Starbucks is not my favorite coffee establishment. Today, however, I needed an afternoon joe and since I was standing in Target when the need came upon me and since there was a Starbucks within the Target, I sauntered over and ordered this holiday drink they have available. The Espresso Truffle.
Thank you, Jesus.
Thank you, Starbucks.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Being Blessed
I am sitting here in my friend Cheryl's house and she doesn't even know it. I just drove over, opened her door, had a loving reunion with her yellow lab Scout, called out her name multiple times, smelled some coffee, poured myself a cup, sat down and now here I am blogging. I have no idea where she is. This is what I love about being home.
I don't know why or how I became so blessed. I had a friend come and stay with me for a couple of days this week. I met her when we did our YWAM dts together (www.ywam.org) 5 years ago. She is Australian and immigrated to the U.S. this year. Anywho, she came here to see me and all she kept saying was, 'You are incredibly blessed and I hope you know that.' She was right.
I pretty much grew up in this little seaside town called Cambria, which, in and of itself, is a bright little community. But when I gave my life to Christ just over 7 years ago, I became a part of a church community of which likes I have not encountered anywhere else. This same friend, after sitting through a church service here with me, said as she wiped away tears, 'The love of Christ is so powerful and tangible here. It feels like a family.' I was shedding tears, too, as I gave thanks to God in my heart for this body of believers who, no matter how long I am away, always recieve me back with open, loving arms, provide for all my needs and remind me of the constant joy we have in the Saviour. Truly, truly, this town, these people, my home church are the lap of God for me here on Earth.
And then there's my amazingly precocious and tender-hearted nephew, who, now when he sees me says, 'You! You're here, Auntie Amy! You want to drink some rain with me?' I taught him how to stick out his tongue to catch rain droplets the other day and he thought it was the best thing ever. Wait til he tastes his first snow.
God is good. I am blessed. Have a great day, Cheryl-- thanks for letting me hang in your house!
I don't know why or how I became so blessed. I had a friend come and stay with me for a couple of days this week. I met her when we did our YWAM dts together (www.ywam.org) 5 years ago. She is Australian and immigrated to the U.S. this year. Anywho, she came here to see me and all she kept saying was, 'You are incredibly blessed and I hope you know that.' She was right.
I pretty much grew up in this little seaside town called Cambria, which, in and of itself, is a bright little community. But when I gave my life to Christ just over 7 years ago, I became a part of a church community of which likes I have not encountered anywhere else. This same friend, after sitting through a church service here with me, said as she wiped away tears, 'The love of Christ is so powerful and tangible here. It feels like a family.' I was shedding tears, too, as I gave thanks to God in my heart for this body of believers who, no matter how long I am away, always recieve me back with open, loving arms, provide for all my needs and remind me of the constant joy we have in the Saviour. Truly, truly, this town, these people, my home church are the lap of God for me here on Earth.
And then there's my amazingly precocious and tender-hearted nephew, who, now when he sees me says, 'You! You're here, Auntie Amy! You want to drink some rain with me?' I taught him how to stick out his tongue to catch rain droplets the other day and he thought it was the best thing ever. Wait til he tastes his first snow.
God is good. I am blessed. Have a great day, Cheryl-- thanks for letting me hang in your house!
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Finally!
This morning I groggily woke up upon hearing my roommate call my name. Turns out she actually didn't call me, it was just another of God's ploys to get me out of bed. I had to take Nyquil last night and needed a sober wake-up call. Anyway, I crawled out of bed and started vigorously rubbing my arms. I quickly ran over to my fan to turn it off. I thought about my sweatshirt in the closet. These are all signs that IT'S FINALLY GETTING COLD!!! By this time last year, I had been donning the sweaters and scarves (all lightweight, mind you) for a month already. This whole global warming issue has gotten completely out of hand. I hear it's happening in America, too (or at least in California where it's been in the 80's and 90's where it's usually in the 50's by now). This is a little disappointing, I must say. It is especially disappointing because I get to go home in 2 days. All fall I have been daydreaming about getting to don my favorite wool coat, drink piping hot holiday-flavored espresso drinks and sitting by the homefires singing along to Christmas carols played by my stepdad on his old baby grand. I guess I will still get to do some of these things, except I might have to make those drinks iced and the wool coat might just be slung over the back of my chair. Boo. Christmas carols still on, though.
But, IT'S FINALLY GETTING COLD HERE!! Yes, friends, today is my first official' it's-quite-possible-I- may-be-able-to-wear-this-hoody-all-day' day! Woo-hoo! It's also pouring down rain, which might also mean I won't want to wear my hoody all day since it'll probably get soaked. Sigh.
HAPPY IT'S FINALLY GETTING COLD HERE DAY!!!!
But, IT'S FINALLY GETTING COLD HERE!! Yes, friends, today is my first official' it's-quite-possible-I- may-be-able-to-wear-this-hoody-all-day' day! Woo-hoo! It's also pouring down rain, which might also mean I won't want to wear my hoody all day since it'll probably get soaked. Sigh.
HAPPY IT'S FINALLY GETTING COLD HERE DAY!!!!
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Why I love the Dominican Republic
Yesterday I was sitting out front of Martina's house after lunch. The sun was shining, Venicio and a couple of Haitian guys were pasting cement over a concrete wall that borders their house making it look more adobe style. Yeimi, Fran's wife and daughter of Martina and Venicio, was sitting in the chair next to me, picking the paint off her fingernails and Natan, Fran's littlest, was sitting on top of Bo-Bo's dog kennel rocking back and forth violently while he told me a story I understood little of. It was one of those moments in life where I inherently knew I needed to soak up every detail because I knew I'd never get this day back. Then something more wonderful happened. One of the Haitian guys turned from his work to ask Venicio a question about his shoes. I didn't really hear the question, but I did hear Martina run from inside the house and start publicly 'telling' on her husband some anecdote regarding the shoes. She made fun of him so loudly and they were both laughing and then they started pinching, tickling and hitting at eachother playfully. A husband and wife in their fifties, married for over 26 years, acting all giddy and silly, laughing hysterically. Then Venicio grabbed her in his arms, hugged her tight and said, "Mujer!" (woman). I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I laughed.
There are moments like these that come and renew my spirit, that lift up my heart and when I think to myself, 'I love the Dominican Republic'. Shortly after I headed back to the art site to open up for our afternoon students. I got there a little early and so decided to start back on a painting that has been giving me trouble. I have some how lost communication with the originial idea and it keeps transforming, yet not yet into what it will be. Anyway, I took it outside to spray another layer of gold spray paint on it to subdue some of the other colors. As I was shaking up the can, three of our new teenage art students loudly barged in. "Amy! Que tu haces? (what are you doing?)" Jose Daniel asked and so I explained and then he patted me on the shoulder and said to his friends (I'll just write it in English for y'all), "See! I told you guys she was amazing. You're even better than Profe (Francisco). You are such a Tigeraza (have no idea how to translate that except to say a combo between 'fierce' and 'the bomb') !" I gently full-nelsoned him, commanded them to 'get to work!' and we all laughed.
Francisco finally came in to work. He had vertigo yesterday because of an ear infection (or rather, water had gotten in his ears when he went swimming in the river). I poured in some Hydrogen Peroxide mixed with water (something he'd never heard of) and he delightedly giggled at the sound of it fizzing in his ears. He felt almost immediately better and then we started joking around. He playfully teased the art students, I told him all the 'bad' words I had learned since I'd been here (I didn't actually know they weren't appropriate until I said one and he, with shocked expression, asked me where I'd learned that word). He thought it was hilarious.
What a jovial day.
I love the Dominican Republic.
There are moments like these that come and renew my spirit, that lift up my heart and when I think to myself, 'I love the Dominican Republic'. Shortly after I headed back to the art site to open up for our afternoon students. I got there a little early and so decided to start back on a painting that has been giving me trouble. I have some how lost communication with the originial idea and it keeps transforming, yet not yet into what it will be. Anyway, I took it outside to spray another layer of gold spray paint on it to subdue some of the other colors. As I was shaking up the can, three of our new teenage art students loudly barged in. "Amy! Que tu haces? (what are you doing?)" Jose Daniel asked and so I explained and then he patted me on the shoulder and said to his friends (I'll just write it in English for y'all), "See! I told you guys she was amazing. You're even better than Profe (Francisco). You are such a Tigeraza (have no idea how to translate that except to say a combo between 'fierce' and 'the bomb') !" I gently full-nelsoned him, commanded them to 'get to work!' and we all laughed.
Francisco finally came in to work. He had vertigo yesterday because of an ear infection (or rather, water had gotten in his ears when he went swimming in the river). I poured in some Hydrogen Peroxide mixed with water (something he'd never heard of) and he delightedly giggled at the sound of it fizzing in his ears. He felt almost immediately better and then we started joking around. He playfully teased the art students, I told him all the 'bad' words I had learned since I'd been here (I didn't actually know they weren't appropriate until I said one and he, with shocked expression, asked me where I'd learned that word). He thought it was hilarious.
What a jovial day.
I love the Dominican Republic.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
The All Consuming Fire
Are we comfortable with God's jealousy? Do we understand His passionate love that burns continually, constantly and is directed toward us? I know that it is often hard for me when He comes with that burning, searing fire of purification, of sanctification. My flesh and its desires writhe in pain, crying out for it to cease. I want to run and hide, find refuge among the familiar systems that I've built to keep myself 'safe'. At the same time, my soul craves His touch, no matter what form it comes in and my spirit cries out for completion; to be redeemed and restored to its perfect likeness, made in His image. We who are born again, who have been born anew of His Spirit and who have been given freedom to choose Him, receive His jealous love as those inner fires of transformation, trials, persecutions. His passion is fierce, relentless. He is all-consuming. I imagine these are what the fires of Hell are. Un-renewed people standing in His fire of love, yet unable to enter into its full embrace. He is everywhere and there is nowhere one can go to escape His presence. The presence of the Living God is a fire that consumes everything it its path. It is a love to be consumed by, but those who do not have His life-giving Spirit will never be able to enter into that consuming love. They will feel it on them, burning, but will never be able to be transformed into it. This is torture. An unquenchable fire. We who have received Christ and position ourselves before Him become those very living flames of love, both purified and purifying; being sanctified, yet already holy.
