I wish you knew

I wish you knew that you aren't here by accident
I wish you knew that there is so much more to life than the one you are settling for.
I wish you knew that you don't have to settle.
I wish you knew that hope is real.
I wish you knew that this pain won't last forever.
I wish you knew that you're not too far gone.
I wish you knew that real love exists.
I wish you knew that God is good.
I wish you knew that Jesus came for messed up people.
I wish you knew that nothing about you could ever change that.
I wish you knew that your debt has been paid.
I wish you knew that good news is for you, too.
I wish you knew that what you think is freedom, is not really freedom.
But that true freedom is a real thing.
I wish you knew that it's not too late for you.
I wish you knew that healing is real.
I wish you knew that you don't need to hide.
I wish you knew that you don't need to pretend to be someone you're not.
I wish you knew that I love you for who you are.
I wish you knew that I'm not the only one.
I wish you knew how much I want to make your choices for you sometimes.
But I can't.
But I'm not giving up on you.
Because someone didn't give up on me.
I'm hanging on to hope.
And I'll hope for you when you can't bring yourself to believe it's true.
And believe with you for what we can't see yet.
Oh how I want you to taste this love for yourself.
Deep and wide and long and high.
I'll hope for the day that all the lies you've been told will be undone.
And all the tears will be wiped away from your eyes.
And you will see.
That your heart matters.
That you are more thought of, prayed for, worth it, forgiven, known, and loved
Than you know.

Hardheartedness

It's unnerving how quickly I can go from feeling so thankful during my day to feeling bitter and ungrateful about the way things are going. And that's the story of my life recently. Grasping sweet excitement at where I am at this point in my life, only to find myself stuck in frustration the next moment, feeling ungrateful because I feel like I'm behind in life and giving more than I'm getting and feeling underappreciated and I hate it because it makes me bitter towards the people I love.

There's many reasons that are very easy to point out as to what's wrong with my mindset. I know them even more, at least in my head. I know I need a joy that won't change. I know that I am living for a God who sees me when no one else does and His opinion is the one that matters. I know that the reason I'm frustrated is because I'm making life about me and giving with the expectation that somehow I'll get something back eventually.  Which isn't how my Savior has loved me, nor the natural response of someone who knows how extravagantly loved she is, given riches of a love she could never earn.

I opened my Bible yesterday to a chapter section titled “Hardheartedness.” Of course.

It was about some religious men that came up to Jesus, asking why there were instructions for how to handle divorce under the law,  if God's plan for marriage was that a man and woman joined together in marriage wouldn't ever be separated, like Jesus was teaching. Jesus responded that it was because of the people’s hardheartedness that God gave that law, but that wasn’t the original plan. The original plan was that unless adultery was committed; you didn’t just leave when you felt like it.

Hardheartedness is really about stubbornness. Wanting my way instead of God’s way. Forgetting God’s heart and what He’s done for me, abandoning His plan for life that He has whispered in my ear, choosing instead to live by my own standards of what’s right and fair. It keeps me from knowing and living in His love that satisfies and heals and gives life and real joy. “No, no, no, this is not what I want,” My heart hurts as I write out these thoughts and realize what my bitterness is cutting me off from. Also, if God’s plan for my life is to shine for Him, be freely who He made me to be before Him, to know and love God and with all my heart…having one that is hard and resentful stomps all over that. I miss out on the full life God wants to give me, and I stifle the love of God that is supposed to flow from my relationship with Him to people around me.

I don’t want God to have to relate to me through my hardheartedness, around and despite my bitterness. I don’t want to live constantly fighting between His way and my way. I want the real root issue solved. Real healing. A new heart. Living together with my Creator who Jesus taught me to call Father, I want to be and stay on the same page as Him, to walk in step with my Maker with nothing between us or separating us in any way. I want the original plan that Jesus talked about. I want the new, born again life that Jesus came to give, the new heart that He bought for me through His sacrifice on the cross that was enough forever and ever. I want a heart that is free and open to the wonders and majesty and power and closeness and love of my true Father.

