Mercy Seat

“Jesus answered, ‘How can the guests of the bridegroom mourn while he is with them? The time will come when the bridegroom will be taken from them; then they will fast.” (Matthew 9:15)

I had two tablespoons of plain oatmeal for breakfast Sunday morning and felt like I’d consumed a house. Or an entire Thanksgiving spread—a cornucopia, if I may. Or something else unapologetically large. He is risen!

Thus ended Holy Week and the curious seven days of my fast: with much genuine joy and celebration—my Lord has risen! Mourning was over! I am redeemed! But curious it was. Having never before fasted, I must have gone in with some kind of preconception about the impending holiness which would alight on me as soon as I undertook the experiment—because a few instances of meekly returning snacks to the cupboard and a few days of a rumbling tummy had me wondering what it was I really was doing and why.

“When you were dead in your sins and in the uncircumcision of your sinful nature, God made you alive with Christ. He forgave us all our sins, having canceled the written code, with its regulations, that was against us and that stood opposed to us; he took it away, nailing it to the cross." (Colossians 2:13-14)

Fortunately, what with so much free time on my hands (I also became super aware of how much I unconsciously snack and what a luxury that is), I had plenty of opportunity to chat with God about it. If I was free from the Law and all that distasteful equipage of rules and regulations associated with religion, free from what Paul calls the “written code”, why was I depriving myself of even plain cooked rice? My salvation is not and was never based on works—the last forty days of Lent had been a reflection on my depravity and need for God’s grace. 

“Remember, O Lord, your great mercy and love, for they are from of old. Remember not the sins of my youth and my rebellious ways; according to your love remember me, for you are good, O Lord… For the sake of your name, O Lord, forgive my iniquity, though it is great.” (Psalm 25:6-7, 11)

It took the end of the week and the joy of Easter for me to begin to appreciate what God had been showing me. It started with me realizing I had made a commitment to Him and then kept it. I had been tempted—the words Jesus quoted from Deuteronomy 8:3 during His own temptation (Luke 4) spring to mind: “man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord”—but had not sinned. Yet God does not love me more for it.

“Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.” (James 1:27)

Having always been a performer accustomed to the normal (that is, worldly) order of things—reward flowing from success and punishment flowing from failure—God had seen a need to subvert my ingrained code of expectation and entitlement. What He showed me was the deep-seated, visceral joy of doing something for Him merely because I love Him and want to honor and bless Him. And God is delighted by every little way I choose Him, delighted that “[I] did what [I] could” (Mark 14:8)—that despite my smallness compared to His glory, I could offer up this: something outrageously counter-cultural and disciplined for His Name’s sake.

It isn’t that He explicitly demands worship from me; it’s that worshipping God simply because He is worthy, the only One who is worthy, is a restoration of the natural order of things. It’s His Kingdom coming amidst the broken relationships created by the Fall and coming to rest in my heart.

“Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.” (Philippians 4:4-5)

Focal Point

"For who is God besides the Lord?" (Psalm 18:31)

Created via Wordle

Happy to see the blog is on target after all. Not as happy to have discovered a new addiction... I wonder if I'll subconsciously stress certain words in the future. I also wonder how much more time I'll waste tonight, and what God was thinking when He created giraffes. Or, you know, men. PLATYPUS! Oh, the possibilities.

Controlled Burnout

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” (Ecclesiastes 3:11)

Always working, never resting—mile after mile after unending mile. Churning striving blind circles no progress back to square one EMPTY. Shins bones and ankle bones splinter delicately and vibrate their jagged way wider with every stressful step and gasping breath. All mental and emotional faculty poured out, again and again, into one class—one project—one person—over and over only to gaze on—glare at—the result with unholy dissatisfaction. And I would shy away from locking eyes with the utter, desolate depth of my disappointment.

“Night and day, whether [the sower] sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how.” (Mark 4:27)

So much effort wasted and no understanding gained; once again, I had failed to find my Savior even when I did win another person’s approval—a spiraling cycle I reworked downward and repeated by devoting my life to pursuing completeness by achievement and wholeness by intimacy. I never ended up with what I so desperately sought. Repeat. Never reaping good fruit of  my ever-anxious labor. Repeat.

