This week is possibly going to be the most demanding of the semester, if not the most strenuous of my entire college career so far. The amount of reading I have to do, papers I have to write, and midterms I have to take is unbelievable. I began stressing out last week simply anticipating the fullness of this week. I was absolutely sure that I could not accomplish everything that was required of me.
"God, I can't do this. I am completely incapable. The only solution I know is that You're going to have to do it for me," I admitted.
My boyfriend Ben sent a message to me via facebook the very next day, reassuring me that God was "taking care of things." He also included the lyrics to a David Crowder song, which inspired me to have a David Crowder marathon during my hour-long drive to church that morning. I cried when I heard his skillfully crafted words.
"I'm so tired. I'm doing all that I can," I prayed. The song echoed.
Lord I'm tired
So tired from walking
And Lord I'm so alone
And Lord the dark
Is creeping in
Creeping up
To swallow me
I think I'll stop
Rest here a while
And didn't You see me cry'n?
And didn't You hear me call Your name?
Wasn't it You I gave my heart to?
I wish You'd remember
Where You sat it down
And this is all that I can say right now
And this is all that I can give
Crowder's next image was one that I still have not fully grasped.
Just before the Last Supper, Jesus pulled out a basin and water, knelt down, and washed his disciples feet. The Bible calls this "the full extent of His love" (John 13:1 NIV). That is the only comparison I can suggest to what I have felt all week. My pure and holy Savior, Jesus Christ, has knelt in front of me and washed away the dust of my anxiety and shortcomings. At first, I protested, "No, you shall never wash my feet! (John 13:8 NIV) I should be washing yours. Please, don't Lord. I am so unworthy. Let me do it."
But He insists, "If I don't . . . you can't be part of what I'm doing" (John 13:8 MSG)
He and I both know that I can't do all this alone. So with a sigh, half of relief and half of surrender, I let my Master serve me. I am so unworthy.
I didn't notice You were standing here
I didn't know that
That was You holding me
I didn't notice You were cry'n too
I didn't know that
That was You washing my feet.
His only request is that I return the favor to others by washing their feet.
And this is all that I can say right now
And this is all that I can give
That's my everything.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Palms Against the Wound
I found a children's book on Kenya in the library and decided to read it since I spent two weeks there this summer. I wanted to know the difference between written facts and what I had seen. I do not claim to be an expert on the subject of a foreign developing country like Kenya, but I knew that at least I had some sort of comparison.
The book was in line with many of the customs and historical facts that I had personally witnessed. Many of the pictures looked familiar. However, the largest difference from the reality I had seen and the book I was reading bothered me. They only mentioned the poverty on one page in one sentence.
I understand that children are vulnerable to harsh facts and that they should be protected. That does not lessen the impact that many children actually live in those harsh facts of starvation and illiteracy while our American children are being read to in an air-conditioned classroom. Did they even catch that sentence?
This blog is not meant to argue whether or not the book should have revealed more of the reality of poverty. It is meant to reprimand myself from ever letting the impact of my trip to Kenya begin to blur into only a sentence. The "matope" (mud) has been washed off my shoes. The pictures of dirty-faced toddlers have been put into an album and placed on a shelf. The emails from connections that I made there have slowed. Some of the memories are not quite as vivid as they were on the plane ride home. Still, the influence that those images made on my soul and my beliefs should never weaken.
Now, I'm back in school. My classes are so demanding. My life is on a schedule. My actions are absorbed by my agenda. Donald Miller wrote, "Six billion people live in this world, and I can only muster thoughts for one. Me." (p.22) This summer, I rarely had time to think about me, but now, I can't get myself out of my own mind. I'm always planning for the next class or the next appointment, or the next date, or the next outing with my friends. Even spiritual things are about me and my own relationship with Christ. I'm not insinuating that any of these thing are bad as they are, only that I'm capable of so much more if I only think outside myself.
This hurts my pride, especially when Miller asks a tough question : "Do I want social justice for the oppressed, or do I just want to be known as the socially active person?" (p.20) How could I see the faces of those children in the orphanage or see Kibera or watch a teenager take drugs to numb his hunger and not want social justice? I don't want to be the spoiled "mzungu" (white person) who just wants to be recognized for charity. I want to care, and I want my social activeness to flow from that care.
"Can you imagine if Christians actually believed that God was trying to rescue us from the pit of our own self-addiction? Can you imagine? Can you imagine what Americans would do if they understood over half the world was living in poverty? Do you think they would change the way they live, the products they purchase, and the politicians they elect? If we believed the right things, the true things, there wouldn't be very many problems on earth. ... But the trouble with deep belief is that it costs something. And there is something inside me, some selfish beast of a subtle thing that doesn't like the truth at all because it carries responsibility, and if I actually believe these things I have to do something about them. It is so, so cumbersome to believe anything." (p.107)
Cumbersome? Yes. Simple? Also, yes.
