Learning from myself... what I (un)posted 15 months ago.

The Love of God is something that I feel I've never understood.  It's not that I don't feel loved, and not that I don't know what it means to give love, but this different kind of Love, the kind with immeasurable depth, the kind that should (but so often doesn't) cause awe and quaking humility, confuses me.  I feel as though I can never live up to an appropriate response of His love, stemming from an inadequate understanding of how much I take it for granted.  I know... I'm getting extremely wordy.  And even re-reading that, I know that this shouldn't be the way I seek to understand His love... it's the "free gift" of my childhood evangelism education, and yet still I struggle to understand and accept something that I both take for granted and can't grasp the weight of.

Charlie spoke on 1 Corinthians 13 today - the well-worn paragraph used to define Love the world over.  But I really appreciated hearing more about why Paul said these words, why Love was described in this way to those people.  Paul was speaking not in generalized statements, but specifically to the behavior and lack of true Love displayed by the Corinthians... hence, the reason this paragraph comes in the 13th chapter, after Paul has spoken to each of these areas previously.  As I looked down the list in a new way, I easily saw a Corinthian reflection in my own life... this time, I didn't read through in the traditional practice, replacing "Love" with "Juliana" to check my behavioral status, but instead, reversed the list to see what Paul saw in the people he was *lovingly* calling out:
Am I... impatient? unkind? envious? boastful? arrogant? rude? selfish? irritable? resentful? proud of sin?
I know I could supply a very specific example to each one of these without difficulty.  I read in a devotional today that what's more, all of these "adjectives" in the Love paragraph of 1 Corinthians 13 are actually verbs in Greek... Love is only Love when we see it in action.
And one more thought that really struck me - Paul was speaking to a church with many gifts, many talents, and a wealth of Biblical knowledge.  The Lord spoke to them in visions and manifested himself in supernatural ways, and yet... they lacked Love.  Though God can surely use us in our insufficiency, blindness, and arrogance (or, I should say, despite it) our doctrinal knowledge or spiritual commitment are not the gauge for our hearts - authentic Christianity flows out of a heart of Love.



God's love is meteoric, his loyalty astronomic, his purpose titanic, his verdicts oceanic.  Yet in his largeness nothing gets lost; not a man, not a mouse, slips through the cracks.  Psalm 36:5-6 (Message)

How precious is your steadfast love, O God!  The children of mankind take refuge in teh shadow of your wings.  They feast on teh abundance of your house, and you give them drink from the river of your delights.  For with you is the fountain of life; in your light do we see light.  Psalm 36:7-9 (ESV)

The love of God is greater far
Than tongue or pen can ever tell
It goes beyond the highest star
And reaches to the lowest hell
The guilty pair, bowed down with care,
God gave His only Son to win
His erring child He reconciled:
You and I pardoned from our sin.

When ancient time shall pass away,
And earthly thrones and kingdoms fall
When men here refuse to pray,
And rocks and hills and mountains call
God's love, so sure, shall still endure
All measureless and strong
Redeeming grace to Adam's race
Shall be the saints' and angels' song

Could we with ink the ocean fill
And were the skies of parchment made
Were every stalk on earth a quill
And every man a scribe by trade
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
Though stretched from sky to sky
(listen to Ascend the Hill sing this here)

שָׁלוֹם/Shalom

Apparently I wrote this 5 days into my senior year of college, and never published it.  It's kind of achingly beautiful to see what the Lord has taught me, brought me through, said yes to, said no to, and still left unanswered in all of that time.  Shalom.

Shalom, in the liturgy and in the transcendent message of the Christian scriptures, means more than a state of mind, of being or of affairs. Derived from the Hebrew root shalam – meaning to be safe or complete, and by implication, to be friendly or to reciprocate. Shalom, as term and message, seems to encapsulate a reality and hope of wholeness for the individual, within societal relations, and for the whole world. To say joy and peace, meaning a state of affairs where there is no dispute or war, does not begin to describe the sense of the term.




