Wow. Another semester has already come and gone. Guess it’s true that the time flies when you’re having fun! Or something like that… :0)
I am truly amazed at what the Lord has done in my life in the past several months. I am immeasurably blessed. This semester—a hurricane swept us off of our feet for a few days, America elected its first ever black president, my grandmother had a stroke, it snowed in Houston in December, and, well, a lot of other boring, personal landmarks that I won’t tire you with. So much of it seems so mundane, so normal, but at a closer glance it is far from ordinary.
One morning early in the semester I found myself running on the treadmill watching the sun rise. I was jamming out to the newer Chris Tomlin CD, and I sensed the Lord saying to me, “Better things are yet to come, better things are still to be done….” I sensed Him so clearly saying that though my own fears and failures seemed like mountains, He is in the business of mountain-moving. All things are possible. I knew He was up to something.
God has not in the least bit failed me on His better things promise. He has done immeasurably more than all I could have asked or even imagined. I would like to say that it has been the beautiful way I would have imagined it—you know, beautiful like the sunrise that morning. God would move some of the mountains of fears and failures in my life and others He blew up with dynamite or ripped out of my hands piece by piece. Yeah, that wasn’t a beautiful thing. Painful, unbearably painful at times. But His promise still rang through—BETTER things. I clung so long and hard to what I saw as good, and God said, “No ma’am. No more. Better.”
I love how King David put it, “Where can I go from Your presence? If I go up to the Heavens You are there. If I make my bed in the depths You are there. Even if I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost part of the sea, even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me fast.”
I sure can relate. I have lived on the mountain-top with God at times. I have been that “good ‘lil Christian girl” and, well, I have been the converse as well. I have made my bed in the depths. But not for one second has God forsaken me. Not for one second has He said, “Okay, I am done with you, fool.” He has taken me with His right hand as said, “My beloved, you are mine.”
And that, my friend, is the story of redemption—of mountains moved.
Praise God for all He’s done and all He’s yet to do.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Hillbilly Joe Wins Shoplifter Catcher Hero Award
I love the evergreen scent that stands as a greeter upon entrance to the grocery store. I love the twinkling lights that litter the neighbors’ yards and homes. I love the festive songs and melodies of which most everyone knows the ever so familiar words. I love the home-cooked meals—sitting long and talking much. I love the gatherings and the spirit of giving and togetherness. I love the vacation to rest and to spend with family and old friends.
This is Christmas to me—the celebration of the Hope of the nations, the Light of the world. My Savior, my King, and yet my closest Friend. And what a better way to celebrate than to celebrate life itself? Enjoying those I love and savoring the sweet moments in this life.
Today during an excursion to Wal-Mart I witnessed one customer escorting another customer back into the store in a pair of hand-cuffs with a store manager trailing behind pushing a buggy of expensive goodies. Now, I am not quite sure who carries a set of hand-cuffs in tow to grab some groceries at the store, but this typical Hillbilly Joe in his worn jeans and camo hat appears to have been in just the right place at the right time to win the Shoplifter Catcher Hero of the Day Award. As I watched the rather interesting scene unfold, I thought back to just hours before as I had read of a crowd trampling a Wal-Mart employee to his death in New York.
I cannot fathom, even in my wildest of dreams, what could be of such great value for which a man’s life would be taken in such vanity and absurdity—especially something within the four walls of Wal-Mart. I mean, seriously now, folks?! What in Wal-Mart could a mob possibly want THAT bad?!
I just don’t get it. This constant rat race for more, more, more. When will enough be enough? Do we really need another iPhone, video game, television, GPS, Blackberry, camera, _(fill in the blank with some other fancy electronic device)_. Yes, the technology out there these days is fascinating, and while none of it is bad in and of itself—it is becoming our ruin. Apparently, Americans are willing to trample each other for the latest and greatest gadgets and widgets. Why is the evergreen scent at the grocery store entrance and the smell of a freshly baked apple pie not enough anymore? Why do we spend so little time with the ones we love and so much time with our gadgets and widgets?
