Stick with me through the apparent sacrilege....
I’m an evangelical… reader of Harry Potter. If convincing those around me of the awesomeness that is HP equated leading people to Christ, I’d have enough conversions to have achieved super Christian status. From immediate family, to friends, roommates, and even grandparents…all have heard me preach the good news of Harry and subsequently believed.
And it’s something of which I’ve always felt the deepest shame.
Why could I so freely tell the world of my love for a fictional boy wizard and so easily convince others to follow him through 7 lengthy tomes when I have never done that in the name of Jesus?
Well, I’ve thought about this at great length, and the thing with Harry is that it’s no strings attached; it is a no obligation, immediate gratification, escapism that pulls you in and burdens you only with the satisfaction of a story well told as you emerge 1000s of pages later out the back cover of Deathly Hallows.
That’s not how I viewed Jesus. I couldn’t bring myself to tell others the “gospel” because as I understood it, the “gospel” was a thing of strain and weight; an unfathomably lofty goal of attaining perfection that only gave the believer incalculable amounts of guilt when falling short inevitably followed. I think at the end of the day, I didn’t tell others about Jesus because I couldn’t bring myself to impose upon them the giant burden of expectation and the unavoidable reality of constant imperfection under which I existed.
“my yoke is easy and my burden is light…”
Something in this scenario was far from right.
But that’s what happens when you project your feelings about yourself - feelings that tell you that you must be perfect, that you are nothing unless you achieve blank - onto God. And who wants to preach that kind of news?
So now begins the journey of discovering the God I lost among the lies and projections; the voyage of sifting through the layers of misunderstanding and incorrectly perceived messages to find the truth of just who He created me to be. Not defined as disappointment, but rather, wholly and dearly loved. Not forever failure, but weakness made strong. Not ashamed, but adored.
Accio truth, and the freedom it brings.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Excuse me, Brennan Manning
Just where have you been my whole life?
...I had totally misunderstood the Christian faith. I came to see that is was in my brokenness, in my powerlessness, in my weakness that Jesus was made strong. It was in the acceptance of my lack of faith that God could give me faith. It was in embracing my brokenness that I could identify with others brokenness. It was my role to identify with others pain, not relieve it.
Ministry was in sharing, not dominating; understanding, not theologizing; caring, not fixing. - Abba's Child, pg 54
...I had totally misunderstood the Christian faith. I came to see that is was in my brokenness, in my powerlessness, in my weakness that Jesus was made strong. It was in the acceptance of my lack of faith that God could give me faith. It was in embracing my brokenness that I could identify with others brokenness. It was my role to identify with others pain, not relieve it.
Ministry was in sharing, not dominating; understanding, not theologizing; caring, not fixing. - Abba's Child, pg 54
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Why yes Ben Gibbard, I am a Tourist
I hesitate. Hesitate to speak til I’ve found the correct words. Hesitate to form an opinion til I’ve investigated all sides. Hesitate to post a blog entry til I’ve thoroughly resolved the issue of which I’ll post. Hesitate to act til I’m positively sure, beyond any shadow of a doubt, of the absolute rightness of my actions.
I’ve hesitated to write anything about Kenya before now because I want the words I type to be a perfect representation of the faultless life truths that I’ve discovered here. I want to pen a flawless essay, incontrovertible in its entirety that may forever be recalled upon and held up as timeless and absolute and true.
To put it another way, I can’t handle being wrong.
The biggest battle I’ve faced during my time here is uncertainty. Why am I here? Were my intentions in coming here good or selfish? What am I supposed to be doing? How can I be expected to make a difference when I can’t be assured that my actions won’t result in far more harm than good? This last one is my greatest obstacle. I’ve seen and heard of the rippling effects sent forth from the well-meaning that crash into their intended target of receipt and leave dissolution and disillusion in their wake.
For example, some of the girls here wanted to have their toenails painted. I leapt at the opportunity to act in a way that was certain to not be wrong – this was an answer to a direct request, how could this not be the right thing to do?
Well. About midway through giving a few of the girls a pretty crappy pedicure (let’s be honest, I’m not the arm of cosmetology in the body of Christ), I saw some of the girls who had been waiting eagerly get pulled out of line and turned away. I found out that these girls were the newcomers to the orphanage and hadn’t yet been given the correct uniform closed toed shoes because they didn’t yet have sponsors so there wasn’t yet money to buy them shoes and so they had to wear cheap flip flops to school and any girl seen by their teacher with painted nails gets caned. So, while the girls who already had got more, those without were denied and alienated yet again. And I was the cause of the crestfallen faces that looked back at me as those new girls were escorted out of the way to make room for everyone else.
