last post of the year...

Today shuts the curtains on 2008.

A new year is hiding in the wings.  Could I write this any more dramatically?

I hope you all have thought of your new year's resolutions by now.  Mine is the same this year as it has been for last few years.  Floss.  I feel bad about it every time I go to the dentist.  Hopefully this year I can say more truthfully that I flossed everyday, or once a week... 

This year has been as full of change, opportunity and excitement as any year preceding it.

-I am older, for better or for worse.

-The marathon primary and presidential election are over.

-I have a new baby brother, at age 22.

-I played my last soccer game.

-I went to New York for the third time, on my second missions trip.

-I started a blog.

-The economy tanked and gas prices went down.

-I am almost officially done with my bachelor's degree, 7 credits of shy of more responsibility.

-I'm in love with my dearest friend... and closer to understanding what it means to fall in love with my Savior.

I know I am forgetting things... if you find one that is glaring in its absence, let me know.

I am excited for the new year, and for the good it will bring, and the struggles.  Writing this blog has shown me even more clearly how much I learn through pain... still, I'd rather not deal with it most days.

To close out I thought I would share with you my picks for '08.  These are new albums, movies and some books that have been influential or that I have enjoyed over this year.  Some of them are not new, but I thought I would share them anyway.

Album of the Year: For Emma, Forever Ago... Bon Iver

--This album was my consistent favorite over the course of the year, it is definitely a classic in my mind.  Haunting.

Runners-up: Fleet Foxes' Fleet Foxes , Coldplay's Viva La Vida

Movie of the Year: The Dark Knight 

--I can't say no to a good super-hero movie.

Runners-up: Wall-E

Book of the Year: Blue Like Jazz and Searching for God Knows What by Donald Miller

--These books are not new... but I don't usually read recent best-sellers.  These were extremely thought-provoking reads for me this summer.  If you ever want to read them and discuss them with me, I would love it.

Runners-up: Pensees by Blaise Pascal (definitely old, definitely great)

Well, I think that's it.  I hope you are excited for the new year, and that you can look back on this past one and see how God has had His hand on your life... He loves you today and forever.

So long 2008.

jesus-blind

Christmas is over.  My last blog was about anticipation and a craving for light.

Did I find it?  Or did I lose it, and experience subsequent disappointment?

Well, in some ways I felt like I missed it all together.

School got out later than ever.  I didn't make cookies.  I shopped for presents on the 22nd and 23rd.  I missed having solitude time with God from roughly the 16th to the 28th (due to busyness and well, oversleeping).

The third missed opportunity is probably the best diagnosis for my disease.  Jesus-blind.  

I'm convinced.  I don't just miss out on light and Jesus at Christmastime.  It is a year-round phenonmenon.  I am in a continual process of falling and getting up again.  The falling is of my own volition, the getting up requires divine help.

I wish I could make it to a place where I don't fall into formulaic prayers and lukewarm spirituality.  The funny things is, these things that I desire most I find when I am weakest.

When I am wrong, I find forgiveness in Jesus.

When I am weak, I find strength in Him.

When I committed the same sin that trips me up week after week, in Him I find grace.

This past weekend was a spiritual valley... I beat myself up inside over my mistakes... I swung twice and missed.  I looked at my blank journal.  Strike three.

My dearest friend prayed for me, and that encouraged me to seek my Father.

I started to pray again.  I broke out of my formula, and prayed about the things that were plaguing me.

I stopped worrying about my penmanship and what people would think if they read about my struggles.  God knows I am still being sanctified, I shouldn't forget that either.

I am at peace today, I saw a glimpse of Jesus.  My problems are shrinking in light of His face.

christmas in november

I started listening to Christmas music earlier this year, in hopes of preventing Christmas Day disappointments.

I hope I am not the only one who has experienced what I am referencing. That feeling of emptiness after four advent weeks of expectation. The gifts are opened, the cookies are almost gone (unless you are at Grandma Carol's), and the needles are falling of the tree. Inevitably, I write a Christmas journal about the sadness I feel.

I don't mean a shallow sadness, it runs deep and almost aches.

It isn't the presents. I like giving them away. It isn't the cookies. I am allergic to them. It isn't the trees, they are evergreen all year long... just not inside my home.

It's the Light... it's Jesus.

Something about December, and the focus on the Savior always makes you feel closer to Him. It is easier to believe that Peace came to earth when we see His people at peace with each other.

I wish I was at the manger, stroking the head of the Savior of the world. My desire for a touch from God resurfaces in December... my Thomas heart leaps at the sight of Nativity scenes and Light, bright Light.

Do visible manifestations of God coming to earth make you feel His nearness, the God who is there?

I long to be near Jesus in December, and the 25th always reminds me of this frail body that still keeps me from eternal communion with Him... the One who came to redeem this mortal flesh.

Each passing day reminds me how desperately I need Jesus, and how much I want to serve Him until He calls me home.

Even if it makes me sad, I am eagerly expecting Christmas. Sometimes, sadness is good. It reminds us of the One who wipes away tears, and sent His Son so that all weeping may one day cease.

why does God allow the bad bounce?

The last couple weeks have been trying ones for my soccer team. We lost two playoff games in two separate tournaments... one for NAIA and one for NCCAA. We are a currently waiting to see if we get an at large bid for NCCAA, it's a complicated system... if you want to ask later, I'll fill you in.

After our first loss the team was struggling, questioning why it had to happen. My coach asked that if any of us had thoughts about the game that we would write them out and share them. I sent out this email to the team, and it was requested that I share it on my blog. So, pardon any soccer jargon, I wrote it to my teammates.

Why does God allow the bad bounce?

I know a lot of us have struggled with the “Why does God allow teams like ours to lose and teams like St. Xavier win?” We have all the pieces… we love God, He blessed us with soccer skills, and we love this team. The energy we get from being together is magical, and so far we have been blessed with success…. why did God stop blessing us just short of NAIA?

First off, God doesn’t usually bless His children in the most chronological, understandable way. He often withholds blessing for many years, and sometimes doesn’t bless His children in their lifetime on earth, sometimes He blesses the descendants with the fulfillment of His promises.

Do you all remember the story of Abraham? God spoke to Abraham and told him he would give him a son, and that his descendants would be like the stars in the sky. Problem was Abraham and his wife were old, and Sarah had probably gone through menopause a couple decades earlier. Abraham believed God, and God gave him a son…twenty-five years after the first time God told him he would make him a great nation! Talk about patience.

Other characters in the Old Testament also show us how waiting for the blessing isn’t easy either. Joseph was a slave in Egypt and thrown in jail even though he was innocent. The Israelites were slaves in Egypt 300 hundred years. Paul was beaten and thrown in jail for spreading the gospel.

God loved Joseph, the Israelites, Paul, and Abraham very deeply. And He redeemed them by sending His Son Jesus to die for them…. in Paul’s lifetime, but centuries after many of them had passed away.

So, what I am getting at is this… God loves you, and He loves this team. And I believe He is not finished with us yet. I want you all to remember that being a “deserving” Christian doesn’t mean that the story book gets written the way we wish it would. Sure, I wanted to go to NAIA… I know all of you wanted to. It seemed like the next step for our team, but it is step that will be taken another season by another team.