When Adam and Eve first chose their own way instead of God’s and shame entered the world, God made clothes for them and covered them. But that wasn’t the original plan. I don’t want to just hide anymore. To cover up and pretend nothing is wrong and close my heart off even more. Especially because somehow I can't help but believe Jesus when He said He has made a way for me to experience real, inside-out healing for my stubbornness. His love covers and I’m grateful. But I don’t want to stay like this, covered but living from a place of what I want instead of His plan.

I need Your heart Lord. The back and forth waves of thankful contentment and silent bitterness push and pull me throughout the day. I’m frustrated at my wandering heart and I know You’re the only one stable enough to be my true refuge, my safe place. Like the quote that a friend shared recently, “The only one who can satisfy the human heart is the One who made it.” What else can I do but keep falling at Your feet, asking You to make me new? I need You if I ever want to fully be the "me" I was created to be. 

Frustrations...a draft from the beginning of the year that I never posted

Some days I am thankful that He knows my heart and thoughts, when I don't have the words to express what I'm feeling and I wouldn't have the strength to say them anyway. Some days I feel worn down and misunderstood and alone, and the taunting voices in my head whisper, "Is it worth it, is it worth it?"

I try to shut out the voices that tell me to give up, that it's too much for me to handle. I already know that. I am living for a life that is so much greater than my own; one that I cannot do without Jesus. And God whispers His strength for me right back to my heart, reminding me that living a life that is impossible without relying on Him is the only way I want to live. Warmth and strength and beautiful hope flood through me as I read Paul's words in his letter to the Corinthians:

"Since God has so generously let us in on what he is doing, we’re not about to throw up our hands and walk off the job just because we run into occasional hard times...Remember, our Message is not about ourselves; we’re proclaiming Jesus Christ, the Master. All we are is messengers, errand runners from Jesus for you. It started when God said, “Light up the darkness!” and our lives filled up with light as we saw and understood God in the face of Christ, all bright and beautiful.

If you only look at us, you might well miss the brightness. We carry this precious Message around in the unadorned clay pots of our ordinary lives. That’s to prevent anyone from confusing God’s incomparable power with us. As it is, there’s not much chance of that. You know for yourselves that we’re not much to look at. We’ve been surrounded and battered by troubles, but we’re not demoralized; we’re not sure what to do, but we know that God knows what to do; we’ve been spiritually terrorized, but God hasn’t left our side; we’ve been thrown down, but we haven’t broken...what Jesus did among them, he does in us—he lives! "

Life lived without Jesus as the King of my life might be easier. But it would NOT be worth it. I don't want a life of easy. I want a life of knowing Him.  And this is hard when it leads me to feel tension where I once felt comfort.

My heart feels like it's being ripped apart because I see emptiness all around me. And sometimes the fight seems impossibly overwhelming.  I see people needing a Rescuer but not even knowing it. 

It's hard because I know this Rescuer. The One who continued to call my name even when I was stubborn and didn't want to hear Him. The One who came and got me when I found myself wondering why life was so empty. The One who I entrusted my empty, and who filled me with life I didn't know existed. It was Jesus who set me free from a life lived for myself, and He who is teaching me daily more and more about what it means to live a life that matters. Knowing Him is a treasure that I cannot put into words.

But it is also knowing Him that makes it so hard. It's hard when the treasure of Jesus here with us seems to go as unnoticed by most of the world as when He was born in a stable, in a crowded town with everyone else concerned and busy with their lives and getting things done that they totally missed it.

I'm frustrated but don't know how to fix it or what to do to make it better. It's hard for me to grasp the fact that there are things I can't change.  But I try, oh how I try. I convince myself it will all be ok if I work harder, pray more, plan better, be more dependable, more loving, spend more time with people. I convince myself that I can. I can do it all. And I keep going until even my stubbornness isn't enough.

I read about Jesus and how He flipped over tables at the temple when He was frustrated and I imagine I am there. Frustrated at the unfairness and exploitation around me and frustrated that I don't see a way out, how it will ever change. And then I hear the crash of a table being thrown. I am shocked to turn to see Jesus. Without stopping He knocks over another. He is yelling something, fury in His voice. Chaos ensues and animals are running and people are yelling  My first reaction is to tell Him to stop. "Are you out of your mind?" I want to ask this Him, "You're disturbing everything!" Yet at the same time there's a part of me that has been longing for someone to do this. To make the wrong things right, things that I feel I am helpless to do anything about. And here is Jesus, doing it in a way that is fierce, bold, intentional, unapologetic.