“…sometimes the best intentions are in need of redemption
Would you agree?”
With my every action loaded with such potential consequences, how can I be expected to move? Paralysis has become my solace.
Long story made a little shorter, this morning I realized how cowardly and arrogant my fear of failure really is. When Jesus fed the 5000, he didn’t ask for the disciples to tell him all the reasons why the crowd was too big to feed, though that’s what they gave him. All he wanted was an attempt at reaching a solution; there’s no way that little boy believed his meager offering of 5 loaves and 2 fish would feed the whole multitude, but it’s what he had to offer, so he gave it all. And Jesus met him there, blessed it, and took care of the rest.
If I continue to let my fear dictate how I live, I’ll be reduced to nothing more than the scarecrows of TS Eliot’s “Hollow Men”. Cowardly and motionless of their own accord, swayed only by the wind, they arrive listlessly at the end of life muttering a broken Lord’s prayer: For Thine is the Kingdom…For Thine is…For Life is…For Thine is the…
How depressing is that?! I refuse to live my life that way. Sure I need to take my actions seriously, but God never intended for us to bring about his Kingdom by ourselves. He never expected/asked for perfection. He only asked that we’d be willing to offer the little we have. He knows our imperfection all too well and is ok with it. Now I just need to be ok with it too.
Ok I could probably wrap this up better, but the day is moving on and I can’t sit here a minute longer. There’s life to be lived, mistakes to be made and glimpses of His face to be seen all along the way.
Ready? Break!
“When there's a doubt within your mind
Because you're thinking all the time
And framing rights into wrongs
Just move along, move along”
I’ve hesitated to write anything about Kenya before now because I want the words I type to be a perfect representation of the faultless life truths that I’ve discovered here. I want to pen a flawless essay, incontrovertible in its entirety that may forever be recalled upon and held up as timeless and absolute and true.
To put it another way, I can’t handle being wrong.
The biggest battle I’ve faced during my time here is uncertainty. Why am I here? Were my intentions in coming here good or selfish? What am I supposed to be doing? How can I be expected to make a difference when I can’t be assured that my actions won’t result in far more harm than good? This last one is my greatest obstacle. I’ve seen and heard of the rippling effects sent forth from the well-meaning that crash into their intended target of receipt and leave dissolution and disillusion in their wake.
For example, some of the girls here wanted to have their toenails painted. I leapt at the opportunity to act in a way that was certain to not be wrong – this was an answer to a direct request, how could this not be the right thing to do?
Well. About midway through giving a few of the girls a pretty crappy pedicure (let’s be honest, I’m not the arm of cosmetology in the body of Christ), I saw some of the girls who had been waiting eagerly get pulled out of line and turned away. I found out that these girls were the newcomers to the orphanage and hadn’t yet been given the correct uniform closed toed shoes because they didn’t yet have sponsors so there wasn’t yet money to buy them shoes and so they had to wear cheap flip flops to school and any girl seen by their teacher with painted nails gets caned. So, while the girls who already had got more, those without were denied and alienated yet again. And I was the cause of the crestfallen faces that looked back at me as those new girls were escorted out of the way to make room for everyone else.
“…sometimes the best intentions are in need of redemption
Would you agree?”
With my every action loaded with such potential consequences, how can I be expected to move? Paralysis has become my solace.
Long story made a little shorter, this morning I realized how cowardly and arrogant my fear of failure really is. When Jesus fed the 5000, he didn’t ask for the disciples to tell him all the reasons why the crowd was too big to feed, though that’s what they gave him. All he wanted was an attempt at reaching a solution; there’s no way that little boy believed his meager offering of 5 loaves and 2 fish would feed the whole multitude, but it’s what he had to offer, so he gave it all. And Jesus met him there, blessed it, and took care of the rest.