My mind is kindof exploding, so all this talk about peace is a really great thing to be dwelling on.
I'm in the library for the third night in a row.  That's all normal, perhaps, for a typical college student, but let me just tell you: today was the FIFTH day of school.  Why is my mind exploding?  The most random combination of things.  Maybe I can give you a picture of my mind's wanderings this evening:


Encouragement of tonight's Life Group-->The perfect Peace of my Savior in the midst of the busiest semester I think I'll ever have in my undergrad career--> Isaiah 26:3-4, a verse I memorized this summer with CHAIRS--> skipping any work on my Grant Proposal--> filling out parts of my online Fulbright Application--> stumped: a question that reads, "What do you plan to do upon your return to the U.S.?"--> Pondering grad schools.  Beyond the idea of going to a school for an MA in TESOL... (because that doesn't sound prestigious enough for my application...)--> MFA in Dance?--> Hollins University MFA, Thaddeus' program...--> Why in the world would I get an MFA in Dance, and what in the heck would I do with it?--> Discovery that Hollins supports an International residency program for its MFA students, and that Anna Kisselgoff is part of the faculty--> Anna Kisselgoff's biography... the woman studied Russian, and I realized that she's my academic/artistic hero--> Hollins' MA in Liberal Studies program browsing--> Wait, how in the world (literally) does that connect with my purpose in life?--> What does God want me to do with all of this?--> Is there a graduate program in Dancer turned Social Justice Worker with a Concentration in Becoming Fluent in Russian in order to Share the Gospel, Travel the World, Participate/Critique the Dance Community and Work with Orphans from Russia and Ukraine? That's the master's program I'll be pursuing after returning to the U.S., Fulbright, thanks for asking.--> Wow, if it was just up to me, I'd be completely lost.  I'd have an endless amount of options that would otherwise be meaningless.--> I serve a God who is in control when I am not (which is always).  He stuns me in that, I can't seem to ever connect the different threads he has running throughout my life.  I don't understand if they are just means to a singular pursuit, or if they are like a braid that actually works simultaneously.-->Not actually freaking out about this... but still quite perplexed at how complex my options could be, and how confusing this process is.  What is most value in regards to the Kingdom?  What uses the talents that God has given me for the greatest magnification of his glory above all else?-->The need for Peace. Recognition and Thanksgiving that HE IS YAHWEH SHALOM.--> Thank goodness - Amen.


How's that for a big long map of my thoughts over the past hour?

Faz Chover (Let it Rain)

Watching the rain was something I needed to see today - there's something so clear about watching water pour mercilessly out of the sky - no one can stop it, it's so clear that something else - that you are in control - people can't avoid the drenching rains pouring down.  And it was pouring so hard.  

What is one person in a rain storm like that, where the once blue-white sky is an opaque dark gray, rivers forming along the ground, the sky speaking and slashing light to add to the flavor of the storm?  In one sense, nothing - an ant, a molecule in comparison to the God who controls skies that in an instant display such power, and even then, in only one place - one tiny example.  But at the same time, one person is everything.  I sit on this balcony - high up enough to see over roofs of university buildings, apartments, places of work.  With people, in each one.  How can you know them all, Lord?  Their names, their every experience, their hopes and dreams, those who think they have none... And how come you can't pour down knowledge of you like the rain, flooding into every crack and corner, flowing through streets and over feet and on heads that have never called you their savior?

We don't want to get wet.  We don't want the feeling of the cold rain on our skin, because we know it would soak us through.  Instead we run, dodging the drops, shielding our eyes, our hair, our heads.  Or we walk slowly and steadily, ignoring the minor dampness our feet get as the rest of our body is shielded by the fabric arms of an umbrella - we are comfortable, wading through the storm without having to fully deal with the reality that we are walking though a downpour.
And then, I've always envied those people who, without a care in the world about their clothes, their shoes, or their hair, lift up their head, close their eyes, and let the rain pour down all around them, arms open wide as they laugh and dance, water soaking them to the core.  

I can't do that, you say - I'm carrying valuable things, I don't have time, and I have to look presentable for wherever I'm going next...

The barefoot girl gives a sympathetic smile, but her eyes still glow with the joy of the storm.  Long ago she left the things she carried by the side of the road, gave away her shoes, and started believing in the sun to dry out her dress after the downpour of the cleansing rain.  She tries to remember what it was like to need the umbrella, to clutch tightly to the possessions, to walk without feeling the earth beneath her bare feet, the contrast of the soft grass with the harsh pebbles that make her step strong and firm.