I have never learned the greatest lessons of my life through my greatest victories. Most of the important things I have learned have been through suffering and painful experiences that I would have escaped if given the option. But looking back, I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

I can’t promise you that we will experience success this coming weekend, or in any of the upcoming games our team may be given. We may experience triumph, and we may struggle. What I can promise you is that God is still faithful, and He loves us. Do you believe that? Let that truth sink into the deepest parts of your soul. God loves you, and His plan for you is greater than you can imagine, win or lose.

We have a little time left together as the 2008 Trinity Women’s soccer team. Let’s practice and play for His glory. Run with your hearts girls… bring your Heavenly Father pleasure with your sacrifice.

I love you!
Abby

peace in the midst of bruises

I can hardly stay awake. My legs ache like never before... well, maybe a few times before. I feel like a bruised bag of bones. Yet, I am incredibly satisfied.

I woke up this morning at 5:30 a.m. happy. For those who know me, this is an anomaly. I usually take about an hour to wake and find my smile in the morning. But today, life was good. I was glad to be alive.

My team played in the conference tournament semi-final match today, and won after double-overtime and penalty kicks. A bit of a nail-biter, but awesome. My dad said he was having heart attacks listening to our game on the internet.

I was excited to play this game today, and the nerves set in later than usual. This is it. I am a senior. My dad said I am full of sports clichés these days, and he is probably right. My team has to take it one game at a time. In 90 minutes, it could all be over.

I wasn't sure why I was so happy this morning... usually my stomach is tied in knots from the moment my alarm goes off. Today, I experienced a peace that passed my understanding.

I know where this peace came from, it came from the Prince of Peace. Everyday I spend away from His feet, I realize how desperately I need Him.

"... and the Peace of God, which surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." Phillipians 4:7

Many things tried to steal my peace today... a psychology test, bad passes in the game, or cheap fouls. And even though I may have stumbled, God is still kept me in His hands, and His peace covered me.

Heavenly Father, please help me rest in You, and help others find their peace in You as well.

drama, love, and maggots

My eyes casually browsed the salmon-colored pages of my syllabus while the professor lectured on class absences and participation. Group project: 12% of final grade. I suppress a sigh and begin to scan the room for possible “group members,” hoping that my smart, hardworking friends have not already created a posse without me…

I have never liked group projects. I always feel like I have experienced a mini-defeat regardless of the grade assigned. For some projects, I have worked less, and therefore I learned very little. Or, for other projects, I wanted to do all the work myself to secure that golden A (and all the credit that comes with it).

My brother, sister, and I couldn’t quite figure out the group project growing up. Dad asked us for one thing for Father’s Day. One thing. A comic book. An original character and story, inked by his three oldest children. That was seven years ago. Captain Fox is still underwater in Professor Octo’s lair… the world created by Isaac, Michal, and I may never be conquered or saved. Poor Dad, I don’t know if he ever recovered.

Group projects are hard because it means you have to work with people, people who have their own agendas, opinions, and emotions.

Working with people is messy. It’s easy to hear talks about loving one another, forgiving one another, and servant leadership. We all agree with it in theory. But actually practicing it? That is a different animal indeed.

It is easy to become bitter towards people who miss cues and stumble over lines I wrote for them. If everyone acted out their part in Abby’s life drama, we’d all be okay. My whitewashed tomb only has room for my worms and filthy rags.

It’s hard to love people who hurt you and bring their worms into your life.

But, it’s not my drama, it is God’s story. And He asks you and me to be a part of it. My hang up is that the Kingdom is not about me writing fairy tales in my ivory tower. It means me washing your feet, turning my cheek, and giving all that I have and all that I am.

The crazy thing is, once I get past the “me” factor… and focus on my Savior, you, and all the people that surround me everyday… I find joy and peace.

Today I was so happy. I couldn’t even explain it, I didn't know why I felt so peaceful. But I realized that I have begun to believe again, believe that God is sanctifying me, and sanctifying His children around me. I am falling in love with God, and that love is spilling over to others.

So, maggots and all Jesus loves me. He died for me, and died for you and your maggots too. So, this whole group project thing… want to work for the Kingdom with me?

the dying fire must be stirred

I've said it before. I love storms. I fear the drought. I relish the healing rush of rain, and the glorious smell that lingers as the clouds pass on. I am afraid of dry heat... heat that saps the land of its strength, killing young and old.

My affinities to certain weather systems aptly diagnose my feelings towards the creative process, and even my spirituality. I worry too often that I will lose my creative edge in a drought of ideas and inspiration. As days and weeks pass, widening the gap between me and my last creative pursuit, I begin to wonder if God has removed His hand of blessing from my imagination. Rather than ask Him for a fresh outpouring creativity, I begin to focus on what I can do to light the fire... when the best thing I can do is ask my Heavenly Father to ignite it once again.

My spiritual life often follows a similar pattern... I spend the rainy days of blessing worrying about the coming drought. I am experiencing drought, and the worst part is I know it is my fault. I have neglected spending time with my God, and I feel far from Him. I have been recovering, crying out to Him... begging for His presence. I know that my God will never forsake me, and that I cannot be snatched from His hand. However, I can still experience the pain of loneliness when I don't invest in the relationship that was bought at so great a price.

I am pursuing my Jesus, and the peace that covers my soul when I rest in His presence. Hear my cry, sweet Redeemer... draw me to You, let me walk in Your perfect ways.

for all those who cheat at candyland...

I have always possessed a paralyzing fear of hell. In fact, one of the main things that first drove me to the arms of my Savior was a fear of hell.

At the age of four I thought I was more or less perfect, but my mom explained to me that hitting my brother and lying to my dad about finishing my dinner were not exactly angelic traits. Without Jesus' sacrifice I was on the fast track to eternal damnation.

I joyfully accepted Jesus' offer of salvation. Unfortunately, while I would like to say it was all smooth sailing from there, it wasn't.

I still messed up. At 6 I cheated in Candyland with my brother, slyly slipping Queen Frostine underneath the first card in the deck, then magnanimously I allowed Isaac to go first. I was grounded at 7. I continued to be an occasional liar, just enough to keep up an appearance of innocence. I generally didn't get into trouble, so don't worry, I will not turn this post into a confessional booth.

Even though I appeared good, and generally made the right choices... I knew that even with Jesus, parts of my heart were still tainted. Because I knew my darkness, I doubted that I was saved.

I cannot count how many times I sat and listened to a preacher give an invitation, and sadly wondered if I really had received the "gift." I said the prayer again... and again.... and again.

"Lord Jesus, thank you for dying on the cross... I accept your free gift of salvation... please forgive me for the sins I have committed..."

I began to think strange and horrible things. Maybe I was damned, maybe I had unwittingly committed the unpardonable sin. Maybe I was not chosen... maybe I was not predestined.

I started to fear the demonic... I imagined they were exercising some sort of power over me that was keeping me from God. I figured I was probably not worthy of Christ, and He would rather not have me.

I'd lie awake in my bed at night, gripped by fear, almost physically pained... assuming that hell was my future, and Jesus was my past.

I struggled with this for years, all the while attending youth group and church, even serving others in ministry. But I was cracking, and my mom knew it.