This is our privilege.
Let his holy, purifying, perfecting love come in and chase out all fear, all foe, all sin, all death.
"Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom which cannot be shaken, let us have grace, by which we may serve God acceptably with reverence and godly fear. For our God is a consuming fire." Hebrews 12:28,29
Saturday, November 1, 2008
The Things We Don't Understand
"...being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ;" Php. 1:6
He's never done. And even though I have the above scripture pretty much memorized, He still catches me off guard when He comes in to complete more of the work.
I remember thinking back in 2005 when I was going on a short-term trip to Nigeria to administer Polio vaccine that I was entering the last 'promise of God' that I knew about in my own life. What I mean is that throughout my growing up years, every so often I'd get these flash visions of myself as an adult standing in Africa, holding a baby and talking with some women. In my mind, that was the be all, end all. But, as I was standing in Africa just 3 years ago, holding a baby and talking to some women, I felt fulfilled. I didn't feel called to move my whole life to Africa. I remember coming back to California feeling confounded and a little lost. Silly, I know. Just months later, our church decided to establish a missions program and I lead an 8-person team down here to the Dominican Republic. While here for two weeks, God resurrected this old dream I'd had as a 15 year old, to live for a couple years in a Spanish speaking country, get fluent and make art. I had let that dream die due to many factors and had a hard time reconciling myself with it as God kept moving my heart around, opening a desire to come and serve here. And, still, within my first year here, I kept asking God, "But, what next? I mean, I've been in Africa, I'm doing the Spanish/art thing now, but what comes after, God?"
It's amazing what things we forget, what things we don't understand. But, God never forgets, nor is He short on understanding. Not only did He form me in my mother's womb, He chose where I would live, what I would do and the kind of relationship I would have with Him.
Ever since I was little, maybe 5 or 6, I would tell people that I was going to write a book one day. As I grew a little older and learned how to write, I was always penning short stories, TV scripts, poems. I even had a dream as a teenager where I was reading at the title of a book and when I looked to see who the author was, it was me! Something in me has always known I was made to be a writer. Yet, a different something in me felt like it wasn't noble enough. But, this last year, God has been, once again, coming in to remind me of the work still left uncompleted in the life He designed for me. And the ways He comes in to lovingly remind me, to encourage me as my adoring Father... well, he just knocks me down every time.
Tonight I was feeling discouraged for various reasons, but as I took my seat in the front row of my weekly discipleship class at church, I set my mind to glean all I could from the teaching. The pastor at one point asked a question, which I answered under my breath not intending to be heard, but he did hear it and he pointed at me and said, "Amy Babb. Amy Babb. You have the name of an author. 'Written by Amy Babb.'" He giggled, I answered the question so everyone could hear and he moved on. He didn't know it, but God had just used this man to affirm me in something that I so long to do, so long to be.
I think that it's hard sometimes to believe that the things we most desire are really God's desires for us. I often struggle with the seeming contradiction of: "Delight yourself also in the Lord, and He shall give you the desires of your heart" and "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked, who can know it?" I realize these things are not in contradiction because God is completely true always, but I have still gotten caught in the trap of believing that my good desires are not necessarily good. I think part of this comes from walking through fires and trials that God has called me into, things I didn't desire, but were from Him.
Okay, I admit it. I want to be an expert on the ways of God. It's true. I want all understanding, all knowledge-- just overall omni-whatever. But I also love surprises. I beg God daily to reveal His will in my life, but when He actually does it, I get that same excitement of receiving an unexpected present. That's how I felt tonight. God has been telling me, through my desire, through encouragement of others, that yes, writing is something he wants me to do. But He went the extra mile tonight and caught me off guard by using someone who barely knows me. I don't get it. I'll never get His love that continually works on my behalf. I'll never understand why sometimes He talks to me non-stop and at others is silent for too long (in my opinion :) ).
I want to be complete, yet I love that there are things left for Him to do. I want to be in the fulness of His presence, yet I love it when He shows up unexpectedly after a long absence. I am addicted to the mystery.
He's never done. And even though I have the above scripture pretty much memorized, He still catches me off guard when He comes in to complete more of the work.
I remember thinking back in 2005 when I was going on a short-term trip to Nigeria to administer Polio vaccine that I was entering the last 'promise of God' that I knew about in my own life. What I mean is that throughout my growing up years, every so often I'd get these flash visions of myself as an adult standing in Africa, holding a baby and talking with some women. In my mind, that was the be all, end all. But, as I was standing in Africa just 3 years ago, holding a baby and talking to some women, I felt fulfilled. I didn't feel called to move my whole life to Africa. I remember coming back to California feeling confounded and a little lost. Silly, I know. Just months later, our church decided to establish a missions program and I lead an 8-person team down here to the Dominican Republic. While here for two weeks, God resurrected this old dream I'd had as a 15 year old, to live for a couple years in a Spanish speaking country, get fluent and make art. I had let that dream die due to many factors and had a hard time reconciling myself with it as God kept moving my heart around, opening a desire to come and serve here. And, still, within my first year here, I kept asking God, "But, what next? I mean, I've been in Africa, I'm doing the Spanish/art thing now, but what comes after, God?"
It's amazing what things we forget, what things we don't understand. But, God never forgets, nor is He short on understanding. Not only did He form me in my mother's womb, He chose where I would live, what I would do and the kind of relationship I would have with Him.
Ever since I was little, maybe 5 or 6, I would tell people that I was going to write a book one day. As I grew a little older and learned how to write, I was always penning short stories, TV scripts, poems. I even had a dream as a teenager where I was reading at the title of a book and when I looked to see who the author was, it was me! Something in me has always known I was made to be a writer. Yet, a different something in me felt like it wasn't noble enough. But, this last year, God has been, once again, coming in to remind me of the work still left uncompleted in the life He designed for me. And the ways He comes in to lovingly remind me, to encourage me as my adoring Father... well, he just knocks me down every time.
Tonight I was feeling discouraged for various reasons, but as I took my seat in the front row of my weekly discipleship class at church, I set my mind to glean all I could from the teaching. The pastor at one point asked a question, which I answered under my breath not intending to be heard, but he did hear it and he pointed at me and said, "Amy Babb. Amy Babb. You have the name of an author. 'Written by Amy Babb.'" He giggled, I answered the question so everyone could hear and he moved on. He didn't know it, but God had just used this man to affirm me in something that I so long to do, so long to be.
I think that it's hard sometimes to believe that the things we most desire are really God's desires for us. I often struggle with the seeming contradiction of: "Delight yourself also in the Lord, and He shall give you the desires of your heart" and "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked, who can know it?" I realize these things are not in contradiction because God is completely true always, but I have still gotten caught in the trap of believing that my good desires are not necessarily good. I think part of this comes from walking through fires and trials that God has called me into, things I didn't desire, but were from Him.
Okay, I admit it. I want to be an expert on the ways of God. It's true. I want all understanding, all knowledge-- just overall omni-whatever. But I also love surprises. I beg God daily to reveal His will in my life, but when He actually does it, I get that same excitement of receiving an unexpected present. That's how I felt tonight. God has been telling me, through my desire, through encouragement of others, that yes, writing is something he wants me to do. But He went the extra mile tonight and caught me off guard by using someone who barely knows me. I don't get it. I'll never get His love that continually works on my behalf. I'll never understand why sometimes He talks to me non-stop and at others is silent for too long (in my opinion :) ).
I want to be complete, yet I love that there are things left for Him to do. I want to be in the fulness of His presence, yet I love it when He shows up unexpectedly after a long absence. I am addicted to the mystery.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Indulging
I do not have discipleship class tonight and so I am indulging. Indulging in enjoyment of the day. It's been a while now since I've had an ENTIRE day free from some kind of obligation. I am not saying obligations are bad and I myself made the choice to obligate myself to take a discipleship class at my church here. But, I have to admit, today just feels luscious. It feels luscious even with a headache, which usually ruins my day, but my soul is so relaxed, I don't even mind it so much. Plus, last night God told me I'd have a headache and that I'd need to drink lots of water today. Last night, I indulged, too.
I have a good friend here who I love and it has been a long time since I've spent time with her and her boyfriend, who I also love. We made plans to hang out and watch the World Series at her house (since I have no cable at my house), but plans changed and so we went out for pizza and I asked the boyfriend to tell me his side of the 'how I fell in love with her' story. The beauty is that he was eager and willing to tell even though there was a boxing match on and his mouth was filled with pizza. Claro esta, we had to take breaks every now and then as his eyes wandered to watch some guys throw some punches, but that was to be expected. After dinner we actually ended up back at her house where there was wine and chocolate. I don't drink wine all that often and especially not living here because we need to be careful witnesses in an alcoholic culture, but when I do get to have a glass, I savor it. And with dark chocolate. Why is God so good? Anyway, then my friend put on some rich tunes to go along with the rich evening and THEN... pulled out the art supplies. Talk about indulgence. I grabbed some conte crayons and just started drawing what was right in front of me. It happened to be my glass of wine. As I was drawing, I thought about Jesus sharing his last meal on earth with his disciples before he was crucified. I felt his tension as he was reclining at the table, a glass of wine before him, thinking about what he was about to go through. Would his closest and dearest friends understand the symbology if he tried sharing with them? Would they understand the connection between his blood and the wine they were drinking-- a common thing? I saw his fingers lightly touch the stem of the cup, his eyes gazing into the deep dark. "I will not drink of the vine again until I come..." Catching the sound of his voice, his fellows turn their heads to look at him. What was he saying?
I can't imagine how Jesus felt on that night. How he must feel now, waiting in anticipation for the day when he will again drink of the vine with his companions at the wedding banquet. What seemed like a simple indulgence to me last night, turned into a deep longing to be intimate with Christ, the lover I am waiting to see, with whom I will share a cup of the vine-- the best wine which he saved for last. I am my beloved's and he is mine; his banner over me is love.
