you're weak, so that I can be strong. I'm so glad you're falling down, so that I can help you back up. I'm so glad you can't do this -- because now, you'll let Me.

When everything else changes, my Jesus stays the same. When everything I've trusted in is ripped away, I have to trust in Him. When I'm all alone, I'll be quicker to run to Him. When I'm terrified, He'll hold me in His arms and remind me that He has plans to prosper me and not to harm me, plans to give me a hope and a future.

I hate lasts. I hate change. But I love my Savior. And if change is what will bring me closer to Him...then bring it on.

Only Me When I'm With You

Why are you looking for love? Why are you still searching as if I'm not enough?


About a week into my first "relationship," I attended a birthday party. The people at this birthday party were dear friends, people who bring out the best in me, people I absolutely love. Two weeks previously, I would have had the time of my life at this party. But I sat around and moped until I felt sick -- all because the all-important him was not there. It was a Saturday. I would see him again on Monday. Yes. A grand total of two days apart. How dreadful.

I think that's pretty ridiculous, sad, immature, and silly... And no, I don't have any qualms about calling myself that. Because that's what I was. I was the definition of teen angst, of the "ridiculous" that Jane Austen so often mocks, and of one of the greatest problems with dating relationships today.

Two individuals, while they are single, can be just that -- individual and single. They know precisely who they are. They have particular friendships, beliefs, activities, etc. And then these two individuals meet, fall in "like," and *POOF!* There goes individual identity. Suddenly they have no idea who they are when the other person isn't with them. (Even worse, there are the scenarios in which somebody never understands who he or she is as an individual, and is constantly looking to another person to give them identity.)

I understand completely why parties -- especially parties with most of the people I know -- would be very depressing if you didn't have your boyfriend or girlfriend with you. I'm not condemning missing someone. I'm condemning a much bigger problem. Obviously, God created us to enjoy each other's company, and it's perfectly natural to feel a little down when we miss out on the company of someone we love. But we cannot get to the point where it is nigh impossible to have fun without that person at our side -- so long as that person is, well, a person.

Psalm 16:11 declares, "You will make known to me the path of life; in Your presence is fullness of joy; in Your right hand there are pleasures forever." This verse is incredibly clear: God's presence brings about full, complete joy. It's not, "There is fullness of joy as long as I have God and my boyfriend." No. It's just God. Just His presence.

I am fully convinced that if we truly allow God to write our love story, He will not give us that love story until we don't need it anymore. He will not allow us to give our hearts away to someone else until they are completely in His hands. He will not allow us to glorify Him hand-in-hand with a husband or wife until we have learned to glorify Him on our own. Until we have come to a point of being completely willing -- even delighted -- to be single, He will not purposely distract us from pursuing Him more by beginning to write our love story right then and there.

Until we've fallen head over heels in love with Jesus, we should not fall in love with anyone else. Because let's face it -- they won't always be there. They won't be able to satisfy every single desire we have. They will mess up and disappoint us. But Jesus Christ will always be there. He can satisfy our every need. He will never mess up. We cannot love people properly; we cannot have reasonable expectations of someone else, until all of our needs have been met by God.

Because at the end of all things, we should know exactly who we are without our boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, or wife, because they might one day be demanded of us. But we should not know who we are without Jesus Christ. A day without Him should be impossible. Living apart from Him for even a single breath should break our hearts.

Is Jesus enough to satisfy, even if our earthly desires are never met? He says He is. And it all comes down to trusting that He is, and allowing Him to strip away everything until we are completely satisfied by Him and Him alone. Only when our love story with Him is complete can He give us an earthly love story. And I promise, it will be so, so much more beautiful.

The Elephant Bag

I Googled the word "stress" to try and find an awesome "I'm-going-out-of-my-mind-because-I-have-so-much-to-do" definition. I only found one: "a state of mental or emotional strain or suspense." The rest went something like this: "to stress, single out as important; special emphasis attached to something; a melodic rock band formed in San Diego in 1983."

By the world's standards, I should be stressed. All-State Choir auditions, Nurse Aide certification testing, driver's test (after I've already failed once), grades in some areas dropping for no apparent reason, Nietzsche, an annoying stomach and my omnipresent perfectionism should not a happy Senior Year make.

Usually.

But while I do freak out a lot; while I will occasionally walk down the hall making high-pitched buzzing noises to dispel anxiety; while I do have to have a weekly cry-fest so that all my emotions don't explode later on; I'm quite happy. I don't feel stressed. Those reactions are usually spur of the moment before I've had time to do that very important thing that helps me remove stress and put it on God (in Google's terms, "single Him out as important"). Doing this thing is very relieving. It helps me slow down, put into words exactly what I'm feeling, and let it go.

I go to the Elephant Bag.

The Elephant Bag is a little pastel-colored baby gift bag that sits on my desk. It's medium sized, lined with colorful tissue paper, and has a stack of sticky-notes and a pen sitting next to it. Inside the elephant bag are dozens of folded up blue sticky notes. I don't reach back inside that bag. What goes in there, stays in there. (Until it gets full. I haven't quite decided what to do when that happens.)

Whenever something in my life goes horribly wrong; whenever things don't go my way; whenever I'm asked to give something up; whenever I'm anxious about something; I write down the date on a blue sticky note, write something to the effect of "this is what's going on; I give it to You," fold it up, and put it in the Elephant Bag. That bag is for Jesus. It has many declarations of the surrender of many parts of my life.