One day, exasperated, she showed me Psalm 139. She read it out loud to me, and one verse in particular jumped out at me, it burned in my mind. "You hem me in, behind and before, and lay Your hand upon me." (Psalm 139:5) This verse seems simplistic, but the thought of God having His hand upon, that extremely personal picture, brought me to tears. I wept before the presence of God, the Father who loves me, and realized that He desired me... and He was not going to allow anything to separate me from Himself.

From that point on, I began to rehabilitate. I started believing the promises of Scripture again.

"My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of My hand. My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of My Father's hand. I and the Father are one." John 10:27-30

I was in Jesus' hands, and the Father had His hand upon me. I stopped kidding myself into believing that somehow I had to be good enough, or that I was going to hold on long enough.

The Father desires that none should perish, but that all should come to repentance. He was calling me to Himself, but I allowed the fears of this world and the next to crowd Him out, I put my emphasis in the wrong place, and almost lost the faith I wanted so badly.

Some of you may also struggle with whether or not you are "saved" or question the legitimacy of your born again experience. My pastor said once that the fact that you care and worry about such questions is a sign, a sign of the hand of God on your life. God's hand on your head.

He wants you... do you trust Him?

"Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it." Psalm 139:6

falling into the infinite

He gazes down the aisle, the doors open... He sees His Bride, His heart beats rapidly... He has waited for her... she isn't looking for Him.

The bride's eyes are on a group of men waiting outside the church doors... they are filthy, their eyes are hungry... they make lewd gestures at her, calling her names she doesn't know.

She drops her bouquet, tosses off her veil... and walks into their arms.

.....................................

What does it mean to fall in love with God?  As a child we sing of the love of Jesus for us, and how much we love Him.  As an adult we talk of "falling in love with Him."  Sometimes this feels like an impossibility.  How does one fall in love with an invisible groom?

I started wondering if our relationship to Christ is similar to the "arranged" marriage of olden days.  A groom was hand-picked by the parents of the bride.  A lucky bride would have parents who knew her well, and loved her enough to pick someone who love their daughter and take care of her.....

What if the bride left the groom at the altar and took off with some unbathed men riding a pack of Harleys (no offense to the motorcycle enthusiasts)?

Sometimes I feel like the Harley bride... I leave my Jesus at the altar and seek out stone idols, figuring He will be waiting when I come back.  It is hard to maintain loyalty to the unseen Groom, until one stops and starts to remember...

We all cry (ok, many girls cry and a select few, very strong men cry) at scenes in movies where the man sacrifices for his love.  Sometimes he dies.... sometimes he will even sacrifice being with his lover because his sacrifice will save her or something important to her.

Christ died for me because He loved me.  Do I truly understand that?  No one else on earth has died for me... but Jesus knew me before the foundations of the world, and He left heaven to come and face death, that I might live eternally with Him in perfect peace and love.  This is so monstrous, so beautiful... I can't comprehend it.

Back to the invisible factor... we are sensual beings.  We taste, smell, see, hear, and touch.  We hug the ones we love and feel loved when we receive physical affection.  I always wished that I could hug Jesus.   What I have forgotten is that even though touch and sight is important, it is not imperative.  

Ultimately, you don't fall in love for physical attributes.  

When someone asks you why you love someone, you don't say, "He (she) is cute and gives hearty hugs."  If that is all you love about someone, your love will be shallow and it will struggle when troubles come.  But, if your love is firmly based in the other's character and spiritual attributes, your love will endure.

This is wonderful, because with Scripture, we know the attributes of God, and we can fall in love with His character... a character that is infinite, and we can fall ever deeper in with every passing hour.

This sounds simple, but true love requires work... and God is no exception.  He has sacrificed everything for me, and I will forever fall into His love.

math geek, you are loved

I'm surprised I don't have a dent in my head where the math part of my brain resides... or at least an air pocket.  Math and I are on, well... less than speaking terms.

I took my required math class this last semester and it almost killed me.  The whole semester I was trying to understand why:

a. This was a required class.

b. Anyone likes math.

c. When I will ever again use matrices to figure out a problem.

I sat on the couch every Wednesday afternoon/evening and tried to figure out the problems.  My suitemate called it the couch of confusion, appropriate... I like to call it the couch of pain.

Wise people kept telling me that I should appreciate the math geeks, they make life easier for artsy people like me.  They make the money, wear the suits... and I get to wear a linen skirt and graduate with an English degree... a certified starving artist.

I don't understand why poetry does not speak to the souls of the mathematically gifted, nor do they know why I don't get a rush when I finish a 21 step problem.

I love abstraction... the twists and turns that might lead to an answer.  My math buddies prefer concrete answers, especially if they can graph it.

You know what?  That's okay.  I have been thinking a lot about the body of Christ... 

I wonder what kind of God it is that has created us all so uniquely... the poetic, mathematic, musical, athletic, comedic.  We are all created in God's image... and the world revolves according to His scientific laws and the heart is moved by poetry inspired by His creation.

And all of these people that are reflections of Himself, are invited to be one with Him, through the sacrifice of His Son... math geeks and poetry nerds alike.

How beautiful... how divine.

please hang up and dial again

The city seems so far now,

What was once a train ride away

Is now separated from me

By an angry conversation and words

Spoken that should have been

Silenced before leaving my lips.

I called your flat, you didn't answer.

I listened to the machine, just to

Hear your voice... please pick up.

I sat with the receiver in my hand,

Staring out the window, looking 

For an answer on the leafless trees.

I wrote that poem last December, and didn't know where it came from.  I hadn't experienced a situation like that before, and I assumed I was channeling someone else's life experiences... you know, creating a more dramatic Abby Seeland.  I hadn't thought about this poem for awhile, until this morning at church.

If the poem applies to me, it's not a guy giving me a cold shoulder, it's God.

My pastor Jay Thomas preached this morning about Habakkuk... not the usual go-to book of the Bible.  In the first chapter Habakkuk is crying out to the Lord to save the righteous from violence.  He appeals to God's purity and asks how He can stand idly by when evil reigns.

The Lord does answer Habakkuk, and tells him that faith waits, and the key verse of this little book is in chapter 2, verse 4: "The righteous shall live by faith."

When Jay read this verse I immediately thought of Abraham, who was justified by his faith in God's promise, a promise that he would have a son... a promise that God took 12 years to fulfill.

12 years?  Why?  That is more than half my lifetime.  I am used to quick, easy answers.  I am Generation Wikipedia, information at my fingertips.  And I have found that God has not changed with the technology, He still works in His perfect timing... even though I have found a faster internet connection.

I often write the word "patience" on my thumb or the back of my hand.  I seem to be perpetually waiting for God to answer me, and more often forgetting that He has.

Jay said it's okay to ask the Lord questions, but it's not okay to question the Lord's character or power... He is good, and He cannot transgress His nature.  

Sometimes, most times, God answers my questions and prayers in ways I don't expect and often don't immediately appreciate.  And now I pose a question to myself... "What do you expect?"  If  the Lord of the Universe deems it necessary to step into my world and change something, I am not going to understand it by looking at it through sin-colored glasses.  I am evil, and I need His help to understand His ways, His timing.