If I continue to let my fear dictate how I live, I’ll be reduced to nothing more than the scarecrows of TS Eliot’s “Hollow Men”. Cowardly and motionless of their own accord, swayed only by the wind, they arrive listlessly at the end of life muttering a broken Lord’s prayer: For Thine is the Kingdom…For Thine is…For Life is…For Thine is the…
How depressing is that?! I refuse to live my life that way. Sure I need to take my actions seriously, but God never intended for us to bring about his Kingdom by ourselves. He never expected/asked for perfection. He only asked that we’d be willing to offer the little we have. He knows our imperfection all too well and is ok with it. Now I just need to be ok with it too.
Ok I could probably wrap this up better, but the day is moving on and I can’t sit here a minute longer. There’s life to be lived, mistakes to be made and glimpses of His face to be seen all along the way.
Ready? Break!
“When there's a doubt within your mind
Because you're thinking all the time
And framing rights into wrongs
Just move along, move along”
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Starting Point
Eventually I'm gonna need to get my blog back on to process all that is Kenya. But for now, I'll ease back in by including a blurb I wrote recently for the Kenya Relief newsletter:
Today I heard the numbing statistic that there are a million orphans in Kenya, with 80,000 located in the areas around Migori. Normally, numbers as vast as these fail to do more than overwhelm me, and they rarely register with me on a personal level. Today was different. Today, the message that thousands and thousands of children around Migori are orphans reached my ears as I stood in the front yard of such a child (see picture). I wish I could describe to you what that was like in a way that made it real to you; as real as seeing this sweet boy made this atrocious statistic real to me. I can no longer hide behind the indifference of large anonymous numbers: for me now, that devastating statistic has a face. A face that's 4 years old, and innocent, and only wants to be held.
Standing across the yard from this child as he leaned in his dirt laden shirt against his pitiful house - a house so fragile his neighbors were fearful of its collapse with each heavy rainfall - I couldn't help but ask: "Jesus, where are you?"
As the decision was finalized that this boy would not be left behind, that he would not be left an orphan, but that he would be leaving with us, adopted into the loving arms of the Kenya Relief family, I heard an answer. Where is Jesus? He's calling me to care for the least of these. Inviting me to be a physical representation of his love for his precious children, especially those in need. Asking and allowing us to be his body: his hands, his feet.
So, in the midst of allowing something so overwhelming to give way to apathy, Jesus offers us the chance to not surrender in despair, but instead to work alongside him in the coming of his Kingdom. May we begin this journey with just one person today.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Fireflies and 1 Corinthians 13
Beautiful devastation is probably the best way for me to describe my summer.
I spent the first half of my time there like an arrogant martyr, carrying a list around with me of all the amenities of which I’d been deprived (you needn’t look further than my previous post for evidence of that), ready to launch assault with said litany in its entirety on anyone who should ask “how’s Ohio going?” …For those of you victim to that, I’m so very sorry.
Things don’t always “work out” just because you think you have good intentions, and just because people live lives that vary from the way you live yours does NOT mean they are the ones who need to be fixed.
I have a tendency to think that I understand everything and that I have the answers and explanations to all questions. It is a crushing blow to realize that, in a scenario you originally viewed as a rescue mission, you are the only one thrashing around in the water, and your ‘good intentions’ had only been successful in damaging those who had never been in harm’s way to begin with.
I’ve found that believing you know what’s best for someone is the worst way to love them. It insinuates that who they are isn’t enough, and that they must become someone they aren’t in order to earn love and acceptance from you and (what’s even more damaging for us Christians) from the God whose love you represent. If I…can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge…but have not love, I am nothing. Only after being made painfully aware of my complete depravity did things turn around.
Ok that was the devastation part, here’s the beautiful.
Every evening, the sun would drop quickly out of the sky and attempt to hide, burying itself deep in the thick and rippling stalks of corn. But the moon, rising out of the low soybean fields across the street, would always know where the sun had gone due to the violent pink sky the hasty sun had left smeared in its wake. And so the moon would begin its long and labored pursuit of the sun, only to discover that once it had gracefully landed among the cornfields, the sun had already escaped from there and could be seen instead peeking gleefully over the soybeans, again victorious, poised to spring skyward and begin the game anew. It was during the first leg of this celestial hide-and-seek that the fireflies would emerge. Nothing else captivated my mind and quieted my spirit like those bugs with the glowing bottoms. They would lift en masse out of the earth and twinkle happily as they drifted heavenward, higher and higher, until ultimately becoming confused with stars. I fell in love with these insects because they were sparkling pieces of heaven, sweetly lighting up the darkening atmosphere before passing on. The fireflies were to me a visible/physical representation of the pure light of the Kingdom of God: unable to be contained in heaven, bursting through to where we are, puncturing the dark air with beams of His light, giving the impression that we are dancing in the in between, higher than the earth, not yet in the consuming presence of God but hopeful and overjoyed all the same because of this small picture, this poor reflection, of what is to come.