Her brow furrows as she remembers she thought she was in control then, though one day the strong wind contorted the umbrella into a useless frame, and the choice came - to run or to stand.
She opens her eyes, and finds the umbrella dotting along, the person underneath it jumping over puddles, still clinging tightly, the drops rolling off the fabric arms into the thirsty ground below.

- May 17, 2012

I love the way the Bible talks about rain, and how throughout my life, he's given me pictures of himself through this phenomenon - sometimes light and subtle, sometimes powerful and strong.  A few days ago, I asked him to speak to me while I watched an incredible storm pass through, and he spoke in this picture... my heart is so conflicted by how many people don't know him - how many could never know him - it's overwhelming, it scares and saddens me.  And yet, even though I know his love and the truth of his salvation, sometimes I am the one holding the umbrella still, clutching on to things that don't matter in light of eternity, distracted by the puddles that threaten to drench my feet - how much am I missing?!  How much am I giving up in not giving it ALL up for the sure promise of freedom, beloved?  Today in our Saturday service, we had the pleasure of singing "Let It Rain", and I have to say it sounds much richer in Portuguese...

Eu vejo uma pequena nuvem

Do tamanho da mão de um homem,

Mas este é o sinal

Que a tua chuva vai descer

Faz chover, faz chover

Abre as comportas dos céus

E faz chover, faz chover

Abre as comportas dos céus

(Let it rain, let it rain,

Open the floodgates of heaven

let is rain, let it rain,

Open the floodgates of heaven...)

04.14.2012. Pasxa

the words made me angry
because they sunk in too late
because i hadnt pushed through the pc exterior for the desire beneath
because a hard shell like that so easily deflects my attempts to bring you in closer
a real Russian church, she said
to feel something on Easter
but, what is real?
it only sunk in later that her words dismissed my church as real
i know she meant the building
the cupolas, the candles, the icons, and the women in scarves
but she wants something different
she doesnt know where to find it
and she thinks going to a museum hall on a religious day will show her
but what about the life?
what about the breath and joy and laughter and family?
those are found in a room in a hotel conference room, where there aren't enough chairs
smiles and tears and loud crowd-joining prayers and singing and hands lifted high
its what she wants, what she doesnt know is missing
but she's looking for that in a building, a museum, a day on the Calendar
why? why didnt i hear that all in those words she spoke,
the ones that sunk in late and furrowed my brow
how? how do i recover from the way i accepted the dismissal of my church as real?
the words made me angry
not because of the ignorance that spoke them
but because of all that was lost in between them

Prayer and Persecution

Prayer. 
It's the lifeblood of Christians from its Jewish roots to its current persecutions.  And yet, it is elusive even as it is essential.  It is the method of preservation of the soul, it is the power of miracles and protection and provision and deliverance.  It is the means, the voice, the fiber of our very connection to the God of our salvation, and yet, it can be as invisible and absent in a life that claims that salvation as it is indispensable and omnipresent in another.  In fleshing this out, I don't point a finger at others, but at myself.  Knowing prayer as an old friend, I have neglected it.  But in neglecting the means, the conversation, I am also neglecting my Savior, my relationship.  And it results in confusion.  Awkwardness.  Like when you misinterpret a text message statement because it wasn't made face to face, or in this case, on my face.
I read an article yesterday that really sobered me - it was reporting on the active persecution of Christians going on in the world, and noted how these persecuted Christians certainly acknowledge the difficulty and dangers of their circumstances, but chillingly added that they weren't sure they could live in a place where "Christian" was just an arbitrary label that is mistaken for a life without sacrifice or risk.  And I read those words, thinking about my own life, where my own Christian life has only experienced "risk" in the form of peer disapproval, empty politically-correct debate, and selfishly based "fear of man" issues.  While people each day don't just risk their lives by making the decision to follow Christ, they give them up, or they risk the lives of their loved ones, sometimes watching as they are punished for the cause of Christ, the privilege to bear the label "Christ's".
I see this in the striking difference with which I, a privileged American under no threat of persecution, look on an acquaintance - a self-proclaimed convert from Christianity to Atheism - and has since begun a loud evangelism campaign against any kind of Theism, especially Christianity.  I see his Atheism as annoying, self-assuming, grating on my nerves, and obnoxious at times.  But how does the persecuted Christian in North Korea view his atheist "comrades" - those who brutally persecute, as well as those who secretly inform and publicly incriminate - or those who simply have never heard the gospel at all.  I bet the words "annoying" and "obnoxious" aren't the first words to come to their minds.  And while their risk is greater - so much greater than my sore spot at an offensive or rude facebook comment (I know, gag me) - I'd bet they have different words describing these people.  Broken.  Confused.  Blind.  Lost.  But Loved.  
These brothers and sisters of mine would never equate themselves with the sacrifice of our Savior who bore the sins of the world and the wrath of our Father God on the cross, but I bet they understand so much more those words, "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do."  And, I also bet, that they cling to prayer desperately just as I neglect it carelessly.
To find out more about these brothers and sisters, visit http://www.opendoorsusa.org/