"All great Christian leaders are simple thinkers. . . . he actually believes that when Jesus says feed the poor, He means you should do this directly." (p.110)
I believe that giving money and praying is a very powerful way to enable others to help those in need. I also believe that actually helping those in need is what we as the church have been called to do. There is a cure, a remedy. Pastor Steven Furtick of Elevation Church in Charlotte, NC, said, "The Church is God's plan A. It's His plan B. It's his plan C, his plan D, his plan E, his plan F. The Church is God's plan for the earth. It is His chosen way. The people of God. . . . When the Church is being the Church, there's nothing like it. The reason most of us have a hard time figuring it out is because most of us have never seen it. . . the church extending mercy, the church becoming a community of healing." When will we stop being so stuck and start moving to further this plan? Many are moving. I refuse to be stationary.
One of the most powerful statements that I read all summer was this one. It's is so vivid, passionate, and urgent. "The human struggle bothered [him], as if something was broken in the world and we were supposed to hold our palms against the wound." (p.114) The world is bleeding. Why are we just watching it hemorrhage on the evening news or in missions slide shows on Sunday mornings? We have the first aid kit.
*Quotes here are from Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller.*
The book was in line with many of the customs and historical facts that I had personally witnessed. Many of the pictures looked familiar. However, the largest difference from the reality I had seen and the book I was reading bothered me. They only mentioned the poverty on one page in one sentence.
I understand that children are vulnerable to harsh facts and that they should be protected. That does not lessen the impact that many children actually live in those harsh facts of starvation and illiteracy while our American children are being read to in an air-conditioned classroom. Did they even catch that sentence?
This blog is not meant to argue whether or not the book should have revealed more of the reality of poverty. It is meant to reprimand myself from ever letting the impact of my trip to Kenya begin to blur into only a sentence. The "matope" (mud) has been washed off my shoes. The pictures of dirty-faced toddlers have been put into an album and placed on a shelf. The emails from connections that I made there have slowed. Some of the memories are not quite as vivid as they were on the plane ride home. Still, the influence that those images made on my soul and my beliefs should never weaken.
Now, I'm back in school. My classes are so demanding. My life is on a schedule. My actions are absorbed by my agenda. Donald Miller wrote, "Six billion people live in this world, and I can only muster thoughts for one. Me." (p.22) This summer, I rarely had time to think about me, but now, I can't get myself out of my own mind. I'm always planning for the next class or the next appointment, or the next date, or the next outing with my friends. Even spiritual things are about me and my own relationship with Christ. I'm not insinuating that any of these thing are bad as they are, only that I'm capable of so much more if I only think outside myself.
This hurts my pride, especially when Miller asks a tough question : "Do I want social justice for the oppressed, or do I just want to be known as the socially active person?" (p.20) How could I see the faces of those children in the orphanage or see Kibera or watch a teenager take drugs to numb his hunger and not want social justice? I don't want to be the spoiled "mzungu" (white person) who just wants to be recognized for charity. I want to care, and I want my social activeness to flow from that care.
"Can you imagine if Christians actually believed that God was trying to rescue us from the pit of our own self-addiction? Can you imagine? Can you imagine what Americans would do if they understood over half the world was living in poverty? Do you think they would change the way they live, the products they purchase, and the politicians they elect? If we believed the right things, the true things, there wouldn't be very many problems on earth. ... But the trouble with deep belief is that it costs something. And there is something inside me, some selfish beast of a subtle thing that doesn't like the truth at all because it carries responsibility, and if I actually believe these things I have to do something about them. It is so, so cumbersome to believe anything." (p.107)
Cumbersome? Yes. Simple? Also, yes.
"All great Christian leaders are simple thinkers. . . . he actually believes that when Jesus says feed the poor, He means you should do this directly." (p.110)
I believe that giving money and praying is a very powerful way to enable others to help those in need. I also believe that actually helping those in need is what we as the church have been called to do. There is a cure, a remedy. Pastor Steven Furtick of Elevation Church in Charlotte, NC, said, "The Church is God's plan A. It's His plan B. It's his plan C, his plan D, his plan E, his plan F. The Church is God's plan for the earth. It is His chosen way. The people of God. . . . When the Church is being the Church, there's nothing like it. The reason most of us have a hard time figuring it out is because most of us have never seen it. . . the church extending mercy, the church becoming a community of healing." When will we stop being so stuck and start moving to further this plan? Many are moving. I refuse to be stationary.