I pray this Christmas our yearning would be to sit long and talk much—that we would treasure the ones we love and we would celebrate Jesus, our Life and Joy. The tinsel and lights are nice, but they are mostly just cheap Made In China crap.
So, all that to say—Enjoy the festivities, give great gifts, drink a little extra eggnog (ya know that good kind :0), sing the familiar songs with pride, but by all means don’t trample your neighbors. And have a very Merry Christmas! :0)
This is Christmas to me—the celebration of the Hope of the nations, the Light of the world. My Savior, my King, and yet my closest Friend. And what a better way to celebrate than to celebrate life itself? Enjoying those I love and savoring the sweet moments in this life.
Today during an excursion to Wal-Mart I witnessed one customer escorting another customer back into the store in a pair of hand-cuffs with a store manager trailing behind pushing a buggy of expensive goodies. Now, I am not quite sure who carries a set of hand-cuffs in tow to grab some groceries at the store, but this typical Hillbilly Joe in his worn jeans and camo hat appears to have been in just the right place at the right time to win the Shoplifter Catcher Hero of the Day Award. As I watched the rather interesting scene unfold, I thought back to just hours before as I had read of a crowd trampling a Wal-Mart employee to his death in New York.
I cannot fathom, even in my wildest of dreams, what could be of such great value for which a man’s life would be taken in such vanity and absurdity—especially something within the four walls of Wal-Mart. I mean, seriously now, folks?! What in Wal-Mart could a mob possibly want THAT bad?!
I just don’t get it. This constant rat race for more, more, more. When will enough be enough? Do we really need another iPhone, video game, television, GPS, Blackberry, camera, _(fill in the blank with some other fancy electronic device)_. Yes, the technology out there these days is fascinating, and while none of it is bad in and of itself—it is becoming our ruin. Apparently, Americans are willing to trample each other for the latest and greatest gadgets and widgets. Why is the evergreen scent at the grocery store entrance and the smell of a freshly baked apple pie not enough anymore? Why do we spend so little time with the ones we love and so much time with our gadgets and widgets?
I pray this Christmas our yearning would be to sit long and talk much—that we would treasure the ones we love and we would celebrate Jesus, our Life and Joy. The tinsel and lights are nice, but they are mostly just cheap Made In China crap.
So, all that to say—Enjoy the festivities, give great gifts, drink a little extra eggnog (ya know that good kind :0), sing the familiar songs with pride, but by all means don’t trample your neighbors. And have a very Merry Christmas! :0)
Monday, September 15, 2008
Where Your Treasure Is...
Late Wednesday evening I scurried rather franticly to gather every trinket and treasure I considered of irreplaceable value from my apartment. I had just arrived home from a nice dinner hosted by the Harris County Academy of Family Physicians and was ready to settle down for the night with thoughts of healthcare problems and solutions floating freely in my mind. I flipped on the television to quickly check on the status of the storm lingering in the gulf only to find that I was set to be a direct target. Mandatory evacuations for Galveston island and some surrounding areas were to begin promptly in the morning. A quick run-through of things such as the flooding the med center can receive from a small storm and the age of the building in which I live, not to mention the traffic that was sure to ensue in the morning prompted me to begin thinking about leaving. It was late, but I knew it was the best option to pack my belongings and head to my parents’ house just a little north. While they were predicted to be hit rather hard by the storm as well, it would surely be better to be together.
Thursday relatives from the bay area began to flood our home with their dogs and hamsters. Dogs were fighting and hamsters were squealing. Emotions were high as we watched the storm swirl into their homes on the gulf. The storm came and went in all its terror, and while I could give quite the long narrative about that terror, I will spare you.
