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.