Reunited.

This past Sunday, I got an early Christmas gift in the form of  my dear friend, Kate. We met at Denver Seminary and quickly made the connection that she was born in my hometown and we had a mutual friend, Lauren Colarusso. It was a sweet surprise when I got a text Sunday morning saying she was in town and wondering if I'd have time to meet up later. Did I? Not even a question.

Our meeting marked my first reunion with a Denver friend. The last time I saw Kate was after  a week of packing, tearful goodbyes, emotions spilling out all over the place, knowing I needed to leave, but staring into an unknown future (and one last hike before resettling on the flatlands of Ohio.) Parting ways on an uncommonly cloudy Colorado day with my close girlfriends after one 'last supper' in downtown Littleton was a tear-filled, heart-wrenching affair.

But the waiting to see one of these faces again was so worth it. How incredible it was to recount the past seven months with Kate. Seminary, especially the counseling program, is a unique place. It has this effect on all who choose to experience it fully. It kind of wrecks you. Exposes all of your crap. Makes you deal with it, even the stuff you thought was resolved a long time ago. Forces you to live in true community because you have no other choice than to be needy and broken with others. All this toward the end that you would learn to be yourself before the Lord and walk with Him more intimately in order to be a true lover of people. But it hurts like hell. 

Kate and I, we've walked through this together. This process of having God smash your heart into smitherines with a hammer and then wondering if you'll ever be a functioning human being again. (You won't, not in the way you thought.) Seeing Kate brought a piece of  Denver back and made the whole experience real again, but also reminded me that since then, God has made good on His promises to heal and restore. Beauty from ashes. Mourning to dancing. Death to life. Sunday, our hearts celebrated the Lord's faithfulness, His answers to prayer, His perfect timing, the wonder of His ways that are so much higher than ours. 

My heart cannot stop smiling. 

Desire

I can remember the first time someone finally put a finger on it. 

I was 12 years old, writing a research paper on Chopin for my seventh grade English class. I came across a line that perfectly identified what I experienced when I played Chopin. It spoke of Chopin's music as depicting a journey toward an "unattainable feeling." 

That was it. 

As a young girl, Chopin had awakened my heart to feel. Really feel. Things like Longing. Desire. Angst. Yearning. 

The deep stirring in the soul. Longing for transcendence. Integration. Wholeness. Shalom. 

Even though others belittled my seemingly foolish heart, I knew it was true.  So I refused to give in on my search for this "unattainable feeling," For years, I chased it down and never found.  Until, as a sophomore in college, I heard my friend Steve say that "the Bible is for those who yearn for Eden."

And in that moment, I knew that my yearning had a place with the longings of all of humanity, and that God had not abandoned me in my desire. I was not alone. And you, my friend, are not either. 

In her book, Invitation to Solitude and Silence, Ruth Haley Barton says this: 

"Your desire for God is the truest and most essential thing about you. It is truer than your sin, it is truer than your woundedness, it is truer than your net worth, your marital status or any role or responsibility you hold. Your desire for God and your capacity to connect with God as a human soul is the essence of who you are. But there is an even greater truth: before you were even aware of your desire for God, God desired you."

This is Advent. God became man because He desires us. Not anything from us. Us. Human beings. Our hearts. Our souls. Our bodies.  The deep groans of the soul are not without purpose. On the contrary, they are His whispers, inviting us to be immersed into the depths of His Being.  

What will you do with your desire this Christmas? You can pretend the desire doesn't exist, give into despair because the desire is too much to bear, or follow your desire out to sea. Following desire is a risk. Is it worth it? I'll let you decide for yourself. 

False Summits.

In my brief stint as a Coloradoan, I encountered a few false summits. Those peaks that look like the summit, until you get close enough to realize that they're not. Instead, they're sources of frustration and disappointment, even anger. 

Imagine trekking through the Rocky Mountains, surrounded by pine trees and clear blue skies above.  You're breathing heavily as the air gets thinner and trying to keep moving. The trail keeps winding through thick forest and rocky terrain, with no end in sight. Your body aches, your throat is parched, and everything in you wants to turn back.  And then, there's a clearing in the woods. Sunlight pours in.  A peak appears in the distance. 

There it is. The summit. We're almost there.  With  fresh resolve, you keep on the trail, eyeing the peak constantly. In your mind, you anticipate the breathtaking views that await and the feeling of accomplishment. But as the peak gets nearer, you realize the trail isn't taking you there. In fact, it's taking you right past it. 

Really?! Your steps become a little heavier, and you feel the tightness in your chest again.  Your heart sinks, and your fists clench, as you realize you've been looking to a false summit. Sigh. You work up the strength to keep moving, hoping that the real one will soon be in sight. 

False summits. Disappointment. Disillusionment.  They're constants on our journeys.

Rewind a couple thousand years. The Jewish people waited for a King. For one who would save them from the tyranny of Rome. The one who would restore worship of Yahweh. The one who would put Israel back on the map. 

And they get a baby, born in a stable to a teenage girl, out of wedlock. 

An ordinary carpenter. 

A teacher who hangs out with all the wrong people. And preaches things seemingly contradictory to the Law of Moses. 

An unattractive man who says He is God Himself.

A King who dies on a cross as a criminal. 

Not the political revolutionary who was supposed to lead the revolt. Not the social activist who would bring them justice.  False hopes. 