Letter for a Funeral

I know that many of you must be thinking how sad it is that I am halfway around the world instead of there with you, and in many ways, that is true.  Though, thanks to the times we live in, I was able to be present with my family in Papa's room the other night, and I got to fall asleep to the sound of them singing at his bedside, I would  have of course likes to be there in person, to hold hands and give hugs, as I would like to do the same today.  But the fact that I am here, in Russia, at this time is only partly sad.  You see, I've never been more proud of my Oma and Papa than in this last year.  Not only were they brave in this battle against Leukemia, but I saw them come together and depend on the Lord for strength in a whole new way.  When we had the miraculous privilege of spending extra time with Papa in a time of remission, I was so happy to hear stories of him telling restaurant waitresses and other people around him about God's healing and love, pointing to him as the author of that miracle time.  And this is why I'm not sad to be here - because more than one person here in Russia has heard about the love, grace, and healing of our savior because of my Papa's life, and even in his death, as one of my Russian friends told me the other day "But I remember his story and how amazing it is."  My grandparent's faith, because it relied on Jesus' strength in a time of great weakness, has given me the opportunity to share the goodness of the gospel with some of the people in my life here, and that is not something that I can be sad about.

After hearing the final news from my family, I read the following passage from Hebrews:

"Therefore brothers and sisters, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed of pure water.  Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.  And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near."  Hebrews 10:19-25

I've never read that passage quite in this perspective or context, thinking about what it really means to draw near in an actual sense beyond figurative.  I've never thought about how it might be to literally, actually 'enter the holy places' with a 'heart sprinkled clean' of sin and a 'body washed with pure water'.  I think reading this on a day when I saw my Papa breathing across the room through a computer screen across the ocean in the morning, and now know that his labored breathing has been replaced with the life and freedom that God has so faithfully promised to us, the reality of my place in His kingdom has become solidified in a way that I think can only happen when someone close has died.  Just like a birth or a wedding is a small picture of the way that God relates to us, death can be the culmination, and the entering in, and the taking part, of the gift we've been promised and held on to.  For some of us, we've held onto this promise for a long time, for some, a short time, and for some, we might not have really ever truly taken hold of it.  But if we have, death only means finally walking into the 'new and living way that <Jesus> opened for us'.  So, let us indeed 'hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering', as the author of Hebrews says.  Why?  Because it is comforting, yes.  But also because it is true, and when we have been forced to look at it so closely, we understand more than ever how important it is to live and walk with our eyes wide open, our feet ready, our mouth laced with gracious words, our hands ready for service, our heart willing to do, or go, or love, or listen, or say what is needed.  As someone close to me has gone to be with our eternal God, it is easier to think about the Day drawing near when I will join him, when hopefully all of you will join him.  But let us not forget the most important One whom we will be joining on that day - the one who made it possible in the first place, as part of the first plan, where grace is the story, and peace is the place.

To My One and Only Papa,

I wrote a postcard today that I won't ever send.  The idea of it arriving too late and being half of a whole made me keep it with me.  But today, I got to send it to you in a different way.  An almost instant - through the internet - bedside-read sentiment for you to know that you're in my thoughts and prayers.  Being so far away, I can only imagine what it looks like for the atoms and molecules inside of a body to destroy their own home - how the articles and the long scientific names and the different colored ribbons supporting your struggle actually gets so personal as to slowly take your breath away - the cells on the power point are now fully realized in a way the student can never be prepared for.  But it's a fascinating threshold, too - to think that you're so close - so incredibly close - to the freedom and uninhibited, completely sanctified and free-from-struggle LIFE that all of our great big multi-colored family is running toward... it's a difficult paradox to grasp.  In only a short time, you'll get to be with God in a glory that we've only seen in an infintismal amount.  The intimacy we experience in our interactions with God on earth will be so much sweeter for you... so soon.  And just before being there, you leave as we all do, as we all entered - helpless, cradled, known, and designed for grace.  You'll fully know what we only experience from a distance, because you ran the race and you're almost done, and there's only celebration on the other side.  It will be strange without you - to sing, to dance, to speak on your behalf... but oh, it's just a taste of where you'll be, and where I'll meet you soon.
With love,
Juliana

Really?!