Simply writing it down doesn't do much. And I'm not saying that all my problems have been solved by a pastel gift bag with a baby elephant on it. But writing those things down, and handing them over, usually leads me to a time of sitting quietly before my God and really letting Him fill up the empty parts of my life.

I'm not always good at "leaving things" in the Elephant Bag. While the sticky notes stay there, the things I've surrendered don't always stay in Jesus hands. (This is perfectly evidenced by the multiple sticky notes proclaiming, "Jesus, I give you [insert name of person here]" that have gone in there probably at least once a week...) But the more we practice surrender, the better we get at it -- because we learn to be filled with Someone better.

"Cast all your anxiety on him because He cares for you." He means that. He wants us to take everything that causes us distress, anxiety, stress, and throw it onto His shoulders. Then our arms are free to reach up to Him in a silent plea of, "Daddy, let me hug You."

Maybe an elephant bag won't work for you. But I know casting your cares will. Discover the way you need to meet with God in order to give Him all your troubles. He loves you. He wants to hear about it. And He wants to take care of it. But first, you have to hand it over. Put it in your Elephant Bag; and leave it there.

[Note: This is not an original idea. It was taken from the novel "Redeeming Love" by Francine Rivers, in which one of the characters uses a hatbox to collect all her prayers. I personally think an elephant bag is cuter than a hat box. But that might just be me.]

A Dance With Jesus

Last night was my high school's Homecoming dance. It was an emotionally exhausting evening in many ways; but I loved it. And I'm about to tell you one of the reasons.

I don't usually worry about whether or not I'm asked to dance. I dance some, I sit others out, others I dance with my friends, but it typically all averages out nicely. However, at one point last night, I was aching for a dance. So I sat down and danced with Jesus.

Sound like an oxymoron? So is Jesus' love. I sat on a bench, accepted Jesus' gentle invitation to take His hand, and waltzed through the other couples -- all while never leaving my seat. As my eyes rested on the people on the dance floor -- some I know well and love, others I've only just met -- I talked to Jesus about them. I prayed for them as individuals; for them in relation to me, in relation to the person they were dancing with, and in relation to Jesus. For some, I prayed renewed passion. I prayed peace over others. I prayed truth over the lies being spoken to some. There were those I simply praised Him for. Others, I just said, "Jesus, I have no idea what to pray for that person or even what their name is, but please work in them!"

I cried quite a few times last night for various reasons. Most of the time, people assumed there was something wrong. And most of the time, there was. I was selfishly crying for myself. But there was one point during the night when my tears were justified; and that was during my dance with Jesus. I wept for others. He stepped in and broke my heart for the things that break His. He stepped in and reminded me, "This is not about you. This is about Me. I'm holding your heart; now pray for those who haven't yet learned to give Me the pieces." And then He gently added, "And never forget that I love dancing with you, because you are so, so precious to Me."

So this is to tell all of you beautiful girls (and handsome guys) that when there's no one to dance with, Jesus steps out and says, "I want your entire life to be a dance with Me; but let's just start with this song." Your dance with Jesus may look entirely different from mine. Maybe He'll take that entire time to remind you how absolutely beautiful you are. Maybe there will be one specific person you need to talk about while dancing. Maybe it's time to close your eyes, and trust Him to lead you. Whatever it is, He'll wait there with outstretched hands.

And so the phrase, "Dance with God; He'll let the perfect man cut in" can come true; very, very literally. =)

To Save A Life

You cannot save a life.

Now, there is the very literal running in and diving in front of a bullet before it hits someone else kind of saving a life, but that's not what I'm talking about.

You cannot save a life.

In the under-read and under-appreciated book of Ezekiel, the Lord leads Ezekiel into a valley of dry bones and asks him, "Son of man, can these bones live?"

What does Ezekiel say? Does he hop around, waving his hand in the air shouting, "Pick me! Pick me!"

"Yes, Ezekiel."

Ezekiel clears his throat and says importantly, "Yes, and I'm going to be the one to bring them back to life!"

No. That's not what Ezekiel says. He looks around at this valley of dry bones, shakes his head, and says humbly, "O Sovereign Lord, You alone know."

After Ezekiel admits that only God knows whether this is possible -- then the Lord uses him. He says, "Prophesy to these bones and say to them, 'Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! This is what the Sovereign Lord says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the Lord.'"

Notice something about that last passage. Who's doing the talking? Ezekiel is the one speaking to the bones...but it's God who's putting the words in his mouth. It's God who's fulfilling what He is commanding Ezekiel to prophesy. It's God who's bringing the dead back to life. Ezekiel's only response is, "So I prophesied as I was commanded."

What we need to realize is that we are the hands and feet of Christ. We are the mouthpieces. We are the hugs, the tissue-providers, the audible encouragers, the back-rubbers, the loving note writers. We are, in a sense, the prophets of Jesus Christ. But we are not Jesus Christ. All the hugs and tissues and loving notes in the world are not going to change someone. They're not going to save a life. Jesus Christ working through you is.

Does this mean we should pack up our bags and never try to change someone's life again? Absolutely not. We are to do as Ezekiel did and be able to say, "So I prophesied as I was commanded." Just as you cannot save a life without Jesus working through you, Jesus desires a vessel through which to work.

This should not be a distressing thought, that you are incapable of saving a life. It's out of your hands. It is up to God, and in His hands, this person you care so much about is entirely, completely, wonderfully safe. Do not refuse the call to be the hands and feet; but also do not believe that you, on your own, are solely responsible for redeeming a soul. Follow in the footsteps of Ezekiel, who said, "The hand of the Lord was upon me"; and only then were lives changed and the dead brought back to life.