In the middle of it my confused eyes meet His and I feel held in place by His gaze, like time is frozen. I am afraid but in a good way. Because in this second I just know: He knows.

He knows my frustrations. He hates injustice. He knows what He is doing. And there's something else that I don't know if I can bring myself to really believe because I don't want to get my hopes up. But it's this: that He's fighting for me.

I forget I want Him to be in control, the One who fights for me, the One who holds me when I realize I can't hold it all together. I come before Him protesting and angry and frustrated and wanting things to be different than how they are. And I hear His voice saying, "I am mad about things too." I didn't know that was allowed.

And after the temple has been cleared the blind and the lame come to Him and He heals them. He makes eyes that only saw dark nothingness see color and life and beauty. Hands and legs that couldn't move are waving and dancing. Mouths that couldn't speak are singing to God. The place begins to pulse with life from the most unexpected people.

I didn't think that was allowed. I thought you had to be somebody special.  But here is Jesus healing anyone who comes, bringing life to anyone who wants to find it.

Vulnerability

&%^$#!

That's what I think when I think of vulnerability.

I've been thinking about this topic a lot lately.  And talking about it with a few close friends.  And reading books about other people dealing with it. And recently I've had some time to try to process a few of these things and write them down. And so here they are before I change my mind about sharing my thoughts for everyone to read because of my fears about what people will think about me when I say what I think.

Vulnerability. Even the word just sounds scary. I'm the one much more likely to take deliberate steps that allow me to control what others know and think about me. The idea that giving up that control could ever be a good thing was a new and foreign idea to me. But I was curious. Because somewhere in me I knew my life tactic of never letting anyone have an effect on me that I couldn't control wasn't really working either.

So what do you do? What do you do when you’re trying to stay calm and be in control because you've always thought that is what you have to do, but still you find yourself caught in the middle of conflict, or accusations, or uncomfortable interactions with other people?

In these situations, my mind races back and forth thinking about what to do and how to react, with each contract-and-relax pulse of my rapidly-increasing heartbeat. Be nice, be calm, breathe, don't over-react, don’t let what you’re thinking show on your face. But between each attempt at a reaction that is well-controlled and wisely thought out are the raw-emotion responses that I’ve trained myself so well to suppress. Do you realize what you’re saying? What are you talking about? You make no sense. I don't understand you. And, you're wrong.

It's hard to admit what I mean person I can be on the inside. But since that's what Jesus always spoke directly to, the root issues of the heart, and since He was known for discrediting all efforts to make yourself look good and put together on the outside, I know continuing to pretend I don't think these things isn't hidden from Him, the One who really matters. As much as I have tried to simply will myself not think these things, and to just "be better," I've found that this doesn't actually work very well.

Anyway, while these thoughts are racing around in my mind, the external end result is usually shut down mode. Abort mission, I want out. “Ok, yes, got it, I understand that that is how you feel."  All the while thinking, I do NOT want to deal with this right now. Make it stop. Say any response that will get me out of this volatile place of emotions that I feel like I can’t control.

Possibly one of the most frustrating things in these situations is when all of my attempts to be calm and take deep breaths and respond in an understanding way, even though I don’t feel like it, aren’t acknowledged. Instead, I’m blamed for hiding my “true feelings” or not being genuine. Yes, I know I’m not saying what I really feel. And it’s because I really do think that it’s for everyone’s benefit. Because what is the other option? Me reacting in a backlash statement that I’m going to regret and have to apologize for? Something that I can never take back and that can be used against me forever? Definitely not. Wrestling with my emotions inside my head is messy enough.  Surely hiding them in the safe confines of my mind is where they should stay.

Except that all the things I keep stuffed inside me and try to bury can never be resolved or dealt with by keeping them all to myself. And "all to myself" is kind of a lonely and sometimes very overwhelming place to be. I guess that is a problem. Oh, the process of learning.

So yes. In trying to understand how to respond to these things, I’ve been reading some good books about others who have walked and are walking the path of messy vulnerability.