I want to be patient.  I want to ask the Lord for answers, and immediately see the beauty of His goodness.  I know that He has helped me before, and I trust He will do it again.  As I look back over the years, and consider the works of His fingers, I know that they have all been wonderful and good.

Sometimes life hands you a silent receiver... but that doesn't mean that God won't pick up soon.

Patience.

healed, ungrateful wretch

Have you ever asked God for healing?

I have many times.  I have asked for healing for myself and for others.  I asked God to heal my cousin who needed a heart transplant.  I asked Him to heal a family friend who had cancer.  And I asked Him to heal me of my infirmities.

I forgot that I asked Him.

I was reading the Gospel According to Matthew the other day and I saw the passage where Jesus heals a woman who has a flow of blood on His way to raise a girl from the dead.  I remembered reading this passage in high school and identifying with the woman... I hadn't been sick for twelve years, only three or four.  I also was afflicted by an secret illness that had many symptoms, but no conventional or unconventional way of getting better was presenting itself.  I was tired, it was sapping my body... and like the woman, it wasn't a disease that I felt comfortable talking about.  I was unclean.

I wished that Jesus would walk across my path... I was willing to get on my hands and knees, crawl through the dirty streets just to get close to Him.

I asked Him to heal me, in spite of the fact that my illness was only three or four years old.  I asked in faith...  I prayed that I had faith.

My mother was seeking out different doctors to help me at this time, and soon we found one that started addressing my specific problems one at a time, and I started to get better.  I thought this doctor was a miracle worker, and I was thankful for her help.

Even though my body still struggles with some issues, I am so thankful that I am much healthier than I was 7 years ago.

But wait... I'm thankful? Who healed me?  My doctor?  The lab who tested my six vials of blood?

Another passage comes to mind, another passage of healing.  The ten lepers.  Jesus heals all of them, and only one comes back to thank Him. 9 healed men never thanked the Savior of the universe for transforming their lives.  I used to feel a bit ashamed of those men, why didn't they say thank you?  Then I realized that I am one of the nine.  I was healed.  God used the doctors that have helped me, God touched my body and healed it.

I often examine the prayers I write in my journal... and unfortunately I usually have a paragraph of thank You's followed by a page of please's.  Sometimes the ratio is even worse.  Why are my manners so bad when I talk to my Heavenly Father?  You'd think I would learn and stop taking Him for granted.  

I want to be more grateful.  If I woke up every morning and truly believed the things that I pray... "Lord, thank for giving me one more day to live in Your presence...," how would that change my life? 

Every minute, every breath.... every cool breeze, every sunbeam... every work day, every day of rest... every hug, every person... every blessing.   Thank You Abba Father.

dogs, lions, and ballerinas

I am pretty sure everyone starts asking you the question, "What are you going to do with your life?" before you get into college. They start asking when you start talking, by saying "What do you want to be when you grow up?" And oh the beautiful choices. The choices are offered even earlier with baby-sized baseball caps, fire trucks, toy kitchens, miniature easels, and so on. I certainly was interested in what I would "do" as a grown-up. Here is the evolution of my future plans:

4 yrs: Ballerina, in love with pink.
6 yrs: Vet, then after dog-dander allergy discovery, became future marine biologist.
8 yrs: World Cup soccer player.
10 yrs: Author/artist
12 yrs: Author/artist/concert pianist

And finally, as a teenager I wanted to be something that combined writing/drawing/piano with a passion for ministry... I decided I would be missionary teacher.

I was terrified. I was going to screw this up. What if I don't become what God wants me to be? What if He wants me to be something I don't want to be? Back when I wanted to be a world class soccer player I had a vision. I was sitting in the van while my mom ran into the store. A vision of the African continent was floating in my mind's eye, and I started to cry. I believed God was calling me to missions and I was too afraid to go. I didn't want to leave my family and live in a hut in lion country... and I didn't want locals to offer me grubs on a leaf a la carte.

My mom came back to the van to find her nine year old in the grips of an emotional crisis. She told me that I didn't have to worry, if God said go to Africa, He would prepare me and He would be with me. I felt better but I wasn't convinced.

My chameleon dreams haunted me in college... I transferred schools, considered transfer, changed my major, and considered major changes... the usual suspects. The only thing I knew for sure was that I wanted to serve God, and write.

I entered college with a laundry list of things to do: play soccer, study abroad, go on missions trips, be a wilderness camp counselor... on and on and on. And now, with my senior year approaching, I can look back and see that I accomplished many things, but I didn't do everything on my list.

I thought if I didn't do everything, and prepare myself for anything, God couldn't use me. I wanted to be the smartest, most skilled, cleanest vessel God had ever used for ministry.

Wait a second, how much of this is about God anyway? How much of this is about the sacrifice Jesus made for me on the cross? I have had a pretty me-centered view, one that reeks with self-fulfillment and actualization.

God has a tendency... He uses the unlikely, the under-prepared. He doesn't mind taking the scum of the earth and making them His sons and daughters. Shepherds were the first to see baby Jesus. Fishermen were His disciples. In Jesus' genealogy there are second sons, foreigners, murderers, and prostitutes.

I am not afraid; I don't need to prove myself to the world. What is required of me? I need to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with my God (Micah 6:8). That's right, walk in humility. It's not about me, God can make me whatever He wants. And, as the Creator and Savior of my soul and personhood... Giver of any gift that I possess... His plan will be the most fulfilling. Show me where to walk Lord, I will follow.

wanting to be john

I used to not like John. I mean the apostle John. I was so frustrated every time I read his gospel and he would refer to himself as the "one Jesus loved."

I thought it was so prideful to single himself out as the one that Jesus loved out of all the other disciples. What made him so special? I was jealous. I wanted to be the "one that Jesus loved." I wanted to be sitting at the table with my head on His breast, listening to Him speak about His kingdom.

I wasn't only jealous of John, I was jealous of anyone who had a special encounter with God in the Bible. I wanted God to step into my life like He had stepped into theirs. I wanted Him to tell me that I was born again, come and ask for water at my faucet, heal my cousin, have dinner at my house. I wanted to hug Jesus, touch His face. I used to dream about what it would be like to hug Jesus... all I could imagine was light, blinding light and a feeling of safety.

I think we all want to experience specific, special, one and only love. I wanted this love from God, what I didn't realize is that He had given it to me; I just wasn't able to understand it. It was hard because I wanted to physically experience His presence. It is difficult to understand how an infinite, eternal being loves a finite one. I know that I am capable of love, but not of loving the whole human race the way God does. I can only love a few people deeply, and wish for the good of many. But to really love others, know them intimately, and step into their suffering and weakness, that is divine. I project upon God the capabilities of my love, assuming that because I cannot be intimate with everyone, He cannot either.

It is wonderful to realize that the God who loved John, loves me. The Jesus who died for John, died for me, and died for everyone. I do see His love, I see His love through His Word, His creation, and through the people He has placed in my life.

Someday I will be in heaven with John and the ones I love. And I will see Jesus, He will touch my face, and I will be His.

image

I have always worried about my appearance.  Since I was very little, I have memories of my childish concerns over clothing and hair.  I remember wanting to be like Lacy Carlton with her mismatched pastel socks; when I tried to un-match my own, my mother prevented my idolization of Lacy and my socks stayed paired.  I also wanted to look like little black girls with their corn-rows and colorful barrettes; again, to my mother's chagrin, I attached many clips to strands of straight blond hair and created something new and exciting, at least in my opinion.  They were promptly removed.

