al fresco

Sometimes I think I need a lot more than I have.  Whether it is money or looks or popularity or intelligence, all too often I'm searching for ways to get more...

And then on nights like tonight, when it is six o'clock and still seventy degrees outside and we clean off the patio table and bring the pasta outside, I sit in awe of what I already have.  For a few moments tonight, everything felt so peaceful, the kind of peace that demands a sigh of wonder and a gentle thank you, Jesus.

It's funny how simple it is.  A box of pasta, some leftover chicken, a little cooking creme, and a few sauteed tomatoes.  Water and Arnold Palmer.  Mumford & Sons in the background.  I could have sat outside all night looking at my husband, talking with him about anything that came across our minds.  And it took so little money, no fancy clothes, no important company, and certainly no special degree in anything.  In between all the big things in life- the announcements, the new relationships, the dream home purchases, the promotions, and the celebrations- I want to remember that the thousands of moments that come before and after those are equally as beautiful, and equally as important.  In those short moments in life when you really believe you have all you need, something magical happens... because you understand for a minute that it has nothing to do with things and everything to do with love.  God and people.  All we need.

In the wisdom of Mumford & Sons... where you invest your love is where you invest your life.

I should have included this in my wedding vows: Alex, I promise to eat al fresco with you anytime, anywhere.  

          

Queen Kristin: dethroned.

I have been actively poking at and experimenting in the struggles and triumphs of the with God life. I explained last time about how hurry is frequently and tragically the substitute for God in my own experience. Hurry is a common culprit of life emerged in the lavished grace of God.

And here, my friends, is the second culprit. It’s called the ‘with me’ life. I have found in the recent weeks that my brain is constantly centered around, conscious of and attending to the will of someone. Ideally, in life eternal, that someone should be and would be my creator: the loving God of the universe, whom spoke in light and deemed me worthy of breath. But in all irony and sad contrast, the person whom my thoughts and actions attract back to is… me. Creator of nothing, covered in darkness and ignorant of breath except if it is in need of freshening up with a mint or chewing gum.

There is a little kingdom of the temporary that I rule over. In this kingdom, life is about me. My wants. My desires. My needs. Me. I am an expert of operating in this kingdom. In this land, I fight for control, I nod my head in approval of my self-sufficiency, and I parade around in invisible garments of fulfillment, productiveness, and contentment, much like the emperor in his new clothes. I am often under the impression that I have it all figured out, or in a momentary slip of control, I will quickly find the way back to the reins. This is how our world works. It’s how it operates. And it’s scary because it’s fake. It’s invisible. It’s embarrassing.

True reality reveals one true kingdom, with a God that is so above us that he is without need. Talk about self-sufficiency! He doesn’t need me. He doesn’t need you. He doesn’t need love, or honor or glory from us. He has all the glory the universe could offer, because he created glory. He has love that’s deeper than the vastest ocean because his breath first spoke it. He needs nothing. He is one hundred percent without necessity, and yet, he wants us. He desperately, achingly wants the hearts that he created to want him back. So, like any good-hearted Christian out there, I claim I want him back. I sing in church about my desire for him above all else. But do I need him? Do I live in a way that demands an all-out frantic need for my savior? Or am I proud of my naïve façade of self-sufficiency? Every single time I place myself back on the throne of my life, my conscious need for God dies a little bit. A life with… me? Is this broken, shaken, temporary girl truly the ruler of all that is?

A life with God requires an accurate view of his grandness and majesty. In turn, it means mandatory head tilts towards my own frailty and inability. A life with God is more than stating once that God is on the throne. With God life means actively, repetitively, dethroning myself day in and day out. A life with God means falling to my knees, overwhelmed by my thirst and fainting need of the God that will never truly need me. It means sitting in the mysteriously impossible truth that he still wants me. Rulers need not apply. There is but one kingdom to be sought, and may that kingdom come.

necessary new

 Monday morning after resurrection Sunday… I wonder what this day was like 2000 years ago?  The word was spreading, some had seen him, others could not possibly believe it, but Jesus of Nazareth was alive!  I imagine this Monday— as the hours passed and more and more people touched his hands and heard his voice— was one of unmatched celebration, of joy too grand for words, of a reality nobody knew how to live in quite yet other than to fall on their knees…  because Jesus, he really is Emmanuel, he really is the King of all Kings, and he really did all He said he would do.  He loved his children enough to make all things new. 

There has not been a more beautiful Monday in all of history.

And this is our Jesus today, as much as 2000 years ago.  He shows up in our lives when we are in desperate need of new.  All too often I live like it is still Friday, as if darkness overwhelms light in the world, as if I have more to be anxious about than grateful for.  But hope is stronger and faith is greater than anything.  Friday passed.  The disciples waited.  Sunday came.  And Monday followed.  If God can redeem death, he can redeem me.  He can make my heart new.  He can make my eyes new.  He can make my words new.  He still loves his children enough to make all things new.  And I desperately need new.  Don’t we all?