Today feels luscious as I indulge in the love of the one who is, who was and who is to come...
I have a good friend here who I love and it has been a long time since I've spent time with her and her boyfriend, who I also love. We made plans to hang out and watch the World Series at her house (since I have no cable at my house), but plans changed and so we went out for pizza and I asked the boyfriend to tell me his side of the 'how I fell in love with her' story. The beauty is that he was eager and willing to tell even though there was a boxing match on and his mouth was filled with pizza. Claro esta, we had to take breaks every now and then as his eyes wandered to watch some guys throw some punches, but that was to be expected. After dinner we actually ended up back at her house where there was wine and chocolate. I don't drink wine all that often and especially not living here because we need to be careful witnesses in an alcoholic culture, but when I do get to have a glass, I savor it. And with dark chocolate. Why is God so good? Anyway, then my friend put on some rich tunes to go along with the rich evening and THEN... pulled out the art supplies. Talk about indulgence. I grabbed some conte crayons and just started drawing what was right in front of me. It happened to be my glass of wine. As I was drawing, I thought about Jesus sharing his last meal on earth with his disciples before he was crucified. I felt his tension as he was reclining at the table, a glass of wine before him, thinking about what he was about to go through. Would his closest and dearest friends understand the symbology if he tried sharing with them? Would they understand the connection between his blood and the wine they were drinking-- a common thing? I saw his fingers lightly touch the stem of the cup, his eyes gazing into the deep dark. "I will not drink of the vine again until I come..." Catching the sound of his voice, his fellows turn their heads to look at him. What was he saying?
I can't imagine how Jesus felt on that night. How he must feel now, waiting in anticipation for the day when he will again drink of the vine with his companions at the wedding banquet. What seemed like a simple indulgence to me last night, turned into a deep longing to be intimate with Christ, the lover I am waiting to see, with whom I will share a cup of the vine-- the best wine which he saved for last. I am my beloved's and he is mine; his banner over me is love.
Today feels luscious as I indulge in the love of the one who is, who was and who is to come...
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Hop, Skip, Jump
I had the most wonderful birthday (it was on October 2nd for those who are wondering). Just kidding. The day of I was actually really sick and slept through most of it, but the following night, some friends came over and we watched Amelie, one of my favorite movies. And Katie made this decadent chocolate dessert from scratch that was the best thing I've ever put in my mouth.
And, because we only get mail once every two weeks here, I finally got my birthday packages yesterday!!! I already thanked my mom, who sent cool stuff, but especially great was a framed photo of my bro and best-nephew-in-the-whole-world Gabriel. I love him. Them, I mean. And THEN I got to open a package from a woman who was here on a team back in the Spring. Marilyn. She's from Connecticut and so encouraged me when she was here. She sent me a book from 1947 from a wise saint that I cannot wait to start reading. As well, she sent me...A BRAND NEW PAIR OF CONVERSE!!!! I still can't get over it. For those of you who know me well, I live in Chuck Taylors. Lo-tops, not high tops because hi-tops are too hot and you can't wear them with shorts and dresses well. Anyway, the ones I brought down here with me, my beloved burgundys, have gotten completely thrashed from being worn in El Callejon all summer (if you don't know where El Callejon is, you need to be reading these blogs more, really...). They are still so very comfy, but are caked in mud and paint, etc and so are no longer church-worthy. Many of you may be thinking that wearing Converse to church is a little bit, um, not pretty, but whatever. I sometimes wear girly shoes to church, too. I actually just got a pair of coppery-metalic sandals that are really cute and...
But, I have a new pair of Converse and I love them so much I almost slept in them last night. I used to always sleep in my new shoes when I was a little girl. In fact, 'shoe' was my first word. I was four months old. My dad says that I was laying on my stomach on the carpet right in front of his size 11 Clarks and very clearly said, 'shoe!'. I didn't speak again until 7 months later. I always say I was prophesying over my own life: "Go into all the World..." "How beautiful on the mountain are the feet of those who bring the good news". Hey, if God can use a donkey, surely he can use a four month old.
I still like shoes a whole lot, but since they are not as easily accessible down here and I live on a healthy budget, receiving a brand new pair of my favorite kind of shoes is an incredible blessing.
Thank you Marilyn for the love.
And, because we only get mail once every two weeks here, I finally got my birthday packages yesterday!!! I already thanked my mom, who sent cool stuff, but especially great was a framed photo of my bro and best-nephew-in-the-whole-world Gabriel. I love him. Them, I mean. And THEN I got to open a package from a woman who was here on a team back in the Spring. Marilyn. She's from Connecticut and so encouraged me when she was here. She sent me a book from 1947 from a wise saint that I cannot wait to start reading. As well, she sent me...A BRAND NEW PAIR OF CONVERSE!!!! I still can't get over it. For those of you who know me well, I live in Chuck Taylors. Lo-tops, not high tops because hi-tops are too hot and you can't wear them with shorts and dresses well. Anyway, the ones I brought down here with me, my beloved burgundys, have gotten completely thrashed from being worn in El Callejon all summer (if you don't know where El Callejon is, you need to be reading these blogs more, really...). They are still so very comfy, but are caked in mud and paint, etc and so are no longer church-worthy. Many of you may be thinking that wearing Converse to church is a little bit, um, not pretty, but whatever. I sometimes wear girly shoes to church, too. I actually just got a pair of coppery-metalic sandals that are really cute and...
But, I have a new pair of Converse and I love them so much I almost slept in them last night. I used to always sleep in my new shoes when I was a little girl. In fact, 'shoe' was my first word. I was four months old. My dad says that I was laying on my stomach on the carpet right in front of his size 11 Clarks and very clearly said, 'shoe!'. I didn't speak again until 7 months later. I always say I was prophesying over my own life: "Go into all the World..." "How beautiful on the mountain are the feet of those who bring the good news". Hey, if God can use a donkey, surely he can use a four month old.
I still like shoes a whole lot, but since they are not as easily accessible down here and I live on a healthy budget, receiving a brand new pair of my favorite kind of shoes is an incredible blessing.
Thank you Marilyn for the love.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
The King's Table
Back in January, our church hosted a group of prophetically-inclined brethren from a church near Chicago. It was an awesome few days of fantastic teaching and personal ministry. During the first night, one of the women on the team pointed at me and started sharing some spot-on things about who God has made me to be. It was very encouraging. After affirming by spiritual personality, so to speak, she shared something that I also felt comforting: that God was going to start bringing together all the seemingly random bits of my call together to form a tapestry that would finally make sense to me. I have never made sense to myself, which is one of my hugest struggles in life. All of my strengths, talents and gifts seem to not really go together, or rather, God seems to highlight certain ones at certain times while the others take a break. It's often quite frustrating for me. Upon hearing the promise of clarity that night, I relaxed a bit, knowing that God would soon bring some kind of grand revelation.
I'm still waiting.
As I contemplated the idea of writing an update here, images of my life started spinning around my mind like a lazy Susan. Should I write about the corn, the salsa, the mashed potatoes, the meatloaf, the mint chutney or the blackberry cobbler? There are so many little things going on, each one so incredibly flavorful in its own right, yet each one feeling incomplete on its own. I feel like God is giving me tastes of all different kinds of things, both satisfying and causing hunger. How is this possible?
This morning I woke up early to join two sisters from church to pray over a location where our church will be hosting a concert tonight. The town is celebrating its sesquicentennial (150 years) anniversary and each night of the week, a different concert is going on. The stages are being sponsored by Brugal Rum, and each night so far has been an alcoholic frenzy. On the property, which is probably a half-lot size, there are literally 8 alcohol booths, each one standing about 4 feet over from the next one. The stage itself is made up of plastic banners advertising Brugal Rum. Francisco, who I work with, is busy at work painting a huge backdrop to hang over these ads that announces God's love for the city. The church is bringing in 4 very well-known Christian Dominican music artists and some of the youth will be performing a powerful dance/drama. It is also pouring down rain. I give you this background to let you know a bit about what I am participating in here outside of work and also to share how praying over an outreach like this leaves me in the place of 'already, but not yet'. I can go with a few believers and in the name of Jesus, ask for souls to be liberated from the bondage of alcoholism and hopelessness. I can pray the tearing down of modern sacred pillars (Brugal Rum booths). I can proclaim the righteousness of God and the reign of His holiness over an area and in this way, I get a taste of the everlasting Kingdom. But, I still feel hungry. The concert hasn't happened yet. None of those who will come to the Lord tonight have yet come. Right now, someone who God plans to set free tonight is still bound. Those prayers that we prayed this morning have not yet found their release and I still carry within me that tension. I am hungry to see the outpouring of God's mercy in this place, knowing that the prayers that have gone forth in faith will bring this outpouring
And so goes the rest of my life here. As I set out to do things, whether in my quiet times with God or in ministry, I feel as though I am being both filled and poured out all at once. I feel satisfied and glad, yet starving for more. I feel I am in a perpetual state of holy angst where nothing makes sense, but all of it seems worthwhile. I like to have things orderly, set in place, confirmed and clear. There are decisions to be made that I feel I can't make because this merry-go-round of the Holy Spirit won't slow down for me to make a choice! My tendency to judge things as better, worse, more or less valuable, good or bad is being challenged to the utmost as God continues to show me that every single nook and cranny of His Kingdom has innate and eternal value. The minute before I try to set in stone something that makes sense to me, God comes and spins it all around, stopping it only when He wants it to and says, Amy, take a bite of this. And, just as I'm enjoying that bite and start to reach for another, he spins the selection around again and asks that I taste something else. They are all tasty and all nourishing, but each time I feel I'm about to be satisfied on one thing, he laughs and throws everything into a colorful whirl until I've tasted it all. Does this make any sense? If not, you know how I feel : )
And so, I'm teaching bi-monthly art classes in El Callejon to girls ages7-11; I'm painting some of my own prophetic art; I'm assisting Fran in the art school and helping some of our students make the transition from pen drawing to watercolors; Saturday nights I'm taking a discipleship class at church and am having to read huge portions of the Bible at a fairly rapid rate (in the last three weeks I've read Matthew thru Leviticus) as well as read a book in Spanish on the history of the DR and why the people are the way they are and then write a report on it (due next week); Monday nights I'm tutoring a new American teacher here with her Spanish; Monday mornings I am now prayer walking with my dear friend Elizabeth in the community where she leads a home group. So much is going on and each thing is so fulfilling to me. And yet, I know that it's for a time and a season.