I like you.  I like you a lot.  The first time I saw you, I knew I had to find you again.  I'm a serious person - for me, relationships are not a fling - I'm the 'be with you for a century' kind of guy.  I'll do whatever it takes, I want to be with you.

Maybe, someday, with a WHOLE lot more context, and an audience that feels the same, a very different person who still loves Jesus more, will say words like this to me, and I'll actually be glad.  Until then, #IWILLWAIT

For me, or you, or her.

I met you first from far away,
tiny figurine up high on a shelf
From there most couldn't see the word fragile, hidden
delicate porcelain painted in perfect symmetry,
no mark or line out of place.
You couldn't hear me if I spoke soft,
and so, sometimes, I yelled.
And the figurine peered off the ledge.

Anticipation of the jump -
it was the kind like a cannonball into clear fresh water,
but to you it looked like suicide -
and you stayed on the ledge for awhile.

And then, you knew, it was your time to fall,
and the figurine smashed on the ground.
Once perfect and seamless and painted just right,
the porcelain was nowhere and everywhere,
tiny slivers and huge pieces covering the floor all around.
You scrambled, the jagged pieces scraping your knees
and cutting into your palms as you tried to grab them,
scoop them, keep them in your hands and put them back together again.
Tears stung your eyes as the blood trickled down -
if the figurine was gone, what was left?

And he came.
Strong hands under yours, he brushed off your knees
and took your mangled hands in his, and washed them.
You winced as he took each piece out -
it was painful and some hurt more than others -
but you knew it was best, and you loved him for it.
You watched them fall away, the shards of glass you once held onto,
and your love for them faded as he worked.

The fingers that once curled around the glass now held tightly to his hands,
as he lifted you up to your feet.
You breathed in deep and tasted air, and coughed a time or two.
But it tasted good and you stretched out your arms,
and you finally started to dance.

Mysterious Ways.

It was night, and I wasn't tired enough to fall asleep in the car on the long drive home.  The lights of the city provided a nightlight for my brain as I collected enough words for thought and wrote them down on the pages of the soul I keep trying to understand and follow and find all at once.  The darkness was comforting, and the somber peace of it matched my mood... contemplative, wandering.  What do I want of the people I love here?  I can't ask them to live the life I lead in America - that doesn't make any sense.  But, then - what of the life I lead in America is relevant to the life they lead here in Russia?  What simple truths translate across oceans, centuries, traditions, languages, and hearts?  What, essentially, does Truth boil down to, if not bound by culture or led by upbringing, but instead formed by reality that was real enough to rock a bunch of fishermen and set the world on fire, for or against?  Which words, I wondered, could convey what really matters, if I myself find it hard to differentiate from the flannel-graph and nursery songs that formed the childhood faith in me that they never knew?  The dark night enveloped my thoughts in a comforting way - neither answering nor swallowing them up... as if my thoughts found a seat among the stars and just let me look at them for a while.  And then, a familiar song on the radio.  Not a tired version of One Republic's Apologize or the overplayed Selena Gomez song that Russians love so much.  No, this was Michael W. Smith.  On a Russian Radio station.  That's right, good ol' 90s Michael W. Smith.  Sometimes when that happens in America, I wonder why the heck they're playing outdated music.  But here, in the middle of the Russian countryside on a holiday night drive between Rostov and Taganrog, in the midst of my thoughts of what I'm doing here and if I could ever convey my hopes for my family and friends here, this song miraculously found its way to my ears...

