where i think big and feel small

I grew up going to a big church. Huge, actually. The kind that has its own lake to do baptisms and its own ministry for the amount of cars donated. Willow means more than a tree to me. It’s huge, but it’s home. It’s home because I’ve planted flowers by the chapel with my dad. It’s home because of the smell the old auditorium has, and it’s home because it’s where I first heard truth and met others that lived truth out. This weekend the worship team led us through a profoundly simple hymn.

You made this world. You made this world. You made this world. Thank you. Thank you.

These words. Minimal and to the point. Repeated for affect, and so refreshing to me this week.

Upon entering Kristin’s brain and taking note of the popular thoughts over the past few months, one might be surprised to find a subtle cynicism towards this world, it’s issues, and the people in it. It doesn’t take much to dim the shade of my rose-colored glasses until all I can see is darkness. The oppression, the injustice, the overall craziness creates an angst in me that I don’t know what to do with.

You made this world. You made this world. You made this world. Thank you? Thank you?

If beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder, what exactly am I beholding these days? What view of this world would cause me to recklessly and radically thank the God that created it?

One of the most beautiful places I go is to the top of the hill at Indian Prairie elementary school. I visited this hill with Maisy, (the one dog I can have a full conversation with) after I got home from church on Sunday. There’s real beauty found on this hill because 1.) it floods me with memories of being young and free, 2.) it’s quiet and stoic and looks over a loud and busy town 3.) it forces me to think big and feel small. I watched my dog relentlessly concentrating to identify and enjoy each unknown smell, I closed my eyes as the crisp, fall wind blew the last of the season’s dandelion particles up the hill, and I breathed deeper the beautiful parts of the hill, the surroundings, the world. At least for a moment the overall craziness was no match for the overwhelming goodness in front of me. All I could think and quietly sing were those simple words, this time with reinvigorated meaning and penetrating authenticity.

You made this world. You made this world. You made this world. Thank you. Thank you!

There is good happening. There is hope being discovered. There is joy being lived out and there is unbearable beauty that should catch me and cut off my breath. Do I see this world as a masterpiece of a beautiful God? Or am I a piece of the problem the master longs to restore back to beauty? 

God, help me to behold the beauty you’ve put on display. May my shades of gray be warmed into colors that beam with your goodness. May my hardened heart be softened by the good you’re doing and still promise to do.  And may I find hope in a place that defaults to darkness, secure in the illuminating truth that the battle has been won.

Remind me of Steven...

“Remind me, Jesus, yet again

Of all Thine anguish and distress,

Remind me of Thy soul’s deep pain…

Ah, it is true, Our Lord and Savior, that not even in this respect dare we rely upon our own strength, as though we were able of ourselves to recall impressively enough to retain steadily this remembrance of Thee, we would so much rather dwell upon the joyful side than upon the sorrowful, we who all of us desire for ourselves good days and the peace and security of happy times, we who prefer to remain unaware in a profounder sense of the dreadful things, lest, as we foolishly think, they might make our happy life gloomy and serious…”

-Soren Kierkegaard

We all want a happy life.  We want good jobs, nice homes, new-enough cars and a closet full of presentable fashion.  Nobody wants to wonder where the next meal will come from.  Nobody grows up dreaming about their glamorous life on the streets.  And I sure don’t think there are many young girls who believe that the occupation matching their level of dignity involves the physical abuse of strangers.  No, that cannot be how little children bearing the image of the perfect Creator come into the world.  They are full of hope and promise and potential and have no idea of the limits the world will put on them when they are dreaming their young dreams.

I am a white American female, born to a middle-class family with a father who worked very hard to climb the corporate ladder (with complete integrity, I should add) and a mother who stayed home and had close to perfect attendance at every field trip and soccer game we ever had.  My life is the definition of blessed potential.

Steven is a Colombian male, born to a very poor family as one of several siblings with a father who is gone and a mother for whom it is all she can do to get out of bed every day and attempt to take care of her children.  Steven does not know how to read or write.  His life is the definition of the least of these.  And the only difference between me and little Steven: where we born— nothing either one of us earned or deserved.    