In the interim between here and there, we are (only by the infinite grace of God) the light bearers, shining like stars in the universe as we hold out the word of life… We serve as signposts, as ambassadors of Jesus, heralding the coming of a King who is coming, yes, but is also here NOW… and He asks nothing more of us than to show the same loving kindness to others that He first showered down on us. Love is the most excellent way, says Paul. Love never fails.
I spent the first half of my time there like an arrogant martyr, carrying a list around with me of all the amenities of which I’d been deprived (you needn’t look further than my previous post for evidence of that), ready to launch assault with said litany in its entirety on anyone who should ask “how’s Ohio going?” …For those of you victim to that, I’m so very sorry.
Things don’t always “work out” just because you think you have good intentions, and just because people live lives that vary from the way you live yours does NOT mean they are the ones who need to be fixed.
I have a tendency to think that I understand everything and that I have the answers and explanations to all questions. It is a crushing blow to realize that, in a scenario you originally viewed as a rescue mission, you are the only one thrashing around in the water, and your ‘good intentions’ had only been successful in damaging those who had never been in harm’s way to begin with.
I’ve found that believing you know what’s best for someone is the worst way to love them. It insinuates that who they are isn’t enough, and that they must become someone they aren’t in order to earn love and acceptance from you and (what’s even more damaging for us Christians) from the God whose love you represent. If I…can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge…but have not love, I am nothing. Only after being made painfully aware of my complete depravity did things turn around.
Ok that was the devastation part, here’s the beautiful.
Every evening, the sun would drop quickly out of the sky and attempt to hide, burying itself deep in the thick and rippling stalks of corn. But the moon, rising out of the low soybean fields across the street, would always know where the sun had gone due to the violent pink sky the hasty sun had left smeared in its wake. And so the moon would begin its long and labored pursuit of the sun, only to discover that once it had gracefully landed among the cornfields, the sun had already escaped from there and could be seen instead peeking gleefully over the soybeans, again victorious, poised to spring skyward and begin the game anew. It was during the first leg of this celestial hide-and-seek that the fireflies would emerge. Nothing else captivated my mind and quieted my spirit like those bugs with the glowing bottoms. They would lift en masse out of the earth and twinkle happily as they drifted heavenward, higher and higher, until ultimately becoming confused with stars. I fell in love with these insects because they were sparkling pieces of heaven, sweetly lighting up the darkening atmosphere before passing on. The fireflies were to me a visible/physical representation of the pure light of the Kingdom of God: unable to be contained in heaven, bursting through to where we are, puncturing the dark air with beams of His light, giving the impression that we are dancing in the in between, higher than the earth, not yet in the consuming presence of God but hopeful and overjoyed all the same because of this small picture, this poor reflection, of what is to come.
In the interim between here and there, we are (only by the infinite grace of God) the light bearers, shining like stars in the universe as we hold out the word of life… We serve as signposts, as ambassadors of Jesus, heralding the coming of a King who is coming, yes, but is also here NOW… and He asks nothing more of us than to show the same loving kindness to others that He first showered down on us. Love is the most excellent way, says Paul. Love never fails.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
o-hey-O-hi-o
Tim Horton I don't know who you are, but you have saved my life. From the looks of it, you seem to be a wannabe Starbucks that has missed the mark and is closer to a DairyQueen instead. But I won't judge, because you have WIFI and I love you.
Tim Horton's has also earned my love and prolonged presence because it is air conditioned. My dad told me before we came up here that it was pretty much the norm for homes not to have air conditioning. Which initially sounded feasible to me; it’s the north, it’s colder up here. A lot of Europe goes without air conditioning, why not Ohio?
On Monday, when it was 95 degrees outside, I carefully (not wanting to offend anyone’s way of life) asked a coworker if it was accepted that air conditioning wasn’t necessary up here. I can’t repeat her response here because it was packed with expletives, but she essentially said “heck to the no…I do not have a desire to die of a heat stroke.” My dad, well-intentioned though he may be, is a liar.