It will come.  Oswald Chambers writes that, “The Holy Spirit is the deity of God who continues to apply the power of the atonement by the Cross of Christ to our lives.  Thank God for the glorious and majestic truth that His Spirit can work the very nature of Jesus into us…”

Thank God for new, because we can’t stay where we are, we were made for so much more.

After a long Northwest winter, the freesia still blooms and smells like Heaven.  But we have to wait through winter to see the colors of spring.  I know in life that the Fridays will come and the Saturdays will be awful, but I believe too that Sunday always comes and Mondays always follow.  For purposes so much greater than ourselves, in ways so much more elaborate and creative than we could ever think up on our own, we are being made new.  And like the people who saw Jesus on Monday, I am still learning how to live in this reality.  New but not perfect.  Free and yet sinful.  Faithful but anxious.  Loved by a gracious God and always battling discontent.  And still, his mercies are new every morning, because every morning, we find again that we need them.

Today is new, and I am so, so grateful.        

getting half done in twice the time

Austin and I have a home in Illinois now. A home with creaky floors, neighbors we only could have dreamed up, and no garbage disposal. A home that fits us, suits us and gives off a sweet aroma of limitless potential. This home housed memories of a family before, and is now the inviting space that will weave and link our lives together as the backdrop to our combined story. Moving, as it sounds, produces a life in constant motion. Purging of the old, replacing with the new, taking apart, putting back together, arranging, re-arranging, lists that get together and seem to reproduce more lists, and endless trips to the store, all in an effort to stop the moving and eventually graduate into ‘moved.’ Motion and speed look so shiny and inviting in their emptied promises of productivity, but I’m learning and re-learning that there’s no room for God in a tornadoed life of movement.

I’ve been diving deeper into what it looks like to live, breathe and operate in a ‘with God’ way. Thanks in large part to Brother Lawrence and the man I lovingly refer to as my ‘old man crush’, John Ortberg, I have been experimenting with just how many moments during my day I can spend in awareness and surrender to God. I’ve taken note of the what steals my attention, I have embraced the sights, sounds and people that bring God beautifully back to the forefront of my mind, and I’ve been broken over how easily I replace the well-spring of my life with empty, meaningless folly. Nevertheless, victory has come in small steps, often in the form of acknowledging the culprits of the ‘with God’ life.

So as I experiment, I will share the schemes and devious ways of these offenders. I will line them up along the wall, measure them against the grandness of our God and squash them by the power of the resurrection. So here’s culprit number one: hurry. I have recognized that unless I make some major changes in my life, busyness may not be practical to fight or give up. I love being busy because usually that means I see and talk to a variety of different people. I learn boatloads about myself, my world and my God from the people I daily interact with, and if busyness means learning, I’m planning on staying busy. Hurry, on the other hand is the vicious and untapped force behind my busy life. It robs me of the joy in between meetings and turns a gathering into nothing more than quick, rehearsed interactions. Lifeless and ordinary as opposed to what they could be: fulfilling and divine. Hurry would make the moment I’m living right now a disengaged deadline, but take a look with me at what can happen when thirty seconds of hurried life stops to notice in a ‘with God’ way…

There’s nothing like a big desk to spread out on. I swear the bigger the desk, the bigger my thoughts become. I adore my Aunt Cheryl for giving me these heavenly French chocolate bowls from Anthropologie. She seems to embody generosity. There’s so much I can learn from her. I’ve never noticed that when strawberries are this fresh, they burst in my mouth. How great is our God to give us these hues of spring. A tree that buds in violet? Wow. Good one, God.

How deeply I long for the with God life. Want to know the perfect day to practice the slowed, ‘with God’ life? Sunday. This past Sunday, Austin and I went to church early and then went to the gym together. After I had finished my workout, I stretched in the corner and marveled at how badly I’d taken advantage of the Sabbath. In my own pride, I often think I’m exempt from this important spiritual practice. So, on my yoga mat, I made a commitment that for the next five minutes I’d do everything I was already planning to do, but at half the speed. I gave hurry the finger (in a Christ-like way) and intentionally operated in slow motion. I’m not kidding, this is super uncomfortable at first. I walked by strangers and put weights away at an elderly speed and battled the thoughts that tried to convince me of the sheer annoyance I was putting off to all those around me. How inconsiderate of me to move at a speed that invites and recognizes God to be the true Lord of a moment. Nice try, culprit.

Peace. Perfect, uninterrupted peace followed. Peace to know that I was on a schedule that was not my own. Peace to take in. Peace to give out. Peace, precious peace.

So I’m embracing my rebel side like never before and vowing to get half done in twice the amount of time. I chuckle to myself thinking of that last sentence on the cover of a magazine at the grocery store. I’m taking this vow because in the heavenly realms (true reality) I know that I’ll be getting twice as much done for eternity while quietly removing myself from the buzz and lure of the temporary. I’ll gladly take last place in the race of this world if my speed towards heaven is steadily increasing with each passing breath. So with the burst of a strawberry and time to spare, I invite you to walk alongside me. There’s room for us all in the ‘with God’ life.