I don’t think that because so much of the world lives in poverty that we are all supposed to.  And I don’t think that because I was blessed to be born where I was as the person I am that means I should immediately move to a third world country and try to be a poor Colombian in the name of justice.  But I do think that among the many things I ask God for on a daily basis, one of them should be for Him to remind me of the things that break his heart.  It is so easy for me to go about my day in the pursuit of success and comfort, while all around me people are hurting, crying, hungry and without hope.  The least of these… the people nearest to the heart of God are most often far from mine…

I heard a story a few years ago from a well-known speaker about her young daughter, who was fascinated by flashlights.  As they checked out of the Wal-Mart with a new flashlight in hand, this little girl immediately looked up at her mother and said, “Mommy, Mommy, can we please go find some darkness?”  What wisdom there is in those words…  We have the light the world is looking for, why are we so afraid to ask for darkness?  In our pursuit of a life that is financially secure and a home that looks like it could be on pintrest, are we missing the pleas of the prophets*, the commands of God*, and the direction of Jesus*—all of them telling us to spend our lives doing everything except worrying about ourselves. 

*Isaiah 58: 6-11

*Micah 6:8

*Matthew 25:31-40/Luke 12:33

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None of this is new to you.  It is not new to me.  The discomfort of the pursuit of comfort in my own life has been nagging at me for the past year.  And I cannot do much today that will have a world-changing impact by tomorrow.  But I can keep my eyes open.  I can ask God for a broken heart.  My prayer requests are consistently things like please keep us safe and healthy, be with my friend who is struggling with this, help this to go well for me or my loved ones… And please don’t hear me say I am going to stop praying for these things—because I won’t, in fact I want to pray protection and happiness over the people I love my entire life. 

But, please, Lord, do not let me forget the least of these… keep close to my mind and heart all of the people who are longing for a hope that you offer… never let my world get so small that I forget you care so much more about the orphans and the widows and the homeless than you do about my next car.  I want you to remind me of Steven.  Teach me what it really looks like to live in my tiny corner of the Northwest like Jesus did—confident in His Father, bold in His faith, fair in His love, passionate in His convictions, living for your Kingdom to come on earth.      

it can wait

Katie came to visit this weekend. Extended amounts of laughter, self-discoveries and dark chocolate were to be expected. We sat down at the corner window table of the Wheaton Starbucks at 10 am and at about 12:15 pm we got up nearly having to catch our breath from the non-stop questioning, encouraging, dreaming. We walked around the farmers market, talking. Bought some daisies and an independent jazzy artist’s CD, talking. Shopped for snacks at Trader Joes, talking. Plopped on opposite ends of our sectional couch, talking. Got on the train in our sweaters, talking. And searched endlessly for a place to meet Austin for dinner, quietly. (Let’s face it, at this point we had walked the city and found ourselves too hungry to think of new topics.) I have been wanting to get my oil changed in my car for a couple weeks, but this weekend, it could wait. I had been meaning to call back this new FCA contact, but that could wait too. I was long-overdue to pay attention to my eye-brows, but all of that could wait because of the special time I was spending with my Spokane- residing best friend.

Yesterday was the 2^nd anniversary of the day Austin and I got to declare to the world, (or to about 65 of our dedicated and directionally competent friends and family) that our love was one we were willing to deepen and be committed to forever. We got married two years ago and even though our marriage is like a preemie compared to my parents’ 33 years, it is a preemie so cute and full of potential that we decided to celebrate it. We looked through the pictures of the familiar fall colors, remembering how chilly I was during the last prayer of the ceremony, how the rain fell the minute everyone sat safely inside the tent, and how we danced fearlessly and ridiculously because, well, we could.

Last night, I got to sit across from my husband and explain what he did well this past year. I got to tell him how much he challenges me, how proud I am to be his wife and how richly blessed I feel to get to talk through and walk through our days together. All the plans, scheduling, chores, relationships, and blog writing in the world could wait because of this man and what he means to me.

Who in your life is so unmistakably important that you gladly put the world on hold while you two sit and chat? Who is worth the line, ‘that can wait, I’m with ______ right now’?

This morning, God was that important. I sat and wrestled distraction. I prayed and battled doubt. I read and fought off mental to-do lists.

I sat, rested, and embraced the Holy presence of God because of one active thought pattern on repeat… it can wait.

I’m kinda tired… it can wait.

My closet is really messy… it can wait.

Breakfast is the most important meal of the… it can wait

I need to write a list of things to do today… it can wait.

I’ve got to start reading… it can wait.

I should really wash this dish before the cereal crusts over… it can wait.

I want to email… it can wait.

I need to text that person and tell them I’m praying for them… it can wait.