“So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. The man who plants and the man who waters have one purpose, and each will be rewarded according to his own labor.” (1 Corinthians 3:7-8)

My mid-week crisis after the second full day of teaching was due in part to physical exhaustion, lack of sleep, lack of quiet times and emotional overload—and in part, a silent tantrum at God. My will—connecting with the children—was directly interfering with His purpose for me that week—to contribute to His overall plan by sparing the kids from internally combusting, which mandated getting their little bodies to run as much as possible and, thus, my teaching Phys. Ed.

“In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps.” (Proverbs 16:9)

Source: World Harvest Mission

I was again confronted by a God of an infinitely stronger will and was again rebelling. I was again grasping for control of outcomes and asserting my puny demands as I have all my life, only to reap the reward of a familiar turmoil seething in my soul—something neither He nor I wanted. I was again faced by that awful realization—both humbling and, upon acceptance, soothing—that I am sinful and limited, that I am not God, but that He is good, sovereign and in control. I was again made to surrender to Him, to submit to the path He had laid out.

“Now the body is not made up of one part but of many… But in fact God has arranged the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be... The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I don’t need you!’ And the head cannot say to the feet, ‘I don’t need you!’ On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable.” (1 Corinthians 12:14, 18, 21-22, emphasis added)

I didn’t want to play a supporting role—which was news to me, since I’ve never loved the limelight. With the wisdom of hindsight and what the Spirit has directly imparted to me, however, I’ve since realized that I’m quite happy with a supporting role, that I probably would have been even more totally overwhelmed seeking connections than I already was, that I merely wanted control, and that God knows me much better than I know myself. What a silly little creature I am.

“I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that men will revere him.” (Ecclesiastes 3:14)



True Grit

“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.” (1 Corinthians 9:24)

(I tend to allude to cultural phenomena—especially films—that I have never experienced firsthand. The title of this post is no different...)

Easy breaths, blink back sweat, kick out legs—left, right, left—in smooth, loping strides. Mile after straightforward mile, until ten or twelve have trotted underfoot and I’ve had my day in the park.

I recently was forced to undertake the uncomfortable task of describing my special gifts for an application. Coordination and what boils down to sheer endurance are what I’ve been given, along with some proficiency in math and writing. But there certain gifts—like speaking other languages and playing worship music, as the question so helpfully suggested—that are more obviously contributable to furthering God’s kingdom. Since my skills in piano and Spanish are something less than fluent, my struggle has been about what to do with the gifts I do have. What prize was I after? If I do not literally run a race toward Jesus, for what purpose was I beating my body (c.f. 1 Corinthians 9:27)? The question of worth once again raised its ugly head.

Then I found out I would be co-teaching Phys. Ed. for the spring break church camp in Miami.

 

 “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.” (Hebrews 12:1)

And I found out about the spiritual endurance patience required and that playing with 84 kidlings for six hours a day entailed all the physical grit I could muster, and indeed, sometimes more than I could. Furthermore, “Duck-Duck-Goose” became for me almost absurdly emotional when kindergarteners Kaila and Lisa unexpectedly and perfectly reenacted a game of “Poul-Poul-Pijon” from Haiti two months prior by claiming my lap for as much of the game as I was duck/chicken and not goose/pigeon.

 

As one of my colleagues so wisely concluded, it is entirely possible the whole point and purpose of us having the penchant for athleticism was fulfilled that week in Little Haiti. Oddly satisfied with that explanation after a week of cursing my gift and feeling my usefulness under attack, I realized I’d gotten another glimpse of “fixing my eyes on Jesus” (Hebrews 12:2) by leaving opportunities to use the gifts He gave me up to Him. For that moment, my prize was peace.

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” (2 Timothy 4:7)

Miss K, Mr. G, Sasha, Patricia, Samantha, and Geraldine

Back to Mind

“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!” (Isaiah 49:15)

Stripping off winter coats and sweaters at the airport, stepping into warm air, an early first night and orientation—all brought back to mind touching down in Port-au-Prince two months ago and the frenzy of a new environment. Soft sand over skin and shells under fingers, a gently wild breeze tangling my hair with salt and beads of seawater—tokens of a relaxing last day repeated at a different beach. Bright dark eyes in small dark faces, eager squirming bodies—even disguised in complete sets of clothes, these children brought my mind irresistibly back to Chambrun.

I bawled when I saw them.

That was my first day in Little Haiti, Miami and my second cry of the night. And I’m now out of things to write. It’s as though the fact that I experienced Haiti almost out-of-body, observing myself, made that trip easy to process. But I wasn’t prepared to experience—finally fully present—the emotional charge of last week, or even the beautiful degree to which I have witnessed my own heart soften. I am less sure how to relate it, but hopefully will be able to with more prayer.