I will soon have to make a decision regarding whether or not I will be staying here past my two year commitment. It is a decision I cannot make based on how well things or going or on how I feel in any given moment. I struggle because I know that whether I am here, in the States or in another country, God is there, working and I will get to partner with Him. I cannot place any kind of better/worse value on 'where' I am. If I could, it would make this decision easier. I would appreciate any prayers and/or wisdom if you feel so lead to share.
"Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think..."
I'm still waiting.
As I contemplated the idea of writing an update here, images of my life started spinning around my mind like a lazy Susan. Should I write about the corn, the salsa, the mashed potatoes, the meatloaf, the mint chutney or the blackberry cobbler? There are so many little things going on, each one so incredibly flavorful in its own right, yet each one feeling incomplete on its own. I feel like God is giving me tastes of all different kinds of things, both satisfying and causing hunger. How is this possible?
This morning I woke up early to join two sisters from church to pray over a location where our church will be hosting a concert tonight. The town is celebrating its sesquicentennial (150 years) anniversary and each night of the week, a different concert is going on. The stages are being sponsored by Brugal Rum, and each night so far has been an alcoholic frenzy. On the property, which is probably a half-lot size, there are literally 8 alcohol booths, each one standing about 4 feet over from the next one. The stage itself is made up of plastic banners advertising Brugal Rum. Francisco, who I work with, is busy at work painting a huge backdrop to hang over these ads that announces God's love for the city. The church is bringing in 4 very well-known Christian Dominican music artists and some of the youth will be performing a powerful dance/drama. It is also pouring down rain. I give you this background to let you know a bit about what I am participating in here outside of work and also to share how praying over an outreach like this leaves me in the place of 'already, but not yet'. I can go with a few believers and in the name of Jesus, ask for souls to be liberated from the bondage of alcoholism and hopelessness. I can pray the tearing down of modern sacred pillars (Brugal Rum booths). I can proclaim the righteousness of God and the reign of His holiness over an area and in this way, I get a taste of the everlasting Kingdom. But, I still feel hungry. The concert hasn't happened yet. None of those who will come to the Lord tonight have yet come. Right now, someone who God plans to set free tonight is still bound. Those prayers that we prayed this morning have not yet found their release and I still carry within me that tension. I am hungry to see the outpouring of God's mercy in this place, knowing that the prayers that have gone forth in faith will bring this outpouring
And so goes the rest of my life here. As I set out to do things, whether in my quiet times with God or in ministry, I feel as though I am being both filled and poured out all at once. I feel satisfied and glad, yet starving for more. I feel I am in a perpetual state of holy angst where nothing makes sense, but all of it seems worthwhile. I like to have things orderly, set in place, confirmed and clear. There are decisions to be made that I feel I can't make because this merry-go-round of the Holy Spirit won't slow down for me to make a choice! My tendency to judge things as better, worse, more or less valuable, good or bad is being challenged to the utmost as God continues to show me that every single nook and cranny of His Kingdom has innate and eternal value. The minute before I try to set in stone something that makes sense to me, God comes and spins it all around, stopping it only when He wants it to and says, Amy, take a bite of this. And, just as I'm enjoying that bite and start to reach for another, he spins the selection around again and asks that I taste something else. They are all tasty and all nourishing, but each time I feel I'm about to be satisfied on one thing, he laughs and throws everything into a colorful whirl until I've tasted it all. Does this make any sense? If not, you know how I feel : )
And so, I'm teaching bi-monthly art classes in El Callejon to girls ages7-11; I'm painting some of my own prophetic art; I'm assisting Fran in the art school and helping some of our students make the transition from pen drawing to watercolors; Saturday nights I'm taking a discipleship class at church and am having to read huge portions of the Bible at a fairly rapid rate (in the last three weeks I've read Matthew thru Leviticus) as well as read a book in Spanish on the history of the DR and why the people are the way they are and then write a report on it (due next week); Monday nights I'm tutoring a new American teacher here with her Spanish; Monday mornings I am now prayer walking with my dear friend Elizabeth in the community where she leads a home group. So much is going on and each thing is so fulfilling to me. And yet, I know that it's for a time and a season.
I will soon have to make a decision regarding whether or not I will be staying here past my two year commitment. It is a decision I cannot make based on how well things or going or on how I feel in any given moment. I struggle because I know that whether I am here, in the States or in another country, God is there, working and I will get to partner with Him. I cannot place any kind of better/worse value on 'where' I am. If I could, it would make this decision easier. I would appreciate any prayers and/or wisdom if you feel so lead to share.
"Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think..."
Sunday, September 7, 2008
The Old Man is Snoring
Rain, rain go away...
It's officially hurricane season. I think we've got some of Ike raining down on us, or then again, it could just be a random tropical storm. It will be raining almost constantly until January. Which brings me to avocados.
Now, avocados have nothing to do with the rain, it's just that I've been meaning to write about avocados for a while now, but just as I sat down to finally do it, I thought I might mention the fact that it's raining cats and dogs. Some dogs like to eat avocados. Back to the point...
Last year when I moved into this house, my roommate Amy, upon giving me a tour of our yard, pointed out the various fruit trees. "This one has some kind of fruit, I'm not exactly sure what kind it is yet; this one grows these big spiky-skinned things; this is an avocado tree that doesn't produce any fruit; this one--- wait a minute, did she say AVOCADO??? Those little green things that are traded for gold in California? Those precious little fruits that, when cut open, scooped out, mashed and mixed with other things makes one of the best foods ever invented by man, GUACAMOLE??? And it's growing in MY back yard!! Yum, oh yuminess, oh, sweet green goo of yumness. I just could not, would not tolerate the fact that she said this tree did not produce. It couldn't be! God did not make avocado trees to just stand there and torment me with promises of goodness. Later on that month, unbeknownst to my roomie, I went outside, laid hands on the trunk and prayed for God to bring forth fruit. "God, I'm not asking for a scorpion! I'm asking for avos and you promise in your word that if I ask anything in Jesus' name, you will give it! Bring forth fruit!" I did something similar a few months later, thinking about that parable where a king comes to eat fruit off a tree and it doesn't have any and then orders the gardner to chop it down and make room for fruit trees that work and the gardner makes him a deal: give it one more year. If it doesn't produce fruit at the end, I'll chop it. So, I prayed that prayer, asking God to give it another year to produce fruit. I also prayed the prayer in relation to Jarabacoa, proclaiming God's ability to form fruit out of death. Then I forgot all about it.
Sometime during the beginning of summer, I got a word from the Lord about the next season I'm about to enter: Lift up your eyes and see! The fields are white with harvest!
I started contending in prayer for that harvest, praying that our eyes, as workers here, would indeed look UP and see what God has prepared and not to let the enemy come and steal any part of it. Shortly after, as I was hanging out my laundry to dry on a nice sunny Sunday morning, I lifted up my eyes and, lo and behold, there were avocados growing on that tree!!! I am not kidding you. And not just one or two, like two or TEN! Amy and I danced a joyful jig to the Lord and have been waiting and waiting for them to ripen. We just picked about 6 of them yesterday, which should be ready to eat sometime this week.
God promised that if we have even the faith of a mustard seed, we could do great things. God cares about the harvest of souls that, to us, appear dead and worth chopping down. He wants us to press in, to have faith and to exercise that faith in praying His promises and awaiting the fruit that will come forth from those faithful prayers. He even cares that I love avocados so much.
Pray to God for the 'impossible', believing in His power and desire to do so, and watch Him bring it about.
We serve a living God.
Come on down and share in God's harvest with me!!!
Saturday, August 9, 2008
And the Vacation Begins...
Last night I said goodbye to the last team of the summer. Feeling exhausted, yet content, I drove home late with thoughts of vacation sugarplums already dancing in my head. I pulled up on the curb in front of my house, left the car idling and gracefully jumped out (I was wearing a dress) to unlock the sliding iron gate that borders our front yard. Our two dogs were whining happily in eager expectation of sniffing the tires of my jeep to see where I'd been. After I got them chained, I slid the gate open, only to have it get stuck a second later. I walked around the other side to figure out the problem. Our dogs were the problem. At the bottom of our iron gate, we have foot high panels of chicken wire held on by other wire to... why DO we have wire down there? Well, I didn't have time to contemplate the why. As of the last 5 months or so, our Dobermans have decided to dig a gigantic hole under this gigantic bush we have growing just inside the gate. Their belligerent digging has caused minor problems in the past with getting the gate open: huge rocks in the path or piles of dirt blocking the tracks the gate rides on. This time is was a bent-out-of-shape panel of chicken wire. For half an hour in very dim light, I tried pounding the darn thing back into place with a trowel we always have nearby to clear away other debris. It was too strong and I was too tired. I finally just lifted the gate off it's track and little by little moved it through the narrow opening. I rolled the car in, let the dogs off their chains, they sniffed the tires, I fell into bed.
So began my vacation week.