I will be here for you

Somewhere in the night

Somewhere in the night

I'll shine a light for you

Somewhere in the night

I'll be standing by

I will be here for you

God works in mysterious ways.  But he works, that's for sure.  I don't think I've ever appreciated those words from Michael W. Smith like I did tonight, somewhere in the night, wondering if the light was ever going to shine.  I don't know what he was thinking when he wrote that song, but I'm always amazed at how lyrics of songs can say different things at different times and be equally powerful.  I think I had a frown of disbelief on my face for a full minute, wondering how in the world that song found its way on Russian radio.  But I heard it loud and clear.  More encouragement in the dark.  Proof that he's listening. Proof that he's working.  Proof that the light will shine. 

Encouragement in the Dark.

Art not only communicates truth. It also creates emotional uprisings. Many churches have never considered giving an entire congregation the chance to experience intense stirrings. Many church leaders are uncomfortable if the final fill-in-the-blank is left unfilled. It seems far safer to give people tips and techniques and formulas alone, than to give them a license to touch a mystery.

And to be wrecked by it.

This quote, found in an article I randomly read today - I highly recommend it: The Collision of Faith and Creativity ... but seriously, what a blessing and encouragement, on a day where I found myself in a theatre watching people do what I used to do (dance) and don't do as often as I'd like.  It didn't make me sad, it just reminded me that I'm not done with that part of myself, and I need to not give it up, but get it back and keep throwing punches.  And that there's purpose in it still.  And I sat and contemplated all this on the way home, and then came and read this article.  Someone gets it - like, really gets it, and I love that.  I love the fact that art can be seen as purposeful without filling in the blanks, handing it to you on a silver platter, or coloring within the lines.  Giving the audience the license to tough a mystery, and to be wrecked by it - incredible, powerful words.  I'd like that as a career, thank you.  

from Colossians 2:17

The shadows are what are “cast” by a life captured by what matters most. The substance is a someone–Jesus. Without him the shadows are meaningless.
Brian Onken

Thoughts from a Friend on Jonah...

Jonah gets a bad rap... but if we really look into his story, and see how and why God chose Jonah for this journey, it begins to make much more, much deeper sense than the flannel graph Bible story you heard in 2nd grade.  Thoughts from a good friend of mine...

God knows what he is doing in calling you to what he wants for you. Sometimes, you might balk at it, you might reason your way out of it, you might push against it, you might run from what you think God is asking of you. But what I see in Jonah, is that beneath his resistance, behind his fleeing, hidden away in his soul there is something there that God already knew about . . . and it comes to the surface in a crisis moment. The kind of person Jonah is comes into view when the pressure is the greatest . . . and God already knew what kind of man Jonah was. In spite of Jonah’s initial fleeing, he cannot deny living as the man God knows him to be.

In other words, the call that God gives to Jonah is one way that God is going to put on display the kind of man that Jonah really is . . . and we see that here, in the storm, on the sea, with the pagan sailors, as Jonah offers to sacrifice his life so that they can live.

And that drives me to wonder: What is it that God knows about me that he intends to put on display for his glory through the challenges and the call he extends to me? What will become evident in us as the pressure rises?

when things make sense...

I can't connect the dots by looking forward, only backward.  When I look over my shoulder, I think I'm seeing glimpses that make me smile.  Not the cheesy grin for pictures, not the amused smirk with friends, but the slow curving of the lips that comes with a peaceful sigh - the kind that says, 'Yes, that's some of what this was for.  And it's worth it.'

October 8, 2011

Let this day be my offering.
May this time mark the place,
where my soul stops its wandering,
and my shifting feet cease.
You have my heart quieted and calm,
full of sand, wind, and storm.
Would I not run while standing,
to your arms now be drawn.
I could keep up my pace,
I could still wander on...
On my own I'd be leaning,
my own power long gone.
You placed rock 'neath my feet,
while I ran around in the sand;
Please, my Jesus, forgive my vanity,
may I hold tight to your hand.

missing you

   It is a beautiful, humbling thing to be missed.  It is a hearty, real, unsettling thing to miss someone.  There are some things a video screen and conversation can fill, and others - moments you wish to share, times you want to wrap your arms around a person or kiss their cheek - to pick up a phone and bring them into your day, to meet and hear about the mundane or complex things of theirs.
   And I sit here, halfway across the world from (#) of the best friends I could ask for... and many more to name - women I am so thankful to know, to watch them do life, to walk with and learn from, and I wonder how in the world I have anything to offer for them to miss.  Sometimes I think I have so much more to learn from them than they could learn from me... and so I guess what I'm trying to say is, thank you.  I don't deserve the beautiful friendships that you've given me, and at the same time, I hope I can treasure and cherish them, and hold them tight forever.  I know I don't need them.  I know that you are enough for me, and so I am thankful that you've chosen to give them to me.