…

…

…

Strength will rise as you wait upon the Lord.

…

…

…

I need to write the blog post about this... even that can wait.

To be honest, I'm not always that good at saying, it can wait.  In fact there are an embarrassing amount of mornings my priorities look like this: ‘God can wait, I’m with my blanket and pillow right now,’ or 'God can wait, I'm with Matt Lauer right now.'  And you know what? Those days are tragic. I know I'm not filled up to extraordinarily love how God would have me love, I'm not equipped to detect lies from a mile away, and I'm not reflecting the light my savior has called me to shine into dark places. And unlike my facebook, those things can't wait. So help me get there. Check in on me to make sure I'm putting all else on hold. For HE is worth it and will be tomorrow too.

the dream table

What do you get when you combine two incredibly extroverted friends, iced coffee, and an early Friday morning?  You get that table you wish you were not sitting by at Starbucks because you can no longer focus on your morning paper over the “oh myyy gossshh” and “that’s amazziinggg” and “I’m sooo exciteddd for youuu” statements.  My dear friend, Emily, and I… we are not quiet or shy with our emotion.  Pretty much if we think it, we say it, and when we say it, we feel it for each other.  It makes for one heck of a friendship.  It does not make for a good reading environment if you are anywhere near us and for that, I am sorry (kind of… because it is open seating at Starbucks, and you are more than welcome to either eavesdrop or move {insert somewhat smug smile here}).

I love this time.  And I love it even more now that Emily has deemed it our “dream table.” 

The conversations that happen around this table are a lot of things: they are hopeful and encouraging and sometimes thought provoking and often hard.  But they are always real.  One of us is confessing that we want to check our heart when it comes to material things, never replacing the Giver with the gift.  The other saying that she totally gets it, and has to remind herself all the time not to compare who has more or dresses better.  Then we talk about adoption (“does it sound crazy to you?”), serving out of our comfort zone (“should we put ourselves out there?”), church (“what did you get out of it?”), body image (“oh sheesh, it never gets better than college!”), raising kids (“how can I inspire them?”) … and how to live in the balance of all of those things with an accurate view of Jesus in the center of it all.  It is not easy to do that, and that is why we need the dream table.

Here are the rules for sitting at the dream table: You have to be 100% honest.  Whether we agree or disagree with each other, we have to say what we are really thinking no matter how much we know the other person won’t want to hear it, or else we won’t be growing—and therefore never really living.  You have to be 100% vulnerable.  If you aren’t willing to share the insecurities, the mistakes, or the depths of who you are and what you have been through with the people sitting across from you, the dream table is probably not going to be your thing.  And you have to be 100% there.  You have to fully guard that time at the dream table as sacred time, willing to learn, willing to put out of your mind the agenda for the rest of your day, willing to let some serious holy humbling happen to you.

The thing about life is that we don’t really know as much as we think we do.  Kristin wrote so beautifully last week about the few truths we really can hold on to in life, but outside of those, most of what we do and how we live is simply one foot in front of the other, often in the dark, sometimes feeling totally alone, and every once in a walking straight in to a wall when we were so sure the door was open.  I think we will live between the tensions of our lives here in this world and the desperate longing for our real home until the day we get there, and the answers about how to do that well are not always that tangible.  But to tell you the truth, I feel a lot closer to answers at the dream table.  If nothing else, I feel more confident in what that next step in the dark is or isn’t, because I was vulnerable enough to share it and my friend was honest enough to tell me what she thought.

A few years from now, we might look back at our time at the dream table and remember that it was the place so many ideas were born and encouraged, so many topics covered, so many tears cried, and so many prayers offered.  And what could be better than that?  If you can find a table and a few gals to pull up a chair and together put your messy lives out there, you’ll be better for it.  We have a mighty mission in front of us: doing our part to let God’s kingdom come on earth.  And we all have a part.  Learning how to live this out, in word and in action, just might start at your dream table. 

what i know for sure

I must confess: I have been putting off this entry. Today’s post has been in the works in my mind for um… two weeks. Not because of the complexities of material, the poetic details, or intricacies of thought… no… simply because I have NO idea where to start.

I’ve spent the past couple weeks engulfed with information. I’m one of those people who will choose to read about six books at a time. I’ll begin reading a book about humility, be drawn by an author that I love that’s written about grace, receive a recommendation from a person I trust of a book I NEED TO READ NOW (I mean, it’s life changing), all the while, I’m half-way into two assigned books from work, a book I’ve started in a study, and oh yeah, the WORD of God every once in awhile.