This morning I awoke (much earlier than I wanted to), had a leisurely morning starting a new book while drinking my first cup of vacation coffee. After a while I decided I needed to tackle the 'uh oh, the corrugated tube that drains the water from our washing machine to the great outdoors has holes in it and is now draining into our laundry room' problem. I took off the tube, looked at it, discovered the holes were made by voracious rats, and decided I could probably fix it with duct tape. Knowing we did not have duct tape, I nonetheless opened the 'kitchen drawer of randomness' in hopes God might have put some in there overnight. No such luck. However, I did spy a half-used tube of silicone that Amy and I had used to fix our front screen door a couple of months back. Desperation caused me to take out the knife. I shouldn't have done it. In the process of trying to pry open the top of the tube to perhaps get to some not-yet-dry plastic goo, I sliced open my left thumb. I quickly put it under running faucet water and cried. I knew I didn't have band-aids, so I wrapped it in paper towels, elevated my arm and thought about my mommy. Then I realized I had to get going to go meet my friend Daisy and go with her to the church's 'pulga' (yard sale) to buy clothes for the girls who live in El Callejon. So, I pulled myself together, grabbed my money, chained up the dogs and started to open the front gate. I then remembered I had not fixed the problem from the night before, I had just sort of worked around it. I studied the chicken wire praying it would miraculously disappear. It didn't. So, I decided to try what I did last night: lift up, push a little, let down. On the first go, one of the panels decided to come undone at one end. I undid the other end, ripped it off, pushed the gate open and then realized my thumb had opened up again and was bleeding all over the place. I think I said a bad word. I went back inside, got more paper towel, came back out, drove the car out onto the street, hopped out to close the gate and unchain the dogs. As I went to let Snickers off, he decided he might just want a bite of paper towel. I almost lost my thumb. I yelled at him, got in the car and took off.
In the ungodly heat of mid-morning, Daisy and I quickly went through the piles of kids clothes. "Erika. Noelia. Eh, Claudia, no, Kati, si, Kati." We held up clothes, trying to figure out who they'd fit. Fifteen minutes later I was back in my car and on my way into town to buy groceries and duct tape. The town was packed, there was no where to park, I may have said another bad word and then decided to go over to where my roommate is house sitting to see if they had any duct tape. After telling her my woes, I decided to go to the other market, park and walk around the corner to the one that sells the bread I like. It was sneaky, but I did it. Luckily the bread market didn't have the meat I wanted, so I actually did shop at the market I was parked in front of. I even bought a vacation bottle of grape soda. It would go great with the avocado, Camembert sandwich I was going to make on that yummy, crusty French bread I just bought. I started feeling better. When I got home, the gate slid open okay, Snickers didn't try to eat my hand and the pile of toothpicks that had gotten knocked over when I cut my thumb didn't bother me too much. I made my sandwich, popped in a dvd, and twisted the cap on my soda. Unbeknownst to me, it had rolled around a bit on the ride home and so proceeded to erupt all over my sandwich. They didn't go as well together as I originally thought.
I think I'm gonna go take a vacation nap.
So began my vacation week.
This morning I awoke (much earlier than I wanted to), had a leisurely morning starting a new book while drinking my first cup of vacation coffee. After a while I decided I needed to tackle the 'uh oh, the corrugated tube that drains the water from our washing machine to the great outdoors has holes in it and is now draining into our laundry room' problem. I took off the tube, looked at it, discovered the holes were made by voracious rats, and decided I could probably fix it with duct tape. Knowing we did not have duct tape, I nonetheless opened the 'kitchen drawer of randomness' in hopes God might have put some in there overnight. No such luck. However, I did spy a half-used tube of silicone that Amy and I had used to fix our front screen door a couple of months back. Desperation caused me to take out the knife. I shouldn't have done it. In the process of trying to pry open the top of the tube to perhaps get to some not-yet-dry plastic goo, I sliced open my left thumb. I quickly put it under running faucet water and cried. I knew I didn't have band-aids, so I wrapped it in paper towels, elevated my arm and thought about my mommy. Then I realized I had to get going to go meet my friend Daisy and go with her to the church's 'pulga' (yard sale) to buy clothes for the girls who live in El Callejon. So, I pulled myself together, grabbed my money, chained up the dogs and started to open the front gate. I then remembered I had not fixed the problem from the night before, I had just sort of worked around it. I studied the chicken wire praying it would miraculously disappear. It didn't. So, I decided to try what I did last night: lift up, push a little, let down. On the first go, one of the panels decided to come undone at one end. I undid the other end, ripped it off, pushed the gate open and then realized my thumb had opened up again and was bleeding all over the place. I think I said a bad word. I went back inside, got more paper towel, came back out, drove the car out onto the street, hopped out to close the gate and unchain the dogs. As I went to let Snickers off, he decided he might just want a bite of paper towel. I almost lost my thumb. I yelled at him, got in the car and took off.
In the ungodly heat of mid-morning, Daisy and I quickly went through the piles of kids clothes. "Erika. Noelia. Eh, Claudia, no, Kati, si, Kati." We held up clothes, trying to figure out who they'd fit. Fifteen minutes later I was back in my car and on my way into town to buy groceries and duct tape. The town was packed, there was no where to park, I may have said another bad word and then decided to go over to where my roommate is house sitting to see if they had any duct tape. After telling her my woes, I decided to go to the other market, park and walk around the corner to the one that sells the bread I like. It was sneaky, but I did it. Luckily the bread market didn't have the meat I wanted, so I actually did shop at the market I was parked in front of. I even bought a vacation bottle of grape soda. It would go great with the avocado, Camembert sandwich I was going to make on that yummy, crusty French bread I just bought. I started feeling better. When I got home, the gate slid open okay, Snickers didn't try to eat my hand and the pile of toothpicks that had gotten knocked over when I cut my thumb didn't bother me too much. I made my sandwich, popped in a dvd, and twisted the cap on my soda. Unbeknownst to me, it had rolled around a bit on the ride home and so proceeded to erupt all over my sandwich. They didn't go as well together as I originally thought.
I think I'm gonna go take a vacation nap.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Year in Review
I am not one of those people who is motivated by the setting of goals and accomplishing them. For me, success and fulfillment is measured by how many people I get to love. Today, as I celebrate my first year being on the mission field, thoughts of challenges overcome, everyday victories, and 'fruitful' seasons of ministry don't even come to mind. I don't care about these things. What I care about are the faces that are flashing through my mind as I think about my year in Jarabacoa. If it weren't for the people, being here wouldn't be worth it to me. So, here they are, the ones who have made a difference in my life and made being a missionary worth it (let it be known that many people aren't on here either because I don't have a photo or because my computer was too slow in loading!):
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
A Friend of the Bridegroom
"He who has the bride is the bridegroom; but the friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly because of the bridegroom's voice. Therefore this joy of mine is fulfilled. He must increase and I must decrease." John 3:29
John the Baptist was an influential man. Though he didn't dress, eat or act like 'normal' people, he was nonetheless respected and followed. The man had disciples and an incredible ministry. There John was, baptizing people who had heard his charismatic yet intense message and wanted to be changed, cleansed, prepared. People were traveling from all parts of Israel, even from surrounding nations to hear this prophet speak. His 'voice crying out in the wilderness' was convicting many people and he was seeing much success. Enter Jesus.
John can hardly contain himself. Excitedly he cries out to his followers: "Yeah! This is the guy I've been telling you about! You think I'm great?? I'm not even worthy to untie his shoelaces! He's the Lamb of God; he's come to take away all your sins! Follow him!"
Most of John's disciples took his advice and left his side to pursue the new guy. Some of the ones who stayed behind got together with some of their Jewish brothers, approached John and started tattle-telling on Jesus. "Hey, you know that guy, the one you were telling us about, yeah, well he's like taken over your job baptizing and everyone's following him now!"
I wish I had the same heart as John in this moment. Unlike me, this man was truly humble and not only knew his rightful place in the kingdom-- he rejoiced in it. He was just happy to hear his friend's voice. He knew that his specific ministry had been given to him by God and that it had been fulfilled. He let it go. I am more like those 'loyal' disciples that complained and whined.
Two days ago one of the American high school students who is here on outreach openly confessed for the first time years of sexual and emotional abuse she had endured under the roof of her mom's house. Stepfather, boyfriends, men parading in and out of her mom's broken life had all taken advantage of this precious girl. As deep, gut- wrenching sobs shook her whole body, the release of years and years of anger, fear and aloneness, I smiled in my heart and said, "Thank you, Lord, I can finally be used in the way I like best. " As I looked at the somewhat shocked and forlorn faces of the other 4 teens gathered around her, I rejoiced that all my years of training to minister to the broken could finally be put to use in this place. God had used me many times in the past to minister healing to the broken places of the heart. I was ready to share biblical words that would help restore. I was poised and ready to lay hands on her and speak mighty deliverance. What I was not ready for was the Holy Spirit to say, "Go get her some toilet paper to blow her nose and let the students minister to her."
What?????
After months of being in the hidden place with God, struggling to learn a new language, adapting to a new culture and not being able to use the gifts that God had let me use in the past, I was aching to minister in my own language, in a territory that is totally comfortable for me. My soul was clammering for the spotlight. But the Spirit would not let it be. I sat by in silence, handed her the toilet paper and watched these doe-eyed high schoolers get down and dirty with the love of Christ. They all hugged her, affirmed her and prayed mighty, encouraging prayers. I sat by silently and watched God build unity in the way that only He knows how to do. And though I was joyful that God had opened the door and had begun the healing process, part of me was like John's disciples saying, "Um, they don't know what they are doing. They aren't gonna do it right and she's not gonna get the complete oil change that she needs." I kept waiting for an opening when I could saunter in with my expert background in how to properly minister to those falling apart and there never was one. Praise God.
When God called John to prepare the way, he gave him quite a ministry. But when it was time for Jesus to take over, he sauntered into John's territory and-- took over. And that's what Jesus did with me. My job is to be in the place where God has called me. My job is to talk about Jesus and then just be there, standing by, hearing His voice as He saunters into my space and takes over.
Someone once told me that God was preparing me for a forerunner ministry. It sounds so exciting, you know, foraging ahead, fighting battles, proclaiming the name of the Lord, preparing the way for Jesus' return to earth. What I didn't take much time to consider was that a forerunner is just a nameless, faceless messenger who is sent in advance to prepare the way... yes through prayer and worship and battle and proclamation... but also one who must step aside once the King arrives. I am no one. A voice crying out in the wilderness. A forerunner's job is to know when to decrease and to truly rejoice when Jesus increases; when my tantalizing message about the profoundness of Christ becomes a living revelation to all those who've heard.
"...Yes, He is altogether lovely. This is my beloved and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem."