Instead, they get a Shepherd, a Savior, a Servant, whose Kingdom values are upside down. He is nothing like the King they waited for. 

He's still not who I think He should be. 

I've waited for a King who will bring me Happiness. Significance. Security. Comfort. Purpose. 

And He won't give them to me. At least, not how I want them. Instead, He leads me through trials and deserts. Death to self. Surrender. (for the joy.) 

He calls me to let go of even things that I think are pleasing to Him. My passions and ministries that have become my personal kingdom. My life plans that guide my life more than He does. My sense of self that is actually a shoddily-made mask for the "me" He's made. Things I loved: the mountains and my friends in Colorado. 

Each time I run up against one, I crumble under the disappointment. I think it was what I wanted. I'm angry because my hope was running high and now it's dashed. Yet, I'm grateful because what I really want is to reach the True Summit. I want Jesus' Kingdom to come. The false summits are just distractions.

What false summits have you encountered? The things you thought were the ultimate but turned out to be lesser things. Relationships? A job? A location? Marriage? Children? 

This Advent, I invite you to consider with me, is the True Summit worth the climb, through the deserts and the valley? Is Eden really what my heart longs for?  And if they are, will I still make room in my heart for Servant-King even when it brings pain and disappointment? 

The Road Home

Saturday morning. Sitting in my comfy chair, french toast with warm apple compote on top, fresh-brewed cup of coffee, music playing softly in the background. Chilly, mid-November day; skies are clear, trees have all but shed their leaves. The gentle breeze whispers, "All is well." 

This is home. 

The  weather, the flatness, the rhythms of life, of sharing meals, celebrating babies, marriage, jobs, the love of God, praying together, laughing together, serving together, making music together. Thinking, wrestling, grappling with life together. The together-ness of it all. 

Yet, somehow underneath it all, I hear a beckoning to "Come home." 

How can this be? Bowling Green is home more than anywhere else to me. When I lived in Denver, going home meant coming back to Bowling Green. But scripturally, home is spoken of as a place I haven't found yet. 

These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland.  If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return.  But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city. -Hebrews 11:13-16 

Abraham obeyed God and up and left his people, his earthly homeland for somewhere unknown to him. Joseph was sold to a foreign king. The children of Israel wandered for years upon years in the wilderness. And then went into exile under evil kings. John the Baptist lived in the desert. Jesus traveled  for three years, with nowhere to lay his head. They had no geographic place to call home. 

Because home could only be one place. Home was where God lived. His Tabernacle, Temple, Dwelling Place.  As He went, so did they. 

And so before Jesus goes back to His Father in Heaven, He invites His disciples to do one thing. Abide. Live. Come home. As it turns out, we are only Home when He lives in us and we in Him. Like a bottle of water in the ocean. When I, by His grace, make myself home in Him and Him alone, I will have arrived. When I stop trying to make other things, people, places fill my desire for home, because they can only point me in the right direction, I will be content. 

Until then, I, too, seek a better country. Yes, Jesus, I want to come Home. 

Been thinking about this whole Jesus thing.

So many oddities about it. So much that feels ambiguous, unsettling, mysterious. And then once in awhile, something clicks into place.

Lately, there are certain ideas that scare me. Discipline. Rules. Commandments.

Now, I know these are all parts of agreeing to living life under His Kingship, i.e., 'If you love me, you will keep my commandments.' But as a recovering overachiever, these words conjure up feelings of dread. Fear that these moral standards will be forever elusive, always threatening to crush me with guilt and shame. Always heaping on more "shoulds," "oughts," "supposed-tos." So, maybe I'll just stay away from them altogether. Just swim in grace. Great.

But, take the whole Sermon on the Mount. It's Jesus laying out His idea of how to live life. And it doesn't really sound like any of it is optional, for His followers anyway. There's this implicit idea that if you're going to befriend Jesus, you're going to take Him up on His way of being and living. Nothing less.

Shoot.

Love your enemies? Don't worry about money? Don't do good things just so that others see you? Turn the other cheek?

I can't do that. I'm human, darnit.

So, I cringe inside, trying to hide from the reality of how impossible this whole thing actually is.

But maybe it's not like that. At least, it's not about the 'shoulds, the oughts, the supposed-to's.'  Lately, I imagine Jesus giving me the Sermon on the Mount less as a moral dictator and  more like a counselor, mentor, shepherd, heart-friend.

Maybe if He was on earth today, He'd meet me at Starbucks, buy me a latte, and we'd sit down in comfy chairs by the fire. I'd let out a deep sigh and then tell Him about my life, my struggles with anxiety, relationships, the future. He'd look at me with eyes that see the soul, yet a warmth that transcends my deepest fears of being exposed. And He'd begin engaging me, humbly, compassionately, knowingly.

Giving me those words in Matthew as life to a tired soul. Antidote to broken relationships. Peace to an anxious mind. As an invitation to a life, not easier, but fuller, richer, and more real.

As channels of the Spirit, that's what my best friends do for me.

Only Jesus could be King and Friend. 

Since we are surrounded...

Photo by Usain Bolt, after winning gold in the 100m... 

Maybe this is the picture Paul had in mind writing these verses... 

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. 

-Hebrews 12:1-2 ESV

God Moves in a Mysterious Way

Just waiting to see how...

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.

-William Cowper