One of the most powerful statements that I read all summer was this one. It's is so vivid, passionate, and urgent. "The human struggle bothered [him], as if something was broken in the world and we were supposed to hold our palms against the wound." (p.114) The world is bleeding. Why are we just watching it hemorrhage on the evening news or in missions slide shows on Sunday mornings? We have the first aid kit.
*Quotes here are from Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller.*
Monday, September 8, 2008
An Orange Sky Behind the Dark Clouds
I watched the sunset today as I have been doing most days so far this semester. The sky was striped in orange, but dark billowing clouds hid most of its beauty. The sky listens to me, that's why I love it so. I mean, of course, I talk to God, my Jehovah Jireh, not really the sky. No, I am not Pantheistic; I do not believe that the sky is God. However, sitting beneath an open sky makes me feel as if I know God better than I know anyone and that He knows me better than I know myself. My words there in his presence cannot be too loud or too quiet. Everything is heard, even whispers that echo His promises.
Today was quiet. My whispered promises came from Psalm 108 and 109. They told my Lord things He already knew, but things I needed to say about my life currently. Perhaps they will speak for you as well.
"My heart is confident in you, O God; no wonder I can sing your praises with all my heart! Wake up, lyre and harp! I will wake the dawn with my song. I will thank you, Lord, among the people. For your unfailing love is higher than the heavens. Your faithfulness reaches to the clouds. Be exalted, O God, above the highest heavens. May your glory shine over all the earth. Now rescue your beloved people. Answer and save us by your power. God has promised this by his holiness . . . Who will bring me into the fortified city? Who will bring me victory over Edom? Have you rejected us, O God? Will you no longer march with our armies? Oh, please, help us against our enemies, for all human help is useless. With God's help we will do mighty things, for he will trample down our foes. O God, whom I praise, don't stand silent and aloof . . . Help me, O Lord my God! Save me because of your unfailing love. Let them see that this is your doing, that you yourself have done it, Lord. . . But I will give repeated thanks to the Lord, praising him to everyone. For he stands beside the needy, ready to save them from those who condemn them."
Today was quiet. My whispered promises came from Psalm 108 and 109. They told my Lord things He already knew, but things I needed to say about my life currently. Perhaps they will speak for you as well.
"My heart is confident in you, O God; no wonder I can sing your praises with all my heart! Wake up, lyre and harp! I will wake the dawn with my song. I will thank you, Lord, among the people. For your unfailing love is higher than the heavens. Your faithfulness reaches to the clouds. Be exalted, O God, above the highest heavens. May your glory shine over all the earth. Now rescue your beloved people. Answer and save us by your power. God has promised this by his holiness . . . Who will bring me into the fortified city? Who will bring me victory over Edom? Have you rejected us, O God? Will you no longer march with our armies? Oh, please, help us against our enemies, for all human help is useless. With God's help we will do mighty things, for he will trample down our foes. O God, whom I praise, don't stand silent and aloof . . . Help me, O Lord my God! Save me because of your unfailing love. Let them see that this is your doing, that you yourself have done it, Lord. . . But I will give repeated thanks to the Lord, praising him to everyone. For he stands beside the needy, ready to save them from those who condemn them."