In all of this I have learned a few things. I think hurricanes tend to truly unveil one’s character or lack-there-of. As I gathered my trinket and treasure pile Wednesday evening I was somewhat overwhelmed by my own pettiness. Just a few days prior I had read Jesus’ words to His disciples,
Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
I pray that I would find my treasure where moth and rust do not destroy and thieves cannot break in and steal. I pray that my heart would rest in Christ more than earthen treasures—that I would truly learn to value the things He values. O God, change our hearts that we would find our hope, our life, our everything in You.
Today I also have a long list of things for which I am grateful:
· Life
· My family
· Faithful friends
· A cool breeze
· Sunrise
· A roof over my head
· A comfy bed
· Food
· Running water
· Air conditioning
· Internet
· Electricity
· Refrigeration
· Clean, dry clothes
· Phone service
· A few more days without school
· Those willing to work around the clock to bring life back to normal as quickly as possible
· A government able to provide needed aid within a matter of a few hours after a disaster
· A God who is faithful even in my pettiness and selfishness
· Much, much, more
Thursday relatives from the bay area began to flood our home with their dogs and hamsters. Dogs were fighting and hamsters were squealing. Emotions were high as we watched the storm swirl into their homes on the gulf. The storm came and went in all its terror, and while I could give quite the long narrative about that terror, I will spare you.
In all of this I have learned a few things. I think hurricanes tend to truly unveil one’s character or lack-there-of. As I gathered my trinket and treasure pile Wednesday evening I was somewhat overwhelmed by my own pettiness. Just a few days prior I had read Jesus’ words to His disciples,
Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
I pray that I would find my treasure where moth and rust do not destroy and thieves cannot break in and steal. I pray that my heart would rest in Christ more than earthen treasures—that I would truly learn to value the things He values. O God, change our hearts that we would find our hope, our life, our everything in You.
Today I also have a long list of things for which I am grateful:
· Life
· My family
· Faithful friends
· A cool breeze
· Sunrise
· A roof over my head
· A comfy bed
· Food
· Running water
· Air conditioning
· Internet
· Electricity
· Refrigeration
· Clean, dry clothes
· Phone service
· A few more days without school
· Those willing to work around the clock to bring life back to normal as quickly as possible
· A government able to provide needed aid within a matter of a few hours after a disaster
· A God who is faithful even in my pettiness and selfishness
· Much, much, more
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Bacon & Syrup
As Kylie was directed to her room in the Four Seasons Retreat Center, she discovered her room was named January. She stopped dead in her tracks, refusing to enter. “My dad was murdered in January. I can’t go in there.”
Hope would not eat lunch today. The memories of what would truly be the best week of her young life flooded her mind along with the horrors of what lies ahead. It was too much for her 8 year-old mind to process—too much for my 23 year-old mind to comprehend.
It was a party fit for a king as we celebrated everyone’s birthday on Wednesday. There were horses and carnival games and even presents for everyone. To top in all off, a cake with the face of every child neatly created to look unmistakably like them. Each one lit up all they discovered their personal look-alike atop the masterpiece. And to think—many have never had their birth celebrated.
The girls loaded on the trailer for their hayride and I caught them just in time to come along. As we rolled slowly through the fields and meadows, they were mesmerized by everything. Songs of hope and freedom poured from their young hearts, and my heart was filled to overflowing.
Zechariah wrote a prayer more honest and insightful than most church people will ever pray. His words were simple, but the implications were clear—he knows he desperately needs Jesus to forgive him for his sins and to be near to him. And on top of all that, he wants help getting his mom back.
It was everything I could do to get my feet on the floor at 6:45 am each day this week. The 15 hour work days were taking a toll on me, and I could envision all the pots and pans awaiting me in the kitchen along with the unwanted bacon and syrup smell that would permeate my clothes all day. As I drug myself out of bed and into the retreat center, Laura grinned ear to ear and ran for me with the sweetest embrace. As I struggled to hold my eyes open will serving breakfast, a 7 year-old delight named Ruby bashfully said, “You’re pretty” and scurried off.