May or may not be related, but Psalm 118 has been on my heart lately:

“I will not die but live, and will proclaim what the Lord has done.” (Psalm 118:17)

Back to Life

“‘Will they restore their wall? Will they finish in a day? Can they bring the stones back to life from those heaps of rubble—burned as they are?’” (Nehemiah 4:2)

These words were sneered at the returning Israelites attempting to rebuild Jerusalem’s wall, left in disgraceful ragged shattered shreds since the exile. These words were the words of enemies—threats—meant to tear down and discourage, meant to corrupt identity and hope. But, despite interference and persecution by man, the Lord rebuilt the wall through Nehemiah in a mere 52 days.

These words were also God’s special call to me in Haiti. He was reminding me that despite my enemies’ constant attacks, despite the brokenness of my burnt and shredded heart, despite the heaps of rubble it sat in, He intended to restore it back to life, and would in His timing.

“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” (Ezekiel 36:26)

This Monday was the fifty-second day since Haiti. Today, I leave for Miami to begin another mission trip, the second chapter of God’s redemptive work in me this year. The hope contained in that first post, “Freedom Trail”, has not been disappointed (c.f. Romans 5:5).

“These are the words of him who is holy and true, who holds the key of David. What he opens no one can shut, and what he shuts no one can open.” (Revelation 3:7)

“Then you will know that I am the Lord; those who hope in me will not be disappointed.” (Isaiah 49:23)

I look forward with quiet anticipation to the next 52 days.

Present Peace

“For God is not a God of disorder but of peace.” (1 Corinthians 14:33)

A scrawny rooster crowed, waking half the barracks but not me; my eyes cracked open of their own order to welcome the pre-dawn gray. Like an ant army, we dressed in silence and one by one marched the no-man’s land between bed and bath, wash-clothes in hand. We returned, one by one, fresh-faced, squinting back the sun as it softly broke the eastern mountain crests, admiring the already warm morning, contemplating the day.

Breakfast: scoop of oatmeal, spoonful of sugar, splash of milk, dash of cinnamon, packet of almonds, did-everyone-take-their-malaria-pills? Devotions: worshipping from a still, steady heart and uncluttered head, giving God the day, minute by minute. Received the day’s orders.

“Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)

The rhythmic peace of reliable routine and no expectations was a balm for my weary, harried heart. Organize donations: one by one, wiggle a box from the top of the heavy pile, slice the tape, check the contents—another jersey!—move, sort, move, one by one. Organize the warehouse: receive a box, pass on a box, arms tired, drink some water, check the contents—another mouse got in—one by one, thirty-nine left, three, two, one… Organize the office: move out boxes, sort, sweep, sand, paint, stroke by stroke… Stop for lunch: beans and rice and soup and what-flavor-is-the-punch? Refill water bottles: soon to be warm again but now perspiring icy coolness. Continue on. Stop for the day. No urgency nor guilt nor pressure about unfinished work. No real deadlines. We’re on Haitian time.
 

"'Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.'" (John 14:27) 

The glory of clear skies continued with committed regularity. Day by day, I was allowed to release my thoughts to a warm and gentle breeze, to "cast my anxiety on Him" (1 Peter 5:7)—allowed to indulge my endless fascination with watching cloud formations change the color of the sky. These clouds did not block out the sun, but worked in ways that did nothing but enhance a week of crystal sunrises and ruby sunsets. I identified with the sun as it landed gently to the west, tired from its eternal work as we were. Moon and stars peeked out shyly by twilight, diamond eyes and faces shining boldly by evening, battling against the darkness creeping over the landscape.

“If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,’ even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.” (Psalm 139:11-12)

Swarms of mosquitoes and moths and gnats gathered around every light on campus at night, even in the dining hall. But even avoiding those tables, by dinner already littered with tiny corpses scorched by the lamp above, was an endearing custom. Refreshment from cool showers was short-lived; I was already nodding off into food and Bananagrams, blinking back sleep during discussion time and Bible study. Even during worship on the roof of the school under the cheerfully twinkling stars, constellations comfortingly familiar, my body melted into the quiet stillness around me, feeling closely the Spirit’s presence.

 “Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, for you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.” (1 Corinthians 15:58)

Night by night, full of the satisfaction from the day’s work and feeling exhausted, I went to bed and slept soundly for the first time in weeks.