As a young girl I possessed a thin, athletic body and was known for being fast.  I loved running around, being skinny.  I was grateful that I wasn't pudgy like some poor girls.

Then it happened; in high school I started worrying about my weight.  On a long car ride to Illinois from our home in California I began analyzing my legs.  When I relaxed the muscles, the legs spread.  I was fat.  It didn't matter that I wore a small t-shirt and size two pants,  I needed to lose something else because I had already lost my self-esteem.  It quickly became an obsession and I began to worry about what I ate and how much I weighed.  The problem was, rather than eating less because I was worried about the scale, I ate more in despair.  I would stuff myself until I felt sick and then wish I was brave enough to throw it up, something I knew I could never do.

I didn't understand it, because of my allergies I was already on a limited diet that cut out all sweets... no ice cream, cookies, cake, or soda.  How could a girl like me have such bad luck? Unfortunately, in high school, there was nothing to worry about.  My weight was fine, I just wasn't a stick.  Weightlifting for soccer and track had added some bulk to my body, and I hated it.  I wanted to look anorexic; I wanted to be outrageously thin.

I constantly compared myself to other women, and wanted desperately to be as thin or skinnier than others.  I wanted to drop a pants size, fit into an old skirt.  I wanted to change.

I wish I could say I don't struggle with this problem anymore, but I still do.  Every time I look in the mirror, every time I step on the scale, every time I eat.  I hate how guilty I feel when I eat.  Sometimes it is hard for me to think that God loves me even if I am overweight or not fast anymore.  Sometimes it is hard for me to think that anyone will love me if I don't weigh in below average.  And its true, people often look at the outward appearance.  Even Samuel, one of the holiest men in the Old Testament did when he went to anoint the next king of Israel.  He was looking for someone like Saul, who had been handsome and head and shoulders above the people.  He went to the sons of Jesse and looked at all of them, assuming that the tall eldest sons were God's number one draft pick.  God sets Samuel straight, however, in 1 Samuel 16:7,

"Do not look at his appearance or his physical stature, because I have refused him.  For the Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart."

Could it be possible that I have wasted the last 7-8 years of my life obsessing over something that the Lord does not even care about?  Yes, I believe I have.  I can only overcome this battle by the Lord's strength.  It is an insidious disease that colors the way I see my Father's world and my place in it.  Lord, please save me from myself.

eternal longing

For most of my life I have owned a paralyzing fear, a pair of twin elephants that I carried around on my back.  I was afraid of eternity and death.

It all began at four.  I was lying in my bed in our family's apartment in South Carolina one night.  I imagined that I was in a grave alone in a pitch black coffin.  I was separated from my mom, my dad, and my brother.  I was completely and utterly alone, and I cried in despair.  Soon after this I trusted in Jesus as my Savior, seeing that He was the only way I could escape being separated from everything I held dear.

This did not erase my fear of eternity or even of death, however.  Now I knew that I would not be alone, but eternity was such a very long time, and my idea of heaven at that point was a sterile, cloudy place where my mom and I would wear orange sleeping bags with head and arm holes and my brother and father would wear blue ones.  Worshipping the Father in heaven forever seemed rather boring and ridiculous to me, and I couldn't imagine being in a church service for more than 45 minutes, much less thousands of years.  I didn't think my voice would last that long.  I loved Jesus with all my heart, but I couldn't understand what it would mean to be with Him and His Father forever.

When I started kindergarten we moved to Illinois and attended a Lutheran church.  In Sunday School my teacher had us draw a picture of what we thought heaven would look like.  I drew exactly what I wanted heaven to be: a very large swimming pool with a slide and diving board.  I thought that if that was what heaven was,  I would be satisfied staying there for more than a lifetime.  I soon discovered that while heaven will be wonderful, it is not guaranteed that there will be a swimming pool (if you find that verse in Revelation let me know asap).  

I have come to terms with that now, especially after reading C.S. Lewis' descriptions of heaven, more particularly in his book The Last Battle.  In the book, at the end the children have died and they find themselves in a place that is wonderfully familiar, in fact, they are in a perfected Narnia.  They can also travel to other lands, one of which looks a little like Great Britain.  Aslan tells them to keep going "Further up and further in."  It becomes more and more wonderful, until Lewis can no longer describe it because we have not yet been called home.  This helped me understand that the God who created this world that I love and created  everything in it that is good, is also the Lord of heaven.  Heaven will be home, and if He knows how to make me happy here, how much more so will I be satisfied in heaven?

As far as worshipping the Lord in heaven, I have come to see that worship is not just singing in a service; but every act of being, if done for His glory, will be worship.  Our fellowship, our service, our speech (and might I add artistic endeavors?) will all be done for His glory without the hindrance of our sinful bodies.  What freedom is this?  What joy unknown?

Even though I am sometimes overwhelmed by thoughts of years and years of unknown happenings in eternity, I have come to place where I long for them with all my heart.  C.S. Lewis (yes, Lewis again) wrote two quotes that summarize my life to this point:

"It was when I was happiest that I longed most... the sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing... to find the place where all the beauty came from."

"I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world."

I have found that the longing for Jesus, the longing for peace, the longing for another world... these satisfy me.  It was when I was holding on desperately to those things that I could not keep that I was conquered by fear.

I long for the day when Jesus will call me His beloved and hold me in His arms, and there will be no more darkness, no more goodbyes, and no more fear.

rat poison

I have been thinking about character lately... especially because of something my sister said the other day.

"Abby gets mad really easily."

I immediately became angry, replying that I only get mad when I am purposefully provoked. I was defensive because I am rather easy going, and more often feel as though I am being a pushover rather than a hothead. But what sort of virtue is this anyway, the virtue of irregular grace and occasional good temper?

In Mere Christianity C.S. Lewis writes:
"Surely what a man does when he is taken off his guard is the best evidence for what sort of man he is? Surely what pops out before the man has time to put on a disguise is the truth? If there are rats in the cellar you are most likely to see them if you go in very suddenly. But the suddenness does not create the rats: it only prevents them from hiding."

I find that I am often on my best behavior when I am in public, amongst those I want to make a good impression on, the ones who do not love me unconditionally. It is easier to be your unlovable, fleshy self when home, amongst those who must love you with all your warts and blemishes.

I want to kill the rats. I want to be a woman of peace, a woman whose words are patient and true... even when surprised... even when provoked.

paper or plastic?

On Friday, June 13th, I did it again.  I frustrated a bank teller by not having a debit card.  It takes twice as long to help me, and they usually need to see my driver's license.  I have tried to avoid keeping the plastic (credit or debit) in my wallet for the past few years for numerous reasons:

1. I want to keep track of my money.
2. My checkbook works just fine.
3. A little person, one of my tech savvy sisters for example, just might have a shopping spree on American Girl's website at my expense.  You never can tell.
4. Did I mention I don't trust myself?

I have discovered, however, that this is counter-cultural.  Checks have become rather arcane, in the left corner I might as well have my name and "521 N. Cave" as an address.