These are only snippets, at best, from my week, a week of working in the kitchen for a unique camp. I have seen countless campers come through Camp Tejas, where I have been working off and on since 2003, but never before have I served a group quite like this one. You see, each and every camper was a foster child. Yes, I was aware of this as I awoke Monday morning. But as the children poured off the bus that afternoon, I was overwhelmed with thoughts of what their young eyes had seen and what their young hearts had experienced already.
As the bus pulled away this afternoon, six of us stood uniformly in a straight line in our purple shirts, waving, with tears streaming down our faces. Those kids changed us. Those kids ripped our hearts out. And I am not sure we will ever be the same again.
None of us could have ever imagined that hopeless and fatherless Kylie would give her life to God the Father on a bunk bed in January—her sadness would be turned to joy. The month of horrors would soon become the month of her redemption. None of us could have ever imagined that children from such unspeakable circumstances would sing God’s praises at the top of their lungs. We never expected to see eyes full of such sorrow leave full of hope and life.
And we could not have dreamed that their young lives would impact us so deeply.
And to think of the incredible blessing I received by spending my week asking if they would like one or two pancakes and if they wanted gravy on top or on the side.
This is indeed something worth giving my life for—even if I end the day smelling like bacon and syrup.
All names have been changed to protect the identity of the children.
Hope would not eat lunch today. The memories of what would truly be the best week of her young life flooded her mind along with the horrors of what lies ahead. It was too much for her 8 year-old mind to process—too much for my 23 year-old mind to comprehend.
It was a party fit for a king as we celebrated everyone’s birthday on Wednesday. There were horses and carnival games and even presents for everyone. To top in all off, a cake with the face of every child neatly created to look unmistakably like them. Each one lit up all they discovered their personal look-alike atop the masterpiece. And to think—many have never had their birth celebrated.
The girls loaded on the trailer for their hayride and I caught them just in time to come along. As we rolled slowly through the fields and meadows, they were mesmerized by everything. Songs of hope and freedom poured from their young hearts, and my heart was filled to overflowing.
Zechariah wrote a prayer more honest and insightful than most church people will ever pray. His words were simple, but the implications were clear—he knows he desperately needs Jesus to forgive him for his sins and to be near to him. And on top of all that, he wants help getting his mom back.
It was everything I could do to get my feet on the floor at 6:45 am each day this week. The 15 hour work days were taking a toll on me, and I could envision all the pots and pans awaiting me in the kitchen along with the unwanted bacon and syrup smell that would permeate my clothes all day. As I drug myself out of bed and into the retreat center, Laura grinned ear to ear and ran for me with the sweetest embrace. As I struggled to hold my eyes open will serving breakfast, a 7 year-old delight named Ruby bashfully said, “You’re pretty” and scurried off.
These are only snippets, at best, from my week, a week of working in the kitchen for a unique camp. I have seen countless campers come through Camp Tejas, where I have been working off and on since 2003, but never before have I served a group quite like this one. You see, each and every camper was a foster child. Yes, I was aware of this as I awoke Monday morning. But as the children poured off the bus that afternoon, I was overwhelmed with thoughts of what their young eyes had seen and what their young hearts had experienced already.
As the bus pulled away this afternoon, six of us stood uniformly in a straight line in our purple shirts, waving, with tears streaming down our faces. Those kids changed us. Those kids ripped our hearts out. And I am not sure we will ever be the same again.
None of us could have ever imagined that hopeless and fatherless Kylie would give her life to God the Father on a bunk bed in January—her sadness would be turned to joy. The month of horrors would soon become the month of her redemption. None of us could have ever imagined that children from such unspeakable circumstances would sing God’s praises at the top of their lungs. We never expected to see eyes full of such sorrow leave full of hope and life.
And we could not have dreamed that their young lives would impact us so deeply.
And to think of the incredible blessing I received by spending my week asking if they would like one or two pancakes and if they wanted gravy on top or on the side.
This is indeed something worth giving my life for—even if I end the day smelling like bacon and syrup.
All names have been changed to protect the identity of the children.
Friday, June 20, 2008
When I Grow Up....