In her book Rising Strong, Brené Brown defines vulnerability as neither winning nor losing. "It's having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome. Vulnerability is not weakness; it's our greatest measure of courage." (What!? No one ever told me that. Being emotional is a sign of vulnerability, and vulnerability is weakness. Avoid at all costs. Right?)

She also writes about the hard truth of being brave by putting ourselves out there. Something I feel like I knew but didn't want to admit. "We can choose courage or we can choose comfort, but we can't have both. Not at the same time."

So her advice? "Give yourself permission to feel emotion, get curious about it, pay attention to it, and practice. This work takes practice. Awkward, uncomfortable practice." Darn. I thought there'd be some easier way around this, where I don't have to get it wrong first. But, the good stuff? You might be the first person in your life to grant yourself the permission to experience emotion. If you're worried this permission to experience and engage with emotion that will turn you into someone you're not or don't want to become (is she reading my mind?) - it won't. It will, however, give you the opportunity to be your most authentic self.

In his book "Scary Close", Don Miller talks about a list he made in order to help him live a vulnerable life and avoid playing it safe:

Those are brave but scary words, and I currently find myself at a place of considering if those things he calls "freedoms" are worth the risk.

Slowly, I’m getting to the point of acknowledging and paying attention to those things called emotions that come and go throughout my day, rising up in my heart - subtle, internal responses to conversations and relationships and events that often seemingly come from nowhere. I'm learning to remember to ask, "Why am I feeling like this?" instead of dismissing the feeling as irrelevant. And I’m learning, with bittersweet submission, to be okay with the struggle. To accept that I will be misunderstood by others and that I don't often know why I feel things or how to communicate them or even what to do about the nudges of annoyance, sadness, excitement, frustration, anxiety, stress, and happiness that I do feel.

I know without a doubt that all of these things would leave me drowning in a sea of complete hopelessness on my own. But one of the things (among many) that amazes me about Jesus was how He loved people with problems. Big problems. And He loved them in the middle of the problems, not when people looked all nice and put together and "acceptable" to society. He healed, taught, forgave, spent time with, had compassion on, and radically loved the ones who thought of themselves as unconditionally undeserving of all these things. People who actually had every reason to think those things about themselves, except that meeting Jesus changes everything. He Himself was the reason their situations were not utterly hopeless. And He Himself is the reason that I am not utterly hopeless.

I’m learning to find for myself that same grace Jesus has for me in the process. To grab a hold of His love even in my imperfectness and my I'm-not-where-I-want-to-be-yet state. To let myself be loved by Him as I am, in the middle of this process of being healed and learning how to be vulnerable, even if this journey is going to be long and painful and it will require me to stumble my way along rough and rugged terrain.

I've read in the part of the bible called the gospels about how Jesus sent his friends out into the surrounding villages with authority to heal people and cast out demons and tell people that God wanted them. To love people just like they had seen Him doing. Except Jesus also told them not to take any extra food or money or extra clothes for the journey. And what really stuck out to me recently when I was reading this story was that Jesus told them to offer the good news about the accessibility of the kingdom of God first, regardless of how people would treat them for bringing this news. Going out with nothing extra, no plan B, and loving people without knowing how they would respond - now that's scary vulnerability.

But, it’s how Jesus did things. And what He taught His followers to do. He was always the first one to reach out. He forgave the ones that weren’t even sorry. He loved in the most gut-wrenchingly painful way that would make me want to crawl into a hole and protect my heart and dignity. But Jesus put His love on display even when people thought He was stupid and making a total fool out of Himself.

John, one of Jesus' closest friends on earth, later wrote about Jesus, “We love because He loved us first." It's Jesus' kind of love, the kind that isn't afraid to be vulnerable, that calls me out of my hiding place, crawling and feeling my way along the path that My Savior is leading me on, a road that He knows well because He walked it first. He loved me first, through the insecurities and mess-ups and pride and ignorance, and has promised to leave me never. He is the only hope and reason I have to keep hoping. And slowly but surely, I know He is turning my thoughts and fears of vulnerability right-side up, even when I can’t fully see what that looks like yet.