Have you seen the Mastercard commercials?  You see shoppers in a store, all happily swiping credit and debit cards.  Everything is running smoothly, a well-oiled machine... until someone pulls out cash, or heaven forbid, a check.  The loser who writes the check looks extremely sheepish, like they just discovered that not only have they written a check, they are also in their underwear.  They quickly exit with their purchases and the machine continues to run and the birds start to sing again.

A young clerk at Whole Foods near my school insulted me once when I wrote a check.  He asked me if I was really that stingy that I needed to write one.  I can't remember if stingy was the word but whatever it was it was synonymous with tightwad, miserly, penny-pincher, or scrooge.  I explained that I just wanted to keep track of the little money that I had.  I don't think he understood.  I forgave him.

That's okay, soon I will use my thumb to pay for things... or maybe my iPod or cell phone.

I worry about things like plastic money cards because as I have said before, I want to be a good steward of my money, and worry that my tithing habits will be destroyed.  I do know though, that most people who tithe have survived plastic.  I just don't want to be the servant that fails the Master with my talents.

Unfortunately, on Friday I caved and got a debit card so that I do not ruin my witness to the bank tellers anymore.

I am giving control of my finances to my Heavenly Father, and asking Him to make me wise. 

 And trust me, if plastic is a problem, I have no qualms about shredding it.

destructive blessings

Driving in a car....why do I love it so much?

-I love driving with no place to go...not early, not late, just being.

-I love driving to the place where loved ones are, knowing that each mile brings me that much closer to their familiar voices and gentle arms.

-I love driving in the rain, watching raindrops become streams of water that spread their fingers out over my windshield, hugging the dry capsule I stare out from. I watch the road and wait for flashes of lightning, I grip the steering wheel...my knuckles turn white.

I sing songs of thankfulness whenever I encounter crummy weather. I often feel guilty that my joy comes at the expense of another man's misfortune. I have been enjoying the recent unusual June showers that bring...July fireworks? But in Iowa, they are suffering terrible flooding, loss, and even death. I have pondered the loss of the mothers and fathers whose boy scouts were killed in the tornado this week, and wondered at the storms that can be beautiful, yet sinister.

It reminds me of George MacDonald's story At The Back of the North Wind. In the book the boy Diamond must come to terms with the fact that God tells the North Wind to sing her song, and sometimes that means that people will die. The song is chilling but beautiful, the most beautiful thing Diamond has ever heard.

I often feel like Diamond...why must Creation groan and suffer, why must the wind bring rain for the crops and death for the creatures? The Fall has tainted us in more ways than I can ever understand, and certainly will not understand this side of heaven. Perhaps that is why it is the shadowlands, the valley of the shadow of death. When the Son rises, we will see the world for what it is, and the glory and perfection of the Kingdom will be...home. We will know that this is what we have spent our whole lives longing for, this is what we mourned for when the North Wind sang her song. And He, the Father, will wipe away our tears.

milk and speckled eggs

"Abby?"

"Yes Molly."

"Mom bought you quail eggs."

That was not a typo.  Quail eggs.

--I live in an alternate reality, a small world with a limited diet.  I say a small world because I drink milk from a goat and eat eggs from a quail, both creatures being smaller than their mainstream counterparts.  I have allergies, and my family has always tried to find alternatives for me no matter how bizarre or unappealing they may appear (or even taste).

 

I am often asked what goat milk tastes like.  I reply:

-The fresher it is the better.

-What does it taste like when it isn't fresh?

-Goaty.

-What do you mean?

-I mean it tastes like I am drinking the goat's bath water.

Okay, that was hyperbole.

Benefit:  I feel more connected with the global community because of my allergies.  I occasionally consume imported desserts that lack corn syrup, my mortal foe and darling of the American food industry.  I drink goat's milk and suddenly identify with Heidi of the Swiss Alps.  And my pickled quail eggs come in cans found in the Asian section of my local supermarket.

I can't say how grateful I am that there are things for me to eat.  I think about children in countries who consume a steady diet of rice, rice, and more rice.  My diet all of the sudden is blessed with unimaginable variety.  What would it be like to wake up everyday and not have to guess what you were going to eat, only wonder if there will be any rice left?

I am thankful for goats, quails, and alternative sweetners.  Goat milk anyone?

fuzzy sheep give freely

I wrote this a couple months ago...I had some lessons to learn, as usual.

Am I conditioned to be this way? What event in my past has caused me to be suspicious of my fellow man? I am on the mend, that is, my perception of the world and its ways is rapidly changing. Changing so fast it is hard for me to track my progression, until yesterday.

Let's start from the beginning. I have always wanted to help people, people that need me, poeple that really need Jesus. But maybe they don't know it. I hate to see people hurting. But I have been afraid. I am supposed to be suspicious; it's all a scam they say. It's a ploy, they want drugs or alcohol, and you have an innocent face. I am one fuzzy sheep, folks say sheep are stupid and naive.  I have been told I'm naive, no surprises there, probably a little stupid too.

Okay, I'm being unclear in my musings, so I'll lay it out nice and easy.  What do you say when a homeless man accosts you on the street?  He needs some food, a place to stay, or money for the bus.  That's what he says.  You have money, but feel reluctant.  What is he really going to do with your hard-earned cash?  You don't want to think about it, it's cold, and you want to keep walking.  "I can't, I'm sorry," you reply and head to your car.  When you are out of hearing he curses you under his breath and gathers up his wounded pride to beg from another.  You feel guilty, but satisfy your conscience by reminding yourself that you have not aided him with his addiction.

This is how I thought, and acted in the past.  But I have been thinking again, re-thinking.  What if I am not called to judge the motives and intents of my fellow man?  What if I am simply called to give of what God has given me regardless of who asks?  My Lord said I should walk two miles rather than one, and asked me to give my tunic as well as my cloak.  What if, rather than simply recalling these verses I put them into action?  What if I stopped protecting myself from hurting people?  I have been asking for a change, asking for God to light a fire in me and give me passion, and God has been answering my prayers in ways I had not expected.

Confession:  I have been convicted regarding finances.  I used to tithe regularly, and have since fallen off the wagon in college.  Being away from my home church and parental accountability has caused me to stumble.  Giving, why am I so selfish and lazy?  I have asked the Lord for help in this area, but help has come in an unusual fashion.

So I went to the bank Thursday, a handful of checks to cash, and some to deposit.  As I exited my roommate's little red car,  I was approached by a young girl.  She and her deaf mother were from Rockford, visiting a sick grandmother, and had an almost empty tank of gas.  The mother had forgotten her wallet at home and they needed help.  They had asked 20 people for help.  I was lucky 21.  I said I would help, cashed my checks, and handed the girl 20 bucks for gas.  I said "God bless you," because I couldn't think of less generic spiritual thing to say.  I wanted to say that it was all because of Jesus.  They may have fooled a sheep, but Jesus knows.

lovable little idols

I used to think that idols were only worshipped by Hebrews. As a child my father read the Old Testament with us and I thought, "Silly Israelites, why do they worship stones and poles? Baal and Ashtoreth are so lame." I was mortified and grossed out to find that their worship of foreign gods included child sacrifice and sexual orgies...and come on, couldn't Aaron have thought of another attractive, powerful animal to cast rather than a cow?