"Where has your lover gone, most beautiful of women? Which way has your lover turned, that we make look for him?" (Song of Solomon 5:16-6:1)
The goal is to sing his praises and then watch as others turn to follow after Him. The goal is for them to stop listening to you and start being intimate with Him.
Prepare the way.
Decrease that He may increase.
John the Baptist was an influential man. Though he didn't dress, eat or act like 'normal' people, he was nonetheless respected and followed. The man had disciples and an incredible ministry. There John was, baptizing people who had heard his charismatic yet intense message and wanted to be changed, cleansed, prepared. People were traveling from all parts of Israel, even from surrounding nations to hear this prophet speak. His 'voice crying out in the wilderness' was convicting many people and he was seeing much success. Enter Jesus.
John can hardly contain himself. Excitedly he cries out to his followers: "Yeah! This is the guy I've been telling you about! You think I'm great?? I'm not even worthy to untie his shoelaces! He's the Lamb of God; he's come to take away all your sins! Follow him!"
Most of John's disciples took his advice and left his side to pursue the new guy. Some of the ones who stayed behind got together with some of their Jewish brothers, approached John and started tattle-telling on Jesus. "Hey, you know that guy, the one you were telling us about, yeah, well he's like taken over your job baptizing and everyone's following him now!"
I wish I had the same heart as John in this moment. Unlike me, this man was truly humble and not only knew his rightful place in the kingdom-- he rejoiced in it. He was just happy to hear his friend's voice. He knew that his specific ministry had been given to him by God and that it had been fulfilled. He let it go. I am more like those 'loyal' disciples that complained and whined.
Two days ago one of the American high school students who is here on outreach openly confessed for the first time years of sexual and emotional abuse she had endured under the roof of her mom's house. Stepfather, boyfriends, men parading in and out of her mom's broken life had all taken advantage of this precious girl. As deep, gut- wrenching sobs shook her whole body, the release of years and years of anger, fear and aloneness, I smiled in my heart and said, "Thank you, Lord, I can finally be used in the way I like best. " As I looked at the somewhat shocked and forlorn faces of the other 4 teens gathered around her, I rejoiced that all my years of training to minister to the broken could finally be put to use in this place. God had used me many times in the past to minister healing to the broken places of the heart. I was ready to share biblical words that would help restore. I was poised and ready to lay hands on her and speak mighty deliverance. What I was not ready for was the Holy Spirit to say, "Go get her some toilet paper to blow her nose and let the students minister to her."
What?????
After months of being in the hidden place with God, struggling to learn a new language, adapting to a new culture and not being able to use the gifts that God had let me use in the past, I was aching to minister in my own language, in a territory that is totally comfortable for me. My soul was clammering for the spotlight. But the Spirit would not let it be. I sat by in silence, handed her the toilet paper and watched these doe-eyed high schoolers get down and dirty with the love of Christ. They all hugged her, affirmed her and prayed mighty, encouraging prayers. I sat by silently and watched God build unity in the way that only He knows how to do. And though I was joyful that God had opened the door and had begun the healing process, part of me was like John's disciples saying, "Um, they don't know what they are doing. They aren't gonna do it right and she's not gonna get the complete oil change that she needs." I kept waiting for an opening when I could saunter in with my expert background in how to properly minister to those falling apart and there never was one. Praise God.
When God called John to prepare the way, he gave him quite a ministry. But when it was time for Jesus to take over, he sauntered into John's territory and-- took over. And that's what Jesus did with me. My job is to be in the place where God has called me. My job is to talk about Jesus and then just be there, standing by, hearing His voice as He saunters into my space and takes over.
Someone once told me that God was preparing me for a forerunner ministry. It sounds so exciting, you know, foraging ahead, fighting battles, proclaiming the name of the Lord, preparing the way for Jesus' return to earth. What I didn't take much time to consider was that a forerunner is just a nameless, faceless messenger who is sent in advance to prepare the way... yes through prayer and worship and battle and proclamation... but also one who must step aside once the King arrives. I am no one. A voice crying out in the wilderness. A forerunner's job is to know when to decrease and to truly rejoice when Jesus increases; when my tantalizing message about the profoundness of Christ becomes a living revelation to all those who've heard.
"...Yes, He is altogether lovely. This is my beloved and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem."
"Where has your lover gone, most beautiful of women? Which way has your lover turned, that we make look for him?" (Song of Solomon 5:16-6:1)
The goal is to sing his praises and then watch as others turn to follow after Him. The goal is for them to stop listening to you and start being intimate with Him.
Prepare the way.
Decrease that He may increase.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
When He Steps In
What do we do when Jesus shows up in a place we kinda wish He wouldn't? This is a question sparked by our last week's staff Bible Study and I've been meditating on it ever since. The passage we studied was Luke 5:1-11. The fishing disciples had been out ALL NIGHT casting their nets, bringing up nothing. In early morning, they pulled back to shore, unloaded and were starting to clean their nets. Tired, probably hungry, feeling discouraged.
In walks Jesus. In walks 'multitudes' of people, invading your space. You're kneeling down, using a somewhat dull knife to scrape old smelly fish scales off your hands, when a shadow passes over you. Squinting, you look up and there hovering over you is this man you've heard about, slight in posture, browned by the sun, a sparse beard-- nothing noteworthy, yet who has a commading presence. He tells you He needs to use your boat. For some reason your body obeys. You and some of your mates step in with this familiar stranger and push off from shore a bit. People are thronging, grasping, calling out. The man in your boat starts to speak. A hushing silence on shore. The rumbling in your stomach fades into the sound of his voice, your heavy eyelids are no longer weighing you down. You are moved in some inexplicable way, his words rising and falling as the gentle waves lap against the side of your boat. Conscious that your God-fearing father is nearby fuming at the words of this--prophet? you massage your already arthiritic hands and contemplate what's being said.
Suddenly the crowd is being sent on its way, your hunger pains come back and your eyelids, once again, threaten early dreams. You are aching to leave, nay run, from this place, to find solace in the arms of a wife who hadn't heard. To bury your head under blankets that will lull away the change that has started to occur. But this man, this irrationaly rational man, turns to YOU and says, 'Push out for deeper water'. Frustrated, tired, confused...yet you set out. The man's silence unnerves you and you try with all your might to gain back all you know you just lost. You roll back your sleeves, puff out your chest, bark out a few orders to your friends. And then, this skinny, dark Hebrew man whose obviously never spent a night of fishing in his life tells you to cast your net. This is just too much. You look at him bewildered, angry and arrogantly remind him that you spent all night expertly fishing and there ain't a fish out there. Yet, because he said to, you'll do it. With aching muscles and disdain in your heart, you lift your freshly cleaned, heavy net over the side of the boat. What's happening? You start to lose your balance as your humble fishing boat starts violently thrashing around in the water. Help me lift! you cry out to your astonished co-workers. The once empty net, now breaking its seams with fresh catch barely makes it back into the boat. You fall down is astonishment and horror at the feet of this man, prophet, king. Get away from me!! I am sinful! Somehow your sinking ship makes it back to shore. Someone's counting how many fish there are. Your whole world is swirling around your head as your heart pounds its way out of your chest. The man speaks. "From now on I will make you a fisher of men."
What do you do when God steps into your reality, your job, your fatigue, your hunger, your ministry? What do you do when you have been working endless hours with no fruit, when you have moved on to other things, when you've made plans to sleep, to eat, to travel, to whatever... and the Holy Spirit says, "Hey, I need to use you for a little while longer. I need your job, your resources, your time, your energy, your strength, so that I can speak to these people invading your 'space'. And then after that, I want you to work some more in the area that isn't bringing forth finance, or fruit. In fact, I want you to leave this shore and the hope of rest and push out even farther than you were before. What's more, I want to break your pride and your self-sufficiency by showing you I can do what you spend your whole life doing, in about 2 seconds. And with the blessing of abundance that I bring to you, I'm going to change the course of your life and take you even further away from your comfort zone."
Just five minutes before our Bible Study started, I was sitting in a secluded area, trying to hold back tears of fatigue and frustration, angry at God for bringing me here, reminding him that I am an introvert who needs lots of quiet to create and refuel, telling Him that I can't take it anymore, fearing that if someone approached me in that moment they would see the sinful monster I really am. Knowing that I couldn't run home and hide under my blankets, I asked God for strength and grace just to make it through the next two hours. In dry obedience I worshipped in Spanish. The Holy Spirit commandeered my voice to sing praises to Him. And then this passage of Scripture...
The questions we were asked to answer were: What is your shore? What are the things that keep you from leaving shore? Once you do leave shore, what are the obstacles that keep you from continuing in obedience?
In my soul I cringed. My heart cried out, "Oh God! I am sinful!" Truly, truly, I cling to shore. I cling to comfort, I cling to dreams, I cling to my temperment, I cling to things I don't have. Once I follow, sometimes grudgingly, in obedience, my heart is often full of complaint, full of excuses, full of dread. I count the seconds until work is over. I fantasize about food, about sleep. I don't trust God.
Everyday my faith gets challenged. Do I really believe on Him? Do I really want Him to take over? Do I really think His ways are better than mine? When He enters my boat to do what He wants to do, do I rejoice? Do I welcome Him and pray that His Word saves the throngs of those listening? Do I with bright eyes, say "Sure Lord! Let's go do deeper waters and do the impossible?"
Usually not. But because of His faithfulness and love for me; because He knows me and wants better things for me, He continues to pursue me. He continues to climb in my boat and ask me to shove off into deeper water. Because He is confident in himself and knows that my tired, aching, weary self needs what He has; needs what He is.
He doesn't look at our weakness, our physical limitations, our talents or abilities. He always sees who we are in Him and loves to bring the natural into the supernatural. When we are broken down and at the end of our rope, He sees the door opening for miraculous opportunity.
May God reach into you, into those places that you believe you still own, grab hold of your heart and take you into uncharted waters where eternity meets the temporal and magic happens.