So sweating has become part of my daily routine. As has watching the Reds play baseball and listening to Fox News yammer on about whatever it is that’s gotten Greta’s panties in a twist this time (is there a reason the woman refuses to fully open her mouth when she speaks??). Each day also includes working out at the Y (I’m the only member I’ve seen so far under 60, which really kills my self-esteem when they all outlast me on the treadmill) and, my new favorite thing, a twice a day run around the raspberry bushes in the backyard to gather the ripe ones before the birds get them. My days will soon be packed with pill-counting, but in lieu of a plethera of hours at the pharmacy this week, I've had to become creative with how to spend my time. Today that meant helping make sandwiches at the kids center for their daily free lunch. It was hilarious, mostly because the people I was working with were characters. One man asked me if I was Jeff's daughter. When I excitedly replied that I was, the man gave me a mostly toothless smile. It made me thankful Dad managed to escape here with his front teeth intact.
Another woman, Audrey, was hands down the most entertaining person over 80 I've ever met. She cracked me up the whole time we spent struggling to spread some difficult jelly over Kroger brand bread. When asked if she could help next week she declined but was sketchy as to say why. Later she pulled me aside to confess that she was heading with a large group of senior citizens to Atlantic City but was taking a bathing suit for the hotel pool so she could just telling people she was going on a "swimming trip".
The kids ranged from super polite, and classically curious (a twiggy bright blue eyed 7 yr old gently tugged on my shirt and whispered, "now just what is that thing on your leg??"), to down right hyper-active. One kid told me he didn't want the sandwich I handed him because he was on special medicine and it made him not hungry. I was tempted to tell the kid to share his behavioral meds with his brother, who, at the time, was busy lobbing the pear cups into the air to test the bursting capacity of the fruit cup containers. The kids were cute, but I had to agree when Audrey suggested this experience would make anyone want to go to school long enough to avoid working in a low-paid child care setting.
The church that got me plugged into the free lunch making is incredible. When we went on Sunday, I was prepared for a stiff sermon warped in formality and short on any real spiritual depth. How wonderfully wrong I was. Though a mostly elderly congregation, the church is bursting with an enthuasiam to bring the kingdom of God into our present realities right this moment through love and service. The sermon on "true fasting" from Isaiah 58 was instructive on how to not use fasting/service as self-glorification or "charity", but instead to empty ourselves of everything but God so we are properly equipped to love and care for our equal brothers and sisters around us. Having had a fire lit in me when I had finished Same Kind of Different As Me the night before, I almost lept outta my pew to sign up when the call came for volunteers. So many little things like that have given me the unique joy that comes as a conformation from the Holy Spirit that I'm where He wants me, as mundane as my location may seem. That joy and purpose makes it hard to sit still and I've written a novel here anyway so it's time to bid Tim H. adios...though you best believe my laptop and I will be back; your monopoly of the towns free WIFI makes that much inevitable.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Of slip'n'slides and 10 hour car rides...
Tomorrow (or today I guess...it's late but I can't sleep) will be my last full day this summer in Auburn. I'll be back in the fall, and it's not like I won't ever spend another summer here, but it is just so hard to leave. Summers in Auburn are pretty high on my list of favorite things... just barely below music, the beach, and snow. The above picture is from a recent and incredible day here. This is probably unrealistic glorification, but it seems only in Auburn can you have a slip'n'slide and cookout and not be 5 years old.
As hard as it is to leave even for such a short amount of time, I am ready to go. While this period of great community and lots of rest has given me some much needed rejuvenation, I am ready to be working towards something worth while. I'm ready to employ what I've learned in school into practice in a patient care setting again. I'm ready to partake in bringing the kingdom of God here now through loving others with the love He's saturated me with. I am still completely humbled that we, that I, get to play such an integral part in the story of God reconciling all of creation back to Himself. He allows/calls us "to be a kingdom and priests to serve [our] God and Father" - to represent Christ to the world. I'd be irrational if I wasn't prepared for the next 6 weeks to be difficult, but the joy that fills me helps erase the uncertainties and tiny fears. He has gone before and made a way and it is in Him that all things hold together.
On Saturday I'll make the 10 hour trek through the Midwest. I start work on Monday. Get excited Ohio, here I come.
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