My hopes were high as I walked into Hospital Policlinico Monday morning. I had yet to see a pregnant woman in this country much less one in labor. However, rumor is there are an average of 12 births every day at Policlinico. I put on my freshly ironed scrubs and braced myself for a morning sure to be full of babies! After meeting Dr. Rojas I was ushered into a classroom, standing room only, with doctors, residents, and med students. If there is anything we have learned in our time in the hospitals here it is that the classroom is never good. After 2 hours of a pre-eclampsia lecture in Spanish I was, needless to say, disappointed.
Tuesday I arrived bound and determined to find labor and delivery and deliver some babies! I succeeded in the former but miserably failed in the latter. After several hours in L&D and not a single woman in labor, I decided to head home.
Being the stubborn woman that I am, Wednesday morning I decided I wouldn´t give up. Third time is a charm, I figured. I hesitantly suited up and headed into L&D. In the dressing room I kept hearing the word pre-eclampsia but could not quite put everything together. I stepped across the sterile threshold in my surgical garb--no one. Again, not a single woman in labor.
Sitting in the break room watching Scooby Doo in Spanish, I noticed the phone sure was ringing a lot more than normal and everyone was beginning to stir. Trying not to get too excited, I knew something exciting was about to happen.
In rolls a pregnant woman! However, I was a little confused because she did not appear to be in labor, nor did she appear to be full-term. The OR was being prepped so I knew a C-section was in order. Tears rolled down the woman´s face. The phrases "26 weeks" and "pre-eclampsia" were being thrown around. And I knew ever too clearly exactly what was about to happen. Doctors and nurses alike gathered around in an effort to provide a combination of comfort and reality. They were deeply concerned. As the first incision was made I thought--I want to be an OB/GYN. I want care for women at their most vulnerable and exciting times in life.
Before I knew it a baby boy no larger than my hand was taken from his safe, secure home nearly 14 weeks before his time. Like a little girl observing the work of her father, I watched every move of the neonatologist carefully. I was completely enamored by this little 26 weeker. At only 600 grams, he was perfect in every way. Ten tiny fingers grasping for comfort. Ten tiny toes kicking in the air. I pressed my stethoscope against his chest and heard his tiny heart beating and his lungs working so hard for some air. And his cry--at his cry everyone went still and tears filled my eyes. Standing by his side I thought--I want to be a neonatologist. I want to help the little ones fight for life.
Thursday I found myself at the side of Steven, an 8 month old with a cleft lip. With just a quick glance at his cute little face your heart broke. I was amazed at the simplicity and yet delicacy of the repair surgery. Upon completion, Steven looked much like any other 8 month old with only a small scar in the place of his cleft. I rocked him and held him close as he whimpered during recovery. I couldn´t help but think how many children around the world I have seen with cleft lips and what a difference such a simple surgery would make in their lives. By the end of the morning I thought--I want to be a pediatric surgeon.
Needless to say, I have found the opportunities in medicine to be endless. In part, that ignites fear in me. In part, it kindles such excitement. I fear that I will never be able to choose which path to take! However, I know that no matter where I find myself, I will be doing the very thing for which I long--making a difference in others´ lives.
In Greek there are two words for life--bios and zoe. Bios is the root of biology meaning the type of life that lives and breathes. Zoe is far less superficial, a quality of life and not just life itself, a life full of hope and joy. What a joy to bring not just bios life but zoe life also into the lives of others! I pray that God would truly use my hands to be an instrument of healing and hope, an instrument of life. Not just living, breathing life, but life abundant.
What a privilege we have to know Him and serve Him. May we never take it for granted a single day. May we walk in the joy that says, "You are my Lord; I have no good apart from you" (Psalm 16:2).
Tuesday I arrived bound and determined to find labor and delivery and deliver some babies! I succeeded in the former but miserably failed in the latter. After several hours in L&D and not a single woman in labor, I decided to head home.