It’s gotten to the point that I’m bringing my kindle to “workout.” I place my reader on the front of the treadmill as I walk at a slight incline. Yes, I walk uphill at a slight incline. This coming from the girl who had to do lunges and sprints up the track stadium bleachers at ASU. (If you know the track bleachers, you’ll be impressed. If you are a track athlete, volleyball players probably don’t impress you.)  I still remember running 400’s with my team while some Olympic track and field athletes were training in Tempe. First off, why are volleyball players running 400’s? Secondly, that was embarrassing. As embarrassing as admitting you're a 25 year old that walks uphill for a workout? Eh, it's a toss-up. 

All this to say, the information darting through my brain has made the start of this post nearly impossible. Theories. Ideas. Opinions. Tactics. Practices. Musings. All great. All thought-provoking. But missing one common theme. Truth.

I don’t know much about this life. I know even less about the one to come. But in the midst of jumbled jibber jabber what quietly raises back up to the surface of my mind is what I know for sure. What I’m certain of, and what I base my life around. And even though you may think this entry is one giant contradiction because you think the statements I’m about to make are my opinions, I invite you to dig a little deeper and start dialogue with someone you trust about what exactly YOU know for sure.

The fear and wonder it took to create me is worth writing about.

The grace I call amazing is worth singing about.

The weakness of God is stronger than I’ll ever be.

True love is dying for someone without caring if they ever acknowledge it.

The more trying I do the more imperfect I become.

I know a man that is the same today as he was yesterday. And will be forever perfect.

When I breathe my last, I’ll know true freedom. In heaven with a good and gracious God.

And Lastly, the Chicago Cubs will again win the World Series… (that one’s for my mom.)

my least favorite word

I can tell you with full assurance that I am better at writing than I am at living.  Sometimes I wrap up an entry and feel somewhat decent about what meaning it held for me and the meaning I hope you glean from it.  In spite of that momentary impact, it does not take me long to move on, to forget the momentum beginning in my heart, and to jump with two feet fully back in to the world writing takes me out of for a brief time.  I realize stating up front that I am a hypocrite in every way is not the best way to open this— shattering any credibility I may have built.  But it needed to be said.  I needed to say it to myself.  I am incapable of consistency- in my actions, thoughts, emotions, and disciplines.  What I tell you not to worry about, I will find myself worrying about the very same thing shortly after.  What I think is a silly argument you are having with your husband, I will have an even more ridiculous one within 48 hours- count on it.      

My mind can be a cacophony of thoughts.  And cacophony is my least favorite word, so that is not a good thing.  The whole word is ugly and sounds gross both as I say it and hear it.  And it really is tough to pull any positive meaning out of cacophony: loudness, harshness, disharmony, unmelodiousness.  When is any of that good?  Certainly not when you feel like it is happening in your life. 

I tend to want to blame all of this noise on the fact that I can just be too high-strung, energetic and opinionated, and that if I lighten up a bit the noise will settle.  But I don’t think that’s the answer.  To be perfectly honest, I have no answer.  I do have some ideas about where to find peace and I am betting they have to do with Jesus- but I would be totally lying and insincere if I ended this entry by pretending I know something will change simply by writing down what I think needs to change.

But I don’t think I am alone in this.  I think chances are if you are a living, breathing human being, you hear a lot of noise in your life.  Pray more.  Read your Bible today.  Get a workout in.  Are we being generous enough with our time and money? Don’t buy that magazine, you’ll only compare yourself to who is inside.  Did you call her back yet?  Oh, wow, that woman should not be wearing that skirt.  Shoot, the towels are still in the washing machine.  Why didn’t I volunteer for that?  Am I enough?  Does my life—my heart—make Jesus proud?  (That can be about thirty-five seconds in my brain, and this is without kids.  Please stay my friend when I actually do have one—it is likely to get real ugly then).

I wish I knew where all the noise comes from.  I wish I could control the switch that turns it on and off.  I wish the anxiety, guilt, and that paralyzing sense of feeling misunderstood that comes with it would just go away.  But life is not that simple.  This is the noise that echoes in our hearts all the time: should we have another child?  Did the doctor figure anything out?  Should I support my husband when to my core I disagree?  Did you hear about the accusation against the pastor?  Can we afford it?  Were you able to find a job? Is their marriage ok?  Should I be at home with my baby or continue working?