In walks Jesus. In walks 'multitudes' of people, invading your space. You're kneeling down, using a somewhat dull knife to scrape old smelly fish scales off your hands, when a shadow passes over you. Squinting, you look up and there hovering over you is this man you've heard about, slight in posture, browned by the sun, a sparse beard-- nothing noteworthy, yet who has a commading presence. He tells you He needs to use your boat. For some reason your body obeys. You and some of your mates step in with this familiar stranger and push off from shore a bit. People are thronging, grasping, calling out. The man in your boat starts to speak. A hushing silence on shore. The rumbling in your stomach fades into the sound of his voice, your heavy eyelids are no longer weighing you down. You are moved in some inexplicable way, his words rising and falling as the gentle waves lap against the side of your boat. Conscious that your God-fearing father is nearby fuming at the words of this--prophet? you massage your already arthiritic hands and contemplate what's being said.
Suddenly the crowd is being sent on its way, your hunger pains come back and your eyelids, once again, threaten early dreams. You are aching to leave, nay run, from this place, to find solace in the arms of a wife who hadn't heard. To bury your head under blankets that will lull away the change that has started to occur. But this man, this irrationaly rational man, turns to YOU and says, 'Push out for deeper water'. Frustrated, tired, confused...yet you set out. The man's silence unnerves you and you try with all your might to gain back all you know you just lost. You roll back your sleeves, puff out your chest, bark out a few orders to your friends. And then, this skinny, dark Hebrew man whose obviously never spent a night of fishing in his life tells you to cast your net. This is just too much. You look at him bewildered, angry and arrogantly remind him that you spent all night expertly fishing and there ain't a fish out there. Yet, because he said to, you'll do it. With aching muscles and disdain in your heart, you lift your freshly cleaned, heavy net over the side of the boat. What's happening? You start to lose your balance as your humble fishing boat starts violently thrashing around in the water. Help me lift! you cry out to your astonished co-workers. The once empty net, now breaking its seams with fresh catch barely makes it back into the boat. You fall down is astonishment and horror at the feet of this man, prophet, king. Get away from me!! I am sinful! Somehow your sinking ship makes it back to shore. Someone's counting how many fish there are. Your whole world is swirling around your head as your heart pounds its way out of your chest. The man speaks. "From now on I will make you a fisher of men."
What do you do when God steps into your reality, your job, your fatigue, your hunger, your ministry? What do you do when you have been working endless hours with no fruit, when you have moved on to other things, when you've made plans to sleep, to eat, to travel, to whatever... and the Holy Spirit says, "Hey, I need to use you for a little while longer. I need your job, your resources, your time, your energy, your strength, so that I can speak to these people invading your 'space'. And then after that, I want you to work some more in the area that isn't bringing forth finance, or fruit. In fact, I want you to leave this shore and the hope of rest and push out even farther than you were before. What's more, I want to break your pride and your self-sufficiency by showing you I can do what you spend your whole life doing, in about 2 seconds. And with the blessing of abundance that I bring to you, I'm going to change the course of your life and take you even further away from your comfort zone."
Just five minutes before our Bible Study started, I was sitting in a secluded area, trying to hold back tears of fatigue and frustration, angry at God for bringing me here, reminding him that I am an introvert who needs lots of quiet to create and refuel, telling Him that I can't take it anymore, fearing that if someone approached me in that moment they would see the sinful monster I really am. Knowing that I couldn't run home and hide under my blankets, I asked God for strength and grace just to make it through the next two hours. In dry obedience I worshipped in Spanish. The Holy Spirit commandeered my voice to sing praises to Him. And then this passage of Scripture...
The questions we were asked to answer were: What is your shore? What are the things that keep you from leaving shore? Once you do leave shore, what are the obstacles that keep you from continuing in obedience?
In my soul I cringed. My heart cried out, "Oh God! I am sinful!" Truly, truly, I cling to shore. I cling to comfort, I cling to dreams, I cling to my temperment, I cling to things I don't have. Once I follow, sometimes grudgingly, in obedience, my heart is often full of complaint, full of excuses, full of dread. I count the seconds until work is over. I fantasize about food, about sleep. I don't trust God.
Everyday my faith gets challenged. Do I really believe on Him? Do I really want Him to take over? Do I really think His ways are better than mine? When He enters my boat to do what He wants to do, do I rejoice? Do I welcome Him and pray that His Word saves the throngs of those listening? Do I with bright eyes, say "Sure Lord! Let's go do deeper waters and do the impossible?"
Usually not. But because of His faithfulness and love for me; because He knows me and wants better things for me, He continues to pursue me. He continues to climb in my boat and ask me to shove off into deeper water. Because He is confident in himself and knows that my tired, aching, weary self needs what He has; needs what He is.
He doesn't look at our weakness, our physical limitations, our talents or abilities. He always sees who we are in Him and loves to bring the natural into the supernatural. When we are broken down and at the end of our rope, He sees the door opening for miraculous opportunity.
May God reach into you, into those places that you believe you still own, grab hold of your heart and take you into uncharted waters where eternity meets the temporal and magic happens.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
The Way it Went
March 2008, a record month. A visit from my roomate's family, two short-term ministry teams, murals, signs, a move to another location, lots of donuts, 4 amazing interns...
As I sit here in my jammies on this bright Saturday morning, body exhuasted from going going going, and think back on this last month, all I can see is a swirl of colors.
A high school team from Jupiter, Florida flew in on March 8, initiating my official role as 'outreach staff'. Francisco and I hosted 4 uniquely diverse teens for a week and a half at the art school. This would be the last team to enter those doors. We painted murals at the new Special Ed school, we played with kids and did an art project in the squatter community of El Callejon, we went to the local park to draw and ended up making friends with some of the shoe shine boys. And on our last day we cleaned the new art school. Yes, it's true, we have moved to a better, brighter, cleaner and less expensive location. God really answered our prayers and gave us more than what we had asked for. We live above a family and have turned the upstairs of their house (a 2- bedroom, 1-bath, living room, dining room, sitting room, patio and balcony--accessible only by an outdoor staircase) into the most beautiful art school. Our students LOVE it and so do we.
My second team of the month was from San Luis Obispo, CA!!!!! God really blessed me big time by bringing a team from my home county. They were here for only a week, but we had a blast putting together the new art school, painting signs for our Special Ed school, face painting in El Callejon and drawing in the park. We ate lots of ice cream and donuts and dove into the deep things of God with Francisco. I was reminded of the beauty and authenticity of Central Coast culture and was refreshed by their presence. This month has been so reaffirming in my call to be here and it has been redeeming as well. The last eight months have been good, but really tough for me. The language barrier has been especially difficult because I so love to share one-on-one on deep levels. This month, and in this last week especially, I have been able to be totally myself and to share from the heart. Thank you, Father.
April will be a bit slower for me as I have no teams coming to my site. I am taking April to get some medical testing done, hopefully get my car fixed, host my mommy for a week and attend a staff retreat. May 5 starts the oncoming tidal wave of summer teams. We will have 7 two-week teams back to back.
I am asking for specific prayer regarding a health issue I am dealing with. Getting testing done down here is better than it could be, but it's definitely not like in the states. I get easily overwhelmed by the whole process. Thanks be to God, He sent a recent medical school graduate, and now friend, to help me walk through a bit of the process. He is writing a list of tests he thinks I need to get done based on the symptoms I have described. Please pray that whatever is going on will be discovered quickly and accurately diagnosed.
"Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, to Him be the glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen." Eph. 3:20,21
As I sit here in my jammies on this bright Saturday morning, body exhuasted from going going going, and think back on this last month, all I can see is a swirl of colors.
A high school team from Jupiter, Florida flew in on March 8, initiating my official role as 'outreach staff'. Francisco and I hosted 4 uniquely diverse teens for a week and a half at the art school. This would be the last team to enter those doors. We painted murals at the new Special Ed school, we played with kids and did an art project in the squatter community of El Callejon, we went to the local park to draw and ended up making friends with some of the shoe shine boys. And on our last day we cleaned the new art school. Yes, it's true, we have moved to a better, brighter, cleaner and less expensive location. God really answered our prayers and gave us more than what we had asked for. We live above a family and have turned the upstairs of their house (a 2- bedroom, 1-bath, living room, dining room, sitting room, patio and balcony--accessible only by an outdoor staircase) into the most beautiful art school. Our students LOVE it and so do we.
My second team of the month was from San Luis Obispo, CA!!!!! God really blessed me big time by bringing a team from my home county. They were here for only a week, but we had a blast putting together the new art school, painting signs for our Special Ed school, face painting in El Callejon and drawing in the park. We ate lots of ice cream and donuts and dove into the deep things of God with Francisco. I was reminded of the beauty and authenticity of Central Coast culture and was refreshed by their presence. This month has been so reaffirming in my call to be here and it has been redeeming as well. The last eight months have been good, but really tough for me. The language barrier has been especially difficult because I so love to share one-on-one on deep levels. This month, and in this last week especially, I have been able to be totally myself and to share from the heart. Thank you, Father.
April will be a bit slower for me as I have no teams coming to my site. I am taking April to get some medical testing done, hopefully get my car fixed, host my mommy for a week and attend a staff retreat. May 5 starts the oncoming tidal wave of summer teams. We will have 7 two-week teams back to back.
I am asking for specific prayer regarding a health issue I am dealing with. Getting testing done down here is better than it could be, but it's definitely not like in the states. I get easily overwhelmed by the whole process. Thanks be to God, He sent a recent medical school graduate, and now friend, to help me walk through a bit of the process. He is writing a list of tests he thinks I need to get done based on the symptoms I have described. Please pray that whatever is going on will be discovered quickly and accurately diagnosed.
"Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, to Him be the glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen." Eph. 3:20,21
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Day at the River
This has been a mellow time, a calm before the storm so to speak. In two weeks we will have teams coming down from the States to work with us which means I am about to get busy busy busy. I've been enjoying the 'down' time, though there is much preparation involved.
This last weekend I went to Salto Jimenoa, one of our waterfalls, with my roommate Amy and her family who is visiting and with Andrea, one of the missionary 'kids' (she's 19 now, but has lived here almost 6 years). It was a gorgeous day and it felt good to take a leisurely walk and rest by the water.