I bought into the lie; we are so much more cultured and refined in our day. We might as well have the 9 commandments because no one struggles with idols anymore.

Unfortunately, like Rachel, I was sitting on my own idols...hiding them from my Heavenly Father. How many shrines did I erect for horses, dolls, and teddy bears? How many times did I pore over toy magazines like holy scriptures, seeking the hidden truths of wealth, power, and possession?

I remember one internal battle that I fought and lost. I reflected on a difficult question: Would I give away my doll to a poor girl, would I give away my doll for the sake of Christ? I would have said yes out loud to save face, but I knew I couldn't, and I hoped I wouldn't have to. Even as a girl I knew that I was the rich man, I couldn't sell all.

One day, when my mom was going through our toys to get rid of the excess, I began to sing the praises of my teddy bear Snowball, who had been a good friend and companion to me during creepy nights on my bunk bed. My mom, with classic bluntness replied, "You realize that at the end of the world, after Jesus comes back, Snowball is going to burn." I was horrified. I had visions of an earth on fire, and the red flames were licking the face of my beloved bear. I was traumatized at first, but that day began my letting go process, and I began to deal with my grief. Grieving the death of my god.

We worship little gods everyday. The gods of convenience, gods of pleasure, gods of power, gods of style. Why do we do this? Why do we worship frail things made of dust, made by the Creator, or at worst, made by ourselves? Can anyone imagine God creating Adam and rather than saying His work was good, falling upon His holy face in awe at His creation? I don't think so. Then why do I worship clothes and toys made in China?

We go to tanning beds, when the true sun is outside. We watch relationships on tv, and sit next to the real people we love. We worship at the altars of me, and reject the One who made us. We seek the immediate satisfaction of an idol who is there, and the reject the God who is everywhere...calling our names, and waiting for us to come home.

cracking the ring of fellowship

When I was a girl, I loved to talk. I read the word loquacious once in the vocab section of a magazine and proudly told my mom that it described me to a t. I liked talking to anyone of any age, younger or older; it didn’t matter to me as long as they would lend me their ear for a few minutes.

I loved social events, birthday parties, sleepovers, field trips…I lived for them. I drew flowers, cakes, and puppies around the happy days on the calendar, and eagerly waited for their arrival.

Then it happened. When I was ten, my family moved from Illinois to California, and my comfortable social world crumbled around me.

I quickly learned that I was not as cool as I thought I was, and that other people didn’t need me. I got burned a few...okay, more than a few times saying something dumb in front of my peers. I started talking less, and listening more. The listening was good and healthy. But the fear wasn’t.

I have been alone. I have started over in social settings many times, and felt the disagreeable feeling that burns in your stomach. The feeling that tells you no one else knows you, and if they know you exist, they won’t let on.

I soon sought out others who were on the fringe to talk to, because I knew that even though I was alone, no written rules said I couldn’t reach out to other loners.

Sometimes, after living somewhere for a few years, I became comfortable again. I had go-to friends and didn’t “need” to seek out anyone. I always felt guilty when I watched someone sit by themselves. Sometimes I rejected comfort and sat with them. More often I ignored as others had done unto me.

This lesson is still being learned, the lesson of fellowship. I still find myself in transitional periods attending nights of fellowship and food where I don’t belong. Sometimes I think the problem is I don’t eat the food. I have allergies, and it is a safer bet for me to eat before attending. Maybe my lack of participation in the breaking of bread with the faithful has harmed my social quotient. Maybe not.

What is the ring and how can I crack it? Often the problem is we all think about ourselves, and the most important person in the room is ME. I am not concerned about the comfort of others…as long as someone condescends to ease my social disturbance I couldn’t care less how others feel. When will I learn?

why i stopped hating the president...for less than political reasons

It would be more in vogue for me to say that the president I ceased to hate was George W., but I laid down the hatchet at the age of 5 when Bill Clinton was entering the oval office.  My parents were conservative and I would often hear them venting their frustrations about his positions and policies.  We were on a road trip to the East Coast.  I was sitting in the back of the van in a booster seat and I loudly proclaimed to my mother that I hated Bill Clinton.  I assumed my mom would confirm and sympathize with my sentiments.  Unfortunately for my young ego my mom told me it wasn't right for me to hate anyone, and that even though she and my dad disagreed with the the new president, they didn't hate him.

From that time on I tried to keep hate  as far away from my heart as possible.  My mom once said that hating someone was wishing they were dead.  That is something I would never want to wish on anyone, especially someone who has not yet made their peace with God.

Jesus said that I need to love my enemies, a thing that I have found is difficult to do in reality or abstraction.

--How do I love the neighbor kid who tormented me when I was seven?

--How do I love the soccer player who punched me in the back and called me names I had never heard before?

--How do I love someone who commits injustice, a thing that I hate?

I think one of the only ways I can love my enemies is by realizing how bad I am, and know that God loves me in spite of my sin.  The better I think of myself, the harder it is for me to love others who are less than perfect.

The closer I get to Jesus, the harder it is for me to harbor ill will towards the ones He loves.  Jesus, give me Your love.

entitled

In my short life I have thought a lot about myself, and about the things that I believe I deserve.

I become distressed and disagreeable when things don't go according to my plan, whether that is something small like doing the dishes instead of reading a novel, or something big like moving away from home to another state or going to a college I didn't expect to attend.

My first response is usually a woe-is-me attitude.  Why do these things happen to me?  All I want is a little free time, a home by the beach, education at the school of my choice, and an all expense paid trip to Europe.  Is that too much to ask?

Not if our world revolves around me.

So often my joy is stolen because I think I am entitled to some vague happiness that can only be satisfied by earthly love or material gain.  I want to have adventures, and since I am young and able-bodied...why not?

The problem is, I don't deserve anything.  What amazing talent sets me apart from the rest of the human race and demands that I should be pampered?  Nothing.  It is because of the grace of God that I have been given what I have, and there are no guarantees that that will not be taken away from me.

Do I believe that God still loves me if I am not utterly satisfied with everything and every circumstance?

What about the poor?  Does God love them less because they have less?  Throughout scripture God shows concern for the poor..."You, O God, provided from Your goodness for the poor." (Psalm 68:10)  So if God cares for the poor,  I think it is safe to assume that He has taken care of me as well in my comfortable middle class home, with a bed, clothing, and food to eat everyday.

What about those afflicted with the mental retardation?  Does God care any less for my sisters with autism, whose deficiencies may prevent them from ever going to college or getting married? I don't think so.  They are the children of the kingdom, and Jesus welcomes them to Himself.

What does it mean for me to become poor in spirit, so that I too might be blessed?  How can I become pure in heart, so that I too might see God?

Well, I don't think I will ever see God if I am always looking at me.  Father in heaven, let me seek Your face.

homeless, cold, and hungry

--How many times have you been accosted by someone for food or money?

--How many times has someone told you not to give away your resources because it will be spent on drugs and alcohol?

Yes, I know that the homeless can be addicted to harmful substances, hence their life situation. But, don't they deserve the love of Christ as well?

After meeting a few guys on Michigan Avenue, including Bruce and Ugly Old Toad (he insisted upon that title) I began to rethink what it means to give, and give joyfully without a heart full of bitter suspicion.