And what does God say in response: be still.  And in even the shortest moment of quiet you can manage, remember who I am.  I am before time and beyond it.  I formed the ground you stand on, the legs you walk on, and the arms you carry all of the things you love in.  I know your heart, your fears and your dreams more intimately than even you do.  And when things are the most confusing, just remember it is finished, everything you could not do, I did.  Your condemnation went to the cross with me, and I left it there.  Be still.  I want only your heart, you can’t bring me anything else more lovely.  And I’m waiting for you.    

I can only manage today and the noise I hear right now.  I won't be able to change the fact that every day will bring a new noise, and that I will continue to wrestle with the tension of it.  But I can be still.  And maybe all the quiet moments we slowly but surely carve out for our hearts will become the sweetest parts of our walk with Jesus, and maybe we will simply live our way into the melody that brings rest, not confusion.  Maybe the sum of a lifetime's worth of stillness is how we drown out the noise in order to hear the music God is playing: sounds of justice, of burdens being lifted, oppression being broken, slaves being set free, orphans given a home, the hungry being fed, hope being offered to the broken.  Those things we should listen for... I wonder if all the other noise would drown out if we did...

two words that changed everything

The other day I asked Austin what he thought of the name, Autumn. I think it’s just lovely due in large to the fact that its synonymous with fall. I haven’t gotten to experience the crisp bites of autumn air in it’s season’s entirety for years, so I get soft butterflies in my stomach when I can smell the changes and feel the shift in my bones. I’ve noticed the orangey hues are beginning to pop in our neighborhood’s oak trees, and today I slipped on my tan boots, more to look the part of fall than to participate in the practicality of it. It’s a glorious time of year, filled with a bittersweet feeling of what’s to come and a heavy heart of gratitude for the satisfyingly- sweaty summer months.

So in the name of fall I thought I’d share a pre-pumpkin, pre-turkey disclosure of what God has been doing in and through my own heart. Simplicity at it’s finest, but challenge at it’s most profound.

Two words. Thank (and) you.

Everybody has his or her ‘thing’ and mine is my back. It’s testy and moody and decides for itself when it’s going to rock a yoga class and when it’s necessary to wake me up in the middle of the night. Lately, there have been spasms and episodes that have taken me back to the pain I felt right before my back surgery in 2006. I get scared; not as much for the pain but for the process of the pain… the unknown, the setbacks, the yatta, yatta, yatta.

Because there are people out there that love me, I was able to get a massage this past weekend. It was then that it dawned on me that I have been living in a discontented, self-pity trap when it comes to my back. There is no room for God when I’m too busy picking at, fussing about, or criticizing what he created. So, I chose to do something radical. I chose to thank God for my back. I thanked him for the years I’ve been able to be active, I thanked him for doctors that have made it better, I thanked him for the pain that causes me to rest, and above all, I thanked him for my back's incredible limitation. ONLY in the limits of my back am I reminded I’m not invincible, I’m desperately broken and I’m unavoidably needy. I'm the desire of an invincible Lord, broken by my fallen nature and needy for his renewing mercy. All while I was lying there, prayers of thanks filled the room and brought a couple tears to my eyes, which, now that I think about it, probably deeply worried the technician.

I’m finding that with every passing thank you the discontentment I feel about myself, my relationships, and my life’s course, are gently being replaced with a pure and holy contentment for the life I’ve been trusted with, the people that surround me, and ultimately, the God that I pursue. This kind of contentment can only be found in gratitude and it can only last when I take the time to audibly, repeatedly say… thanks... that was a gift.

Often, I find myself being consumed by my past or feeling anxious for the future. And usually, when these thoughts are prevalent, God feels distant, my days seem to blend together and I second guess myself or my worth.  Freedom comes from finding something (anything!) to be sincerely thankful for in every moment. IE: the colorwheel of the flowers bunched together at Trader Joes, the book of Psalms, the work God's done through past wounds, Oreo cookies, quiet moments, or that crazy feeling of knowing I'm living and walking out an answered prayer. 

Thanksgiving is still yet to come, but thanks is giving me much to dwell on until then.  So, as I thank God for readers that somehow deem me worthy of being heard, I invite you to pray your first, second, or 7000^th prayer of thanksgiving to a God from whom all blessings flow.


For now, pass the pie.