Here are some pics:
my roommate, Amy
Andrea and me
This last weekend I went to Salto Jimenoa, one of our waterfalls, with my roommate Amy and her family who is visiting and with Andrea, one of the missionary 'kids' (she's 19 now, but has lived here almost 6 years). It was a gorgeous day and it felt good to take a leisurely walk and rest by the water.
Here are some pics:
my roommate, Amy
Andrea and me
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Recommeded Reading
I usually don't comment much on anything other than how I'm doing emotionally, mentally or spiritually save an occasional cultural anecdote. Today, however, I want to mention a couple of books I've read or have been reading that are affecting me greatly. One that I am still reading is called Messy Spirituality by Michael Yaconelli. When I started reading this book plans to put quotes from it onto this blog began forming in my mind. However, it turns out I just want to quote the whole darn thing. At one point I actually DID underline something before I realized that I'd be underlining everything if I kept at it. Here is what I underlined: "Jesus responds to desire. Which is why he responded to people who interrupted him, yelled at him, touched him, screamed obscenities at him, barged in on him, crashed through ceilings to get to him. Jesus cares more about desire than competence. My hunch is that most of you reading this book feel incompetent and you can't let go of Jesus. Jesus sees right through your incompetence into a heart longing for him." Though so simple, it is bringing me face to face with my desires to be perfect before him and others. For whatever reason, Jesus is allowing me to face yet more layers of my own inadequacies and the self-hatred and fear of rejection it causes. Though I find it easier to have grace for others who are struggling and 'fall short' I am constantly sitting in the judgment seat over my own life. And, though reading about God's love and grace makes me cry with relief, I still can't believe it wholeheartedly. Which leads me to the next book: The Shack by author William P. Young. Wow. This book is revolutionary. It is a fiction novel written as though it were based on a true story. I don't want to give even the slightest bit away because I want everyone to go and read it. All I can say is that it is deeply challenging the strongholds of religiosity that plague my life to a point that is making me really uncomfortable-- not because I don't agree, but because such knowledge is too wonderful for me. It's like I'm coming face to face with a freedom I find is easier to talk about than to experience. Everything in me, though indelibly drawn to it's magnitude, also wants to repel every bit of the truth of it. Come face to face with the profound love of God for you. It hurts so good.
Ironically, I am reading these two books at the same time as another: Chosen for Life by Sam Storms. The subject of this book is simply predestination. Not a simple subject for the human mind, however. I've never believed in predestination, but starting about 7 months ago, it became almost all I could see in Scripture. I have felt God nudging me to explore this idea and since I have never studied it or heard anyone talk about it, it's been slow-going. I came upon this book while I was back home in the States. It discusses both traditional sides of predestination (Arminian vs. Calvinism), but is written to support the Calvinist view-- that, yes, indeed, God predestines some to receive salvation, not based on what decision He knows they will make, but based on His sovereign choice or election. I am slowly reading through this book, trying to keep an open mind. I have always held the Arminian viewpoint without knowing that's what it was: that we are chosen to be IN CHRIST, whoever believes-- not only those God has chosen beforehand. Today, as I write, I am undecided in my heart. As I read The Shack, I am tempted to remain a wholehearted believer that God would never choose only some to inherit salvation, but that Jesus' death on the Cross was for EVERY man, woman and child and that WHOEVER believes will inherit eternal life. However, I must admit that in reading Chosen for Life, I am swayed to believe that it is true, without God pursuing me and choosing me, I would have never chosen Him. Without faith being given to me to believe, my sinful propensity toward darkness would have ensued. I am comfortable saying, "I dunno", knowing full well that God wants to grant me both knowledge and peace in this area. But that's His doing.
In the meantime, I am a mess. But I am His mess.
I love you.
Ironically, I am reading these two books at the same time as another: Chosen for Life by Sam Storms. The subject of this book is simply predestination. Not a simple subject for the human mind, however. I've never believed in predestination, but starting about 7 months ago, it became almost all I could see in Scripture. I have felt God nudging me to explore this idea and since I have never studied it or heard anyone talk about it, it's been slow-going. I came upon this book while I was back home in the States. It discusses both traditional sides of predestination (Arminian vs. Calvinism), but is written to support the Calvinist view-- that, yes, indeed, God predestines some to receive salvation, not based on what decision He knows they will make, but based on His sovereign choice or election. I am slowly reading through this book, trying to keep an open mind. I have always held the Arminian viewpoint without knowing that's what it was: that we are chosen to be IN CHRIST, whoever believes-- not only those God has chosen beforehand. Today, as I write, I am undecided in my heart. As I read The Shack, I am tempted to remain a wholehearted believer that God would never choose only some to inherit salvation, but that Jesus' death on the Cross was for EVERY man, woman and child and that WHOEVER believes will inherit eternal life. However, I must admit that in reading Chosen for Life, I am swayed to believe that it is true, without God pursuing me and choosing me, I would have never chosen Him. Without faith being given to me to believe, my sinful propensity toward darkness would have ensued. I am comfortable saying, "I dunno", knowing full well that God wants to grant me both knowledge and peace in this area. But that's His doing.
In the meantime, I am a mess. But I am His mess.
I love you.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
In Love
Perhaps it is the weather or the fact I got to sleep in on my most amazing new mattress. It could also be that Coke Light was finally restocked in the fridge at Supermercado Jarabacoa or that Oliver, our prodigy art student showed up the other day filled with joy, awe and wonder by his 50-piece set of colored pens that he received for Christmas and his relief that, finally, the art school was back open and he could continue learning how to draw fruit.It could be that God my Father just feels like pouring out his abundant, radiant, beautiful face on me...
but whatever it is, I am in love.
There have been times in the last 5 months that have been good, where warm feelings have sprung up and filled me, but for the large part, I have felt really dry, spiritually, as I've struggled to understand, accept and integrate into this new culture.
I dunno (and I probably never will) why our spiritual lives move in seasons and while I appreciate every season and what it does for me, this season is my favorite.
"See ! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; and the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me." Song of Songs 2:11-13
How can I resist such a call? When 'deep calls out to deep' there is nothing one can do but surrender to it. It is times like these, when circumstances haven't changed and there is no possible explanation for why all of a sudden I should be feeling so overwhelmingly enamored with life, that I fall in deeper awe and love with the Lord. It is times like these that keep me going in drought, that keep my soul waiting for Him, longing for him.
My heart is filled with singing. I laughed at the traffic jam in the street today. I thought birds looked especially bright and colorful as I stared out the window and my neighbor's car alarm which always goes off at random hours and usually makes me want to throw and break things filled me with delight today.
I can't explain it.
I'm just in love.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Back
It was a long travel day. But let me just plug Jet Blue for a moment. Posh leather seats, enough leg room to CROSS MY LEGS, personal TV and lots of snacks. I had empty seats next to me all the way and so I stretched out. However sleep evaded me. I arrived in Santiago mid-morning. It was hot and humid-- quite the transition from 43 degrees in LA and New York. I arrived home and was greeted by our brutish Dobermans, who were covered in ticks, and also by several cockroaches. I was not greeted by our dear kitty Shiloh. He got out while we were gone and our brutish Dobermans killed the little guy. Sniff. Such is nature.
I fell into bed almost immediately after arriving,rested a bit and then headed off to have a delicious home-cooked soup with my friend Arlene. Then there was staff Bible Study. It was wonderful to see everyone again, to be welcomed home with strong hugs. But it felt weird. Driving, buying milk at the store, listening to voices singing praise to the Lord in Spanish, all so familiar, yet I felt lost. Not sleeping for a really long time had an affect, but my heart, in many ways, had already started reattaching to American life.
Today, I slept a good portion of the day and really prayed through the transition sadness.
A good friend came at just the right time and I was able to pour out my heart to her. She read me the lyrics of a Spanish worship song and also some exerpts from a book written by Graham Cooke. The theme was about remaining in the hidden place with God, letting yourself be formed by the Master Craftsman, allowing His hammer blows and refining fire purify you so that you may shine and endure even when it seems he is not 'moving' or speaking. I basically needed to be reminded again that "I am crucified with Christ and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me."
Leaving behind family, friends, church and the ease of ministering in my own language is hard to bear, but if I follow Christ to the point of death, He will resurrect something holy and wonderful because He is good.
I am excited to be here. I know God has great things and I am ready to jump in wholeheartedly.
Keep going.
If there is anything I would want to encourage any believer with, it is KEEP GOING. Christ is faithful, He is good and His reward is with Him.
Here's to a new year looking toward the unfolding plans of God in each of our lives as we pursue Him.
I fell into bed almost immediately after arriving,rested a bit and then headed off to have a delicious home-cooked soup with my friend Arlene. Then there was staff Bible Study. It was wonderful to see everyone again, to be welcomed home with strong hugs. But it felt weird. Driving, buying milk at the store, listening to voices singing praise to the Lord in Spanish, all so familiar, yet I felt lost. Not sleeping for a really long time had an affect, but my heart, in many ways, had already started reattaching to American life.
Today, I slept a good portion of the day and really prayed through the transition sadness.
A good friend came at just the right time and I was able to pour out my heart to her. She read me the lyrics of a Spanish worship song and also some exerpts from a book written by Graham Cooke. The theme was about remaining in the hidden place with God, letting yourself be formed by the Master Craftsman, allowing His hammer blows and refining fire purify you so that you may shine and endure even when it seems he is not 'moving' or speaking. I basically needed to be reminded again that "I am crucified with Christ and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me."
Leaving behind family, friends, church and the ease of ministering in my own language is hard to bear, but if I follow Christ to the point of death, He will resurrect something holy and wonderful because He is good.
I am excited to be here. I know God has great things and I am ready to jump in wholeheartedly.
Keep going.
If there is anything I would want to encourage any believer with, it is KEEP GOING. Christ is faithful, He is good and His reward is with Him.
Here's to a new year looking toward the unfolding plans of God in each of our lives as we pursue Him.
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