Saturday, September 6, 2008
I Do Not Have the Blues
While I was staying home in May, being a camp counselor in June, and flying on a plane to Kenya in July, I read the book Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller. The following are a few of my favorite quotes from my summer reading :
"I always thought the Bible was more of a salad thing, you know, but it isn't. It is a chocolate thing." p.47
"If you don't love somebody, it gets annoying when they tell you what to do or what to feel. When you love them you get pleasure from their pleasure, and it makes it easy to serve. I didn't love God because I didn't know God." p.14
"I will love God because he first loved me. I will obey God because I love God. . . . Self-discipline will never make us feel righteous or clean; accepting God's love will." p.86
"Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself." p.ix
"Passion is tricky, though, because it can point to nothing as easily as it points to something. . . . Passion about nothing is like pouring gasoline in a car without wheels." p.109 and 110
"I don't have to watch the evening news to see that the world is bad, I only have to look at myself." p.20
"I believe that the greatest trick of the devil is not to get us into some sort of evil, but rather have us wasting time. This is why the devil tries so hard to get Christians to be religious. If he can sink a man's mind into habit, he will prevent his heart from engaging God." p.13
"All great Christian leaders are simple thinkers. . . . actually believes that when Jesus says feed the poor, He means you should do this directly." p.110
"What I believe is not what I say I believe; what I believe is what I do." p.110
"'If we are not willing to wake up in the morning and die to ourselves, perhaps we should ask ourselves whether or not we are really following Jesus.'" p.185
"I need wonder." p.205
"I need for there to be something bigger than me. I need someone to put awe inside me; I need to come second to someone who has everything figured out." p.237
"If we could, God would not inspire awe." p.202
"The things we want most in life, the things we think will set us free, are not the things we need.... that's the tricky thing about life, really, that the things we want most will kill us." p.63
"It is always the simple things that change our lives. And these things never happen when you are looking for them to happen. Life will reveal answers at the pace life wishes to do so. You feel like running, but life is on a stroll. This is how God does things." p.217
"God had never withheld love to teach me a lesson." p.220
"Nobody will listen to you unless they sense that you like them." p.220
"Communicate the idea that Jesus likes people and even loves them." p.112
"I always thought the Bible was more of a salad thing, you know, but it isn't. It is a chocolate thing." p.47
"If you don't love somebody, it gets annoying when they tell you what to do or what to feel. When you love them you get pleasure from their pleasure, and it makes it easy to serve. I didn't love God because I didn't know God." p.14
"I will love God because he first loved me. I will obey God because I love God. . . . Self-discipline will never make us feel righteous or clean; accepting God's love will." p.86
"Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself." p.ix
"Passion is tricky, though, because it can point to nothing as easily as it points to something. . . . Passion about nothing is like pouring gasoline in a car without wheels." p.109 and 110
"I don't have to watch the evening news to see that the world is bad, I only have to look at myself." p.20
"I believe that the greatest trick of the devil is not to get us into some sort of evil, but rather have us wasting time. This is why the devil tries so hard to get Christians to be religious. If he can sink a man's mind into habit, he will prevent his heart from engaging God." p.13
"All great Christian leaders are simple thinkers. . . . actually believes that when Jesus says feed the poor, He means you should do this directly." p.110
"What I believe is not what I say I believe; what I believe is what I do." p.110
"'If we are not willing to wake up in the morning and die to ourselves, perhaps we should ask ourselves whether or not we are really following Jesus.'" p.185
"I need wonder." p.205
"I need for there to be something bigger than me. I need someone to put awe inside me; I need to come second to someone who has everything figured out." p.237
"If we could, God would not inspire awe." p.202
"The things we want most in life, the things we think will set us free, are not the things we need.... that's the tricky thing about life, really, that the things we want most will kill us." p.63
"It is always the simple things that change our lives. And these things never happen when you are looking for them to happen. Life will reveal answers at the pace life wishes to do so. You feel like running, but life is on a stroll. This is how God does things." p.217
"God had never withheld love to teach me a lesson." p.220
"Nobody will listen to you unless they sense that you like them." p.220
"Communicate the idea that Jesus likes people and even loves them." p.112
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Candy Island
My mom and I always took a trip to the grocery store on Friday nights. I loved the opportunity to have her attention all to myself as we walked around the store together. We were distracted from each other’s lovingly irritating qualities and focused on completing the overwhelming task of buying groceries for nine people.
Because of the immensity of the feat and the mother-daughter time that it provided, I had never been allowed to bring friends on these outings. Mama must have had a soft spot in her heart for Rebekah Henderson’s unpredictable personality. When I was about thirteen, I got permission to invite Bek for a sleepover on a Friday night. She tagged along for our weekly ritual. Bek and I shivered throughout the store. My mom must have gotten tired of hearing our teeth chattering, so she sent us both to the candy island for a half-pound bag each. Her offer warmed us quickly.
The candy stand seemed like Willy Wonka’s factory. Colorful gumdrops, mints, jellybeans, taffies, caramels, and chocolates sparkled in sugary splendor. We could not stop grinning. Bek unrolled two plastic bags, and we began filling and weighing them. As we neared the half-pound mark, we noticed baseball-sized jawbreakers in the last canister. They were perfect for meeting our quota.
Before I could stop her, Bek lifted the lid, stretched her bare hand into the clear container of unwrapped jawbreakers, and dropped one into her bag. “Rebekah!” I spouted. She looked at me, clueless. “You’re supposed to use the scooper!”
“Oh,” she replied, shrugging apathetically. She stretched her hand far into the long bag, brought out the jawbreaker, and plopped it back into its box. Then she scooped another large candy sphere from the canister and placed it in her bag.