But what I can’t see now, I can hope for from what I do already know. It was through the shame and brokenness, the complete ultimate vulnerability of being nailed to a cross that Jesus rose to life again in strength and power and victory. This is the story He invites us to. He is no stranger to vulnerability, shame, and brokenness, but His rising to life brings hope that even death can’t destroy. I want to see this happen in my life too, for the things I'm afraid to be vulnerable with. My request is like that of the one blind man who met Jesus along the road, before Jesus opened his eyes.

“What is it that you want me to do for you?", Jesus had asked him.

"Lord", the man responded, "I want to see."

I want to see too. I want to see why being vulnerable is worth the risk. I want to see why I would want embrace the process of being broken when what I really want to do is run away and hide. I want to see the not-yet-fully-seen hope of healing that awaits on the other side of vulnerability, even when there's no other way to reach it than by confronting the messy parts head on.

So Jesus, please, help me. I want to see.

He is Faithful

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful." -Hebrews 10:23

Looking back in my journal from what I wrote 2 months ago, before moving to Buffalo and starting a new job and meeting new people and attempting to do things that I didn't feel prepared to do, I'm reminded of what Jesus has done. How faithful He has been. Where He has brought me from and what He has brought me through and where He is bringing me. It's something that even since writing it a short 2 months ago I have experienced to be true again and again: He who promised is faithful.

8/24/15

There's so many changes happening and I don't know how this is all going to work out. How I will pay for things and how I will live with all these other people. How I will be able to help the overwhelming amount of patients where I'll be working. I don't know how to start the discipleship group that God put on my heart to have, or who will be in it or if anyone will even come. I'm hanging on for dear life to Jesus. Because I just don't know, but I know that this isn't the first time I've felt like this, or that Jesus has proven Himself so, so faithful.

I remember when I didn't know why I felt so strongly about doing my thesis on water purification and how it related to malnutrition in developing countries. When idea after idea for the experiment I needed to come up with kept falling through and I was out of options and time was ticking. And I somehow stumbled onto a plant that could purify water, and was able to base my experiment off it and miraculously graduate on time. 

I remember when I said yes to an organization I had previously never heard of, to spend 7 months in Africa after graduating when I was supposed to be taking a certification exam and finding a job. When I had no idea what kind of nutrition help they needed or what they could offer and they told me they needed help with was the exact same plant I had used in my thesis study.

I remember going to Ivory Coast knowing barely any French or what I was doing and 7 months later being able to explain in my non-native tongue to a father how to manage his young son's diabetes with the education materials that had been written in French for a diabetes support group we had started. This was so not me. It was all completely just GOD. 

I remember coming back knowing nothing again and waiting waiting waiting for something to do next, frustrated and impatient and unstable. And even though I didn't deserve it He was constant, patient, and unmoving, and I came to know Him even more as the anchor for my wandering and restless soul. 

I remember when I wanted to get involved with refugees in Buffalo and was matched with a mentee and had no idea how to communicate with her or what we would do together. And watching her baby being born and hearing her say at the end of our "mentorship" that it never mattered what we ended up doing because just that we were able to spend time together made all the difference.

I remember when I was invited to be leader as a part of a group called Young Life, an outreach to teenagers that involves going where the kids are and living life with them wherever they are at so that they will have a chance to hear and know and respond to the good news that is Jesus, and every part of me that wanted to stay in my comfort zone fought the idea. I didn't like teenagers, I had no idea how to relate to them or how it would work out. And even with this, all Jesus needed was my yes because He changed my heart to love these kids and know their names, stories, and lives. He gave me a family made up of the other leaders that I serve with and have grown with and been challenged by, and all I can say looking back is that God is so GOOD in the middle of it all. He is faithful when I don't know (which is often). But I know Him and that He is God, again and again, and He will not fail. 

So here we go again. Trusting over all the unknowns that Jesus is greater. And knowing that I will see His faithfulness again, experiencing His grace and provision and things that would be impossible on my own. His power, love, forgiveness, freedom, joy. Him. Jesus. I don't ever want to stop knowing Him and falling in love.

The Will of the Father

After returning from spending almost 2 weeks in Haiti, I am surprised by how easy it all seemed to transition there and then home again. One day I am bouncing over a narrow crowded street on a taptap, the smells of street food and sweat filling my nose between the gusts of dusty wind that gets blown into my face. (A taptap is the Haitian version of a taxi, basically a truck bed with benches and then covered with a metal roof).The next, I am driving to my house along smooth familiar roads to see my family again, a place that is comfortable and can make me feel like I never left.