A Prayer for 9/11 Ten Years Later

A Prayer for 9/11 Ten Years Later

I surrender all...

It's 12:52 am, and I confess that for the last hour (or two?), I have been aimlessly sitting at my computer looking up jobs and internships in Greenville.  Not because I'm looking for a job.  Just because I may, at one time, need to find a job in Greenville.  (i.e. in 10 months)  And as I, er, continued, I actually HEARD the words of the song playing on my Pandora...

I surrender all, I surrender all, All to Jesus, I surrender, I surrender all.

Right... about that.
See, earlier today, during a brief stolen few minutes with a best friend, I confessed for the millionth time (well... let's be honest.  I reiterated, restated, reopened, revisited, etc.  Confession usually denotes surprise, and this friend is WELL aware of this flaw of mine) my perpetual habit of trying to plan out my life, needing to have every duck in a row, and how ultimately that's all just different manifestations of FEAR and idolizing CONTROL.  I digress.  Anyway, last night, I decided something.

I'm not taking the GRE this summer.
Which means I'm not applying to Grad School while I'm in Russia.
Which means, I don't have "a plan" for the what next of The Return. (dun dun dun...)
Which means, I can quit wasting time spreading myself too thin in this last month before leaving.
Which means, I can actually focus on the things I need to do, like packing, lesson planning, logistics.
Which means, I will spend more quality time with my family and friends.
Which means, I want to trust God and His plan more than I want to have one of my own.
(I mean, come on - when will I EVER understand mine will never be as good, right?!)
(As if leaving for 10 months for a foreign country isn't enough to take in... I'm always trying to load that plate up, you know.  Silly me.)


But yeah, so.... my will power is a little pathetic.
But more importantly, no matter how many times I like to relapse back into that little habit, the major decision is still there, and I'm glad the Lord finally made me realize that I needed to decide to jump or not.

Oi vey.

back again...

I got to dance today.
To take class, to even teach impromptu... which was great prep for next week when I'll be full on teaching all week - an incredible answer to prayer in very specific ways.  And it was fun - I'm glad I got thrown in there to see how it went without worrying about it.
And, I even got to spend a few minutes alone in a dark studio all to myself, just me and Jesus... there's something about dance that says what you want without having to say it, and I love speaking that way with Him.
And it just really showed me -
I need to be doing more of that, continuing to spend time with Him in that way, and... even teaching kinda clicked.  It reminds me of this post from a few years ago... There's something there - something good, and meaty, and full of substance.  Something brewing, I can tell.  And I want it.  I know that wanting more of it means wanting more of Jesus, too.  So I'm asking Him to pull me in closer.
I'm ready.

NISSI, My Banner is Clear

My face is set, my gait is fast, my goal is heaven, my road is narrow, my way rough, my companions few, my guide reliable, my mission clear. I cannot be bought, compromised, detoured, lured away, turned back, deluded or delayed. I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice, hesitate in the presence of adversity, negotiate at the table of the enemy, ponder at the pool of popularity or meander in the maze of mediocrity.  I won't give up, shut up, until I have stayed up, stored up, prayed up, paid up, or preached up for the cause of Christ. I am a disciple of Jesus. I must go till He comes, give till I drop, preach till all know, and work until He stops me. And when He comes for His own, He will have no problems recognizing me - my banner will be clear! 

young african pastor

Another one of Jes' statuses... see what I mean?

In my weakness, I worry that I will never live up to this kind of Christian living.  And similarly, my heart of prayer is often completely rebellious... which, duh, directly affects the way that I live.  And yet, I find comfort in this tidbit from my friend Jeff:

Our prayers don't seem whiny. They are incense.

Nice.  So, somehow, even though my living is homely, and my prayers are lowly, somehow they are still incense.  How is that? Well, that's why there's so much beauty in the Spirit interceding for us - He knows the wretchedness of our hearts, the Holiness of God, and the Love of our Savior.  He not only saved us once and for all, He continues to pray on our behalf to the Father in glory.  Amen?