I tied a knot in my plastic bag just above the candy and then tied the excess of the bag around my wrist. I led the way through the store to find my mom, swirling the bag in circles. Bek was only a step behind me, swirling her bag as well, only she had not tied the bag around her wrist. The jawbreaker at the end of the long bag made a kind of slingshot that David might have found handy in slaying Goliath. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Bek’s half-pound bag of candy left her hand, spun through the air, and landed on top of a meat freezer.
We stared at each other with wide eyes, glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed. Relieved that no one had seen, we burst into embarrassed giggles. Not knowing what to do about the precious lost candy, Bek and I decided to consult my wise mother. We found her in the dairy section, oblivious to the ruckus we had created. When we confessed, she simply shook her head and told us to go fill another bag for Bek. “But, no more mishaps,” she warned.
Back at the candy island, I helped Bek reload her stash of goodies. We managed gracefully to avoid any bare-handed retrievals or any near-ceiling launches. We were almost finished and proud of our treasure. We weighed the bag once more in the shiny metal plate. It read only a couple ounces short. She decided to add more Skittles. I agreed; they were my favorite, too. I offered to hold the bag open like a pot of gold so she could pour in that glorious sugar-coated rainbow.
She missed.
Skittles bounced like pebbles across the tile flooring and down several aisles of the store. We looked at each other again with wide eyes and gaping mouths. This time, when we glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed, there were three Bi-Lo employees with cleaning supplies staring at us as if we had just destroyed their masterpiece. We scurried around the mess we had made, found my mom in a check-out line, and huddled close to her for protection from the contemptuous grocery workers.
That was the first and the last time that my mom allowed anyone else to accompany us on our weekly trips to the store.
Because of the immensity of the feat and the mother-daughter time that it provided, I had never been allowed to bring friends on these outings. Mama must have had a soft spot in her heart for Rebekah Henderson’s unpredictable personality. When I was about thirteen, I got permission to invite Bek for a sleepover on a Friday night. She tagged along for our weekly ritual. Bek and I shivered throughout the store. My mom must have gotten tired of hearing our teeth chattering, so she sent us both to the candy island for a half-pound bag each. Her offer warmed us quickly.
The candy stand seemed like Willy Wonka’s factory. Colorful gumdrops, mints, jellybeans, taffies, caramels, and chocolates sparkled in sugary splendor. We could not stop grinning. Bek unrolled two plastic bags, and we began filling and weighing them. As we neared the half-pound mark, we noticed baseball-sized jawbreakers in the last canister. They were perfect for meeting our quota.
Before I could stop her, Bek lifted the lid, stretched her bare hand into the clear container of unwrapped jawbreakers, and dropped one into her bag. “Rebekah!” I spouted. She looked at me, clueless. “You’re supposed to use the scooper!”
“Oh,” she replied, shrugging apathetically. She stretched her hand far into the long bag, brought out the jawbreaker, and plopped it back into its box. Then she scooped another large candy sphere from the canister and placed it in her bag.
I tied a knot in my plastic bag just above the candy and then tied the excess of the bag around my wrist. I led the way through the store to find my mom, swirling the bag in circles. Bek was only a step behind me, swirling her bag as well, only she had not tied the bag around her wrist. The jawbreaker at the end of the long bag made a kind of slingshot that David might have found handy in slaying Goliath. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Bek’s half-pound bag of candy left her hand, spun through the air, and landed on top of a meat freezer.
We stared at each other with wide eyes, glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed. Relieved that no one had seen, we burst into embarrassed giggles. Not knowing what to do about the precious lost candy, Bek and I decided to consult my wise mother. We found her in the dairy section, oblivious to the ruckus we had created. When we confessed, she simply shook her head and told us to go fill another bag for Bek. “But, no more mishaps,” she warned.
Back at the candy island, I helped Bek reload her stash of goodies. We managed gracefully to avoid any bare-handed retrievals or any near-ceiling launches. We were almost finished and proud of our treasure. We weighed the bag once more in the shiny metal plate. It read only a couple ounces short. She decided to add more Skittles. I agreed; they were my favorite, too. I offered to hold the bag open like a pot of gold so she could pour in that glorious sugar-coated rainbow.
She missed.
Skittles bounced like pebbles across the tile flooring and down several aisles of the store. We looked at each other again with wide eyes and gaping mouths. This time, when we glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed, there were three Bi-Lo employees with cleaning supplies staring at us as if we had just destroyed their masterpiece. We scurried around the mess we had made, found my mom in a check-out line, and huddled close to her for protection from the contemptuous grocery workers.
That was the first and the last time that my mom allowed anyone else to accompany us on our weekly trips to the store.
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