It's strange (and kind of concerning) how easy it is for me to go from place to place without thinking too deeply about anything and really looking for what the Lord is doing around me in the "ordinary-ness" of life, asking Him and listening to what my role is in it, or how He is calling me to be a part of it.

But I want to think about it. I want to ask, and listen, and be changed.

I want to be intentional about letting Jesus transform my heart daily, and wreck my life for anything other than a life lived radically for Him. I don't want to be a casual observer of the life that is going on around me. I want to be learning and growing, being challenged and stretched to love more and follow closer.

I met three little girls during my time there who shared my name. The girl from the village who I got to speak French with. One little girl from another village who barely spoke at all. And another little baby who came to the clinic we held at our guest house, carried in her mother's arms. "Her name is Christine," she tells me, so that I can write down her name on a card, part of a system we are using to keep track of the hundreds of patients we saw that week. At one point the thought just hits me: any one of those girls could have been me.

I wonder what would change in my life if I really knew that. I know that God has specifically given me that life I have for a reason. But it is NOT so that I would do nothing for the ones whose situations I wouldn't want to be in myself.

A story that I read recently and have been thinking about is the one Jesus told about a great banquet. The master of the house had prepared an amazing meal, and called his servant and sent him out, telling them that the dinner was ready, and to come! But all the people who were invited made excuses. In one way or another, all the invited people gave the same answer. "I'm busy with this or that or money or my job or other people.  Please excuse me, I just can't come,"

What is God's reaction supposed to be when we turn down His invitations to experience the life He has for each one of us?

Also. The most ironic part? The ones invited didn't realize that this banquet was far better than anything else they were occupying their time with or obsessing over.

In this God is teaching me something important, something that I so needed to hear in my life right now. It's a lesson on the will of God, and it's bringing to light some common beliefs about it that just aren't true. Like the idea that, "Oh, I'll just do whatever I want to do and if God wants something different for my life He'll just change it". No. There is a way to be in a place in my life that my Father doesn't desire for me. And I don't want be there. I don't want to miss the life HE planned for me to have.

I don't know about a lot of things in my life right now. A lot of things are uncertain and needing answers. But I know that there is no other voice I want to be listening to for guidance than the One who created me and knows all of my days. I don't want to answer any other invitation to life except the one that Jesus invites me to, a life that is full in ways that I don't quite know or understand yet, but that I can only trust is better than my own ways and excuses and more than I could ever ask for or imagine.

The difference between being nice and being LOVE

The struggle is real because I feel like so often the two words are confused with each other. It's like they're interchangeable, synonymous, but I really don't think they are. At all. There's this rebellious part of my heart that makes me want to fight this idea that love is "nice". Maybe especially because I struggle with figuring out how to really live out the differences in my own life.

When I hear the word nice, I think of pleasant. Proper. Sweet. Good, agreeable. Getting along with everybody.

It's like I see these words painted with neat handwriting in their own neat colors and I just want to take my hands and mess up all the colors and words until it's a multicolored chaos on the paper.

As someone trying to follow Jesus, when I look at His life I realize that neat and proper and "nice" is NOT what He taught. "Nice" was NOT the life He lived. 

The life He lived was scandalous. He talked to "different" people that He shouldn't have talked to. He stood up for the guilty and accused woman when she should have been stoned to death. He flipped over tables and called the religious people hypocrites. And then He forgave them when they had Him killed on a cross for speaking the truth. He touched people with disgusting, contagious skin disease and smeared mud on a blind man's eyes to heal them. The life He lived was dirty, messy, wild, and driven by a love that was absolutely crazy and near impossible for people to comprehend. It left people without words, stunned with awe at the grace and fierceness of His teachings and actions. 

So I guess this is my prayer...to love like that, to live like the one that I claim to follow. And to know what that even looks like and how it plays out in real life. To live with a fire burning in my heart, and in such a way that people won't be confused through my life at the difference between being "nice" and "good" and truly loving like Jesus taught me to.