How do I do this wisely and only give to the honest?  I can't.  There is no way that I can read the minds of these men, but what I can do is pray...pray that God lets me make eye contact with those who truly need help, and ones that I can help with the resources I have.  What kind of resources?  It may be 5 bucks, a turkey sandwich, prayer, or a smile that says to them "You are a human being too."  One of the things that bothered some of the men most was that people duck their heads and refuse to even look at them.  It hurts to be out in the cold, and probably hurts even more to be dehumanized by your fellow man.

If I am idealistic, you can let me know.  It's not the first time I have been accused of such a thing.  But the following haunts me, I cannot escape it...

The He also said to him who invited Him, "When you give a dinner or a supper, do not ask your friends, your brothers, your relatives, nor rich neighbors, lest they also invite you back, and you be repaid.  But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind.  And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you; for you shall be repaid at the resurrection of the just."  Luke 14:12-14

Ugly Old Toad can't pay you back.

martin luther king jr.: the loving social activist

The following is a reflection I wrote a couple weeks ago for my class Christian Classics.  It will reveal my ignorance, but that is okay...we all need a little dose of humility now and then.

----My knowledge of Martin luther King Jr. has certainly been limited up until I completed the required reading for this course.  I have always known about him, and as a young child I often confused him with the Rev. Jesse Jackson and Rev. Al Sharpton; my mother quickly corrected my error.  Because of my conservative upbringing, while I knew the importance of the civil rights movement, I cautiously handled anything that called for social action.  I was extremely impressed with the Martin Luther King I encountered in these readings, and I was excited to find that he was so much more than what I heard him to be.

     Martin Luther King called to our country's attention the plight of those who were being oppressed.  As Christians living in a comfortable, middle class society we forget that God cares for the oppressed and the downtrodden because we often are unaware of their presence.  Sometimes in our effort to pursue inward spiritual holiness, I believe we neglect those in need around us because we are focused upon ourselves.  I was impressed that King was able to show through quotations of church fathers and scripture that the oppression of the African Americans was wrong and that it was necessary for Christians to actively pursue justice.

    I was intrigued by the way King used peaceful protest as a means of direct force to bring about the process of change.  He was dealing with a hard issue for Christians; to what extent may we use force, yet remain peaceful and loving?  Sometimes it seems as though Christians (and others) will condone force when it is not directly related to them, for example, we will fight for justice through endorsement of a war for the protection of our country.  But, when it comes to protecting the rights of people of a different race, economic status, the elderly, or the unborn, we are afraid to rock the boat because the consequences of our peaceful, yet forceful protest will hit too close to home.  We are afraid to sacrifice anything, resources or peace of mind, for the good of someone else.  

     King wrote in his Birmingham letter that when the ministers said that the gospel had no social concern, they were actually separating the secular from the sacred, and the body from the soul (299).  This is unfortunate because Christ provided for the physical and spiritual needs of the lost that He came to save.  He did not simply forgive the sins of the lame man, but gave him the ability to walk.  While we will not be able to heal the way Jesus did, we can make life better for those around us by speaking up for their rights and showing them the love of Christ by caring for their needs.  We cannot separate our love for our neighbor from our love for God.

     It is interesting that King pointed out that we are afraid as Christians in America to be nonconformists.  Perhaps we believe that we are in a Christian nation, and thus things are mostly alright and much change isn't necessary.  Are we willing to take a look around us and see who is in need?  The manifestation of need is different than it was when King wrote his letter, but last time I checked we are still living in a fallen world that has more problems than we can solve on our own strength.

     I want to live out my Christian spirituality in a way that is deeply personal, yet purposefully active in a pursuit of peace and justice for those who are oppressed by poverty or injustice.  King is an example of this, he saw that the oppression of his people was unjust, and because of his commitment to Christ he found it necessary to speak out on their behalf and be a force for change.

    In one of the other readings we read in class, Loving Your Enemies I found that we can still apply much of what King said to our present day struggles with race relations and other social issues in our country.  This statement sums up the main thrust of his argument, "There will be no permanent solution to the race problem until oppressed people develop the capacity to love their enemies.  The darkness of racial prejudice will be displayed only by the light of forgiving love" (Tyson 430).  It is so important for us to recognize that in any pursuit of peace or justice we must love and forgive those who are causing the suffering.  This is a difficult truth to swallow.  How can we love those who exploit the innocent through sex trafficking?  How do we love those who harm and hate people of other races?  And even more difficult, how do we help those who have been hurt learn to love those who have offended them?  These are questions that can only be answered through the healing power of the gospel and the example of Christ.

    As Christians who are completely sold on the power of the gospel to transform the lives of hurting people, I believe it is important for us not to just show concern for those who are physically and emotionally hurting.  We must actively pursue their good and seek peace and justice.  Loving your neighbor is not just a feeling; we must prove our love for others by our actions.

poverty and justice: part 1

----As a Christ-follower how should I think about and act on issues like poverty and hunger?

I want to establish what I am not saying right away.  I’m not saying that Christians do not work in the world against evils like poverty and hunger.  They do, and the things they do have brought about changes and saved lives.  This I like and I recognize the work that they have done.  What I am trying to understand is what still needs to be accomplished, because last time I checked Jesus still has not returned and I am called to bring about His kingdom on earth. 

What evils are still prevalent and what injustices still need addressing?  I want to know what I am supposed to do and what things Christians should become aware of and begin to act on rather than staying in a spiritually stagnant status quo.

I started reading Ron Sider’s "Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger" and it is radicalizing my mind already after having read the first chapter.

In the first chapter he cites statistic after statistic showing that poverty and hunger are two of the greatest problems in the world today.

Because of the issues of hunger and malnutrition, thousands of children are dying from starvation and disease.  Many children become brain damaged because they do not get enough protein for their brains to develop properly.

The statistics on children are particularly challenging for me because I have been and continue to be concerned for children and the unborn.  If I am going to be consistent in my care for the little ones in our world I need to seek the welfare of the starving ones as well as for the unborn.

----How can I help?  These problems seem so big and I know that I am small.  But, the God I serve is greater than any of the tragedies in this world.  I trust that if I am willing to learn and see these problems for what they are, God can show me what He would have me to do.  I am excited to continue reading this book and see how I can apply it to my life now, and in the days to come.

 

---When I throw away wasted food, what am I really doing?  If I say that it is wasteful and I should eat it because a child in Africa would love to eat it, it doesn’t seem to have much of an impact because I cannot mail him my leftover spaghetti.  But, if I look at it as I could have made less food, saved money, and then sent that child in Africa five dollars so he could eat for a month, now I can smell change and the stench of moldy food begins to fade.

 

the first post

So, I've finally caved.  I have considered writing my own blog for some time, and now here it is, in all its infant glory.

The question is, why?  I am now a blogger with the hopes that these posts will help me wrestle with issues that I am encountering on a daily basis.   I am confident that by writing out my current thoughts I will come to a better understanding of where I stand on particular issues.

I will also be randomly posting poems and short stories as the muse inspires.

This blog is a way for me to learn, so if you choose to think about these things along with me, I would be happy to have a companion.  So, welcome fellow sojourner!