Being the stubborn woman that I am, Wednesday morning I decided I wouldn´t give up. Third time is a charm, I figured. I hesitantly suited up and headed into L&D. In the dressing room I kept hearing the word pre-eclampsia but could not quite put everything together. I stepped across the sterile threshold in my surgical garb--no one. Again, not a single woman in labor.
Sitting in the break room watching Scooby Doo in Spanish, I noticed the phone sure was ringing a lot more than normal and everyone was beginning to stir. Trying not to get too excited, I knew something exciting was about to happen.
In rolls a pregnant woman! However, I was a little confused because she did not appear to be in labor, nor did she appear to be full-term. The OR was being prepped so I knew a C-section was in order. Tears rolled down the woman´s face. The phrases "26 weeks" and "pre-eclampsia" were being thrown around. And I knew ever too clearly exactly what was about to happen. Doctors and nurses alike gathered around in an effort to provide a combination of comfort and reality. They were deeply concerned. As the first incision was made I thought--I want to be an OB/GYN. I want care for women at their most vulnerable and exciting times in life.
Before I knew it a baby boy no larger than my hand was taken from his safe, secure home nearly 14 weeks before his time. Like a little girl observing the work of her father, I watched every move of the neonatologist carefully. I was completely enamored by this little 26 weeker. At only 600 grams, he was perfect in every way. Ten tiny fingers grasping for comfort. Ten tiny toes kicking in the air. I pressed my stethoscope against his chest and heard his tiny heart beating and his lungs working so hard for some air. And his cry--at his cry everyone went still and tears filled my eyes. Standing by his side I thought--I want to be a neonatologist. I want to help the little ones fight for life.
Thursday I found myself at the side of Steven, an 8 month old with a cleft lip. With just a quick glance at his cute little face your heart broke. I was amazed at the simplicity and yet delicacy of the repair surgery. Upon completion, Steven looked much like any other 8 month old with only a small scar in the place of his cleft. I rocked him and held him close as he whimpered during recovery. I couldn´t help but think how many children around the world I have seen with cleft lips and what a difference such a simple surgery would make in their lives. By the end of the morning I thought--I want to be a pediatric surgeon.
Needless to say, I have found the opportunities in medicine to be endless. In part, that ignites fear in me. In part, it kindles such excitement. I fear that I will never be able to choose which path to take! However, I know that no matter where I find myself, I will be doing the very thing for which I long--making a difference in others´ lives.
In Greek there are two words for life--bios and zoe. Bios is the root of biology meaning the type of life that lives and breathes. Zoe is far less superficial, a quality of life and not just life itself, a life full of hope and joy. What a joy to bring not just bios life but zoe life also into the lives of others! I pray that God would truly use my hands to be an instrument of healing and hope, an instrument of life. Not just living, breathing life, but life abundant.
What a privilege we have to know Him and serve Him. May we never take it for granted a single day. May we walk in the joy that says, "You are my Lord; I have no good apart from you" (Psalm 16:2).
Monday, June 16, 2008
He Is No Fool....
"He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose."
-Jim Elliot, missionary to the Ecuadorian Amazon
This weekend was a weekend to remember forever. After 9 hours of winding roads through the Andes and expeditions where roads are unheard of we arrived in the Amazon jungle. The phrase "off the beaten path" took on an entirely new meaning as we navigated over rocks and through small creeks.
The jungle is indescribable—its beauty and wealth are beyond words.
When we arrived on Friday evening we were greeted by monkeys in the town square. Our guide joined us, and we journeyed further into the jungle as the sun set, taking in all the beauty. We arrived at a small camp, gathered our belongings, and hiked about a mile to our huts just off the river. After dinner, we trekked through the jungle exploring the world of creatures surrounding us—insects large and small.
Anxious to see the full beauty of our surroundings the next morning, we opened our door to a world of color and wonder. The jungle was everything we could have imagined and more.
Saturday was full of adventure as we hiked and canoed through the glorious surroundings. We tasted of the jungle fruits and even learned how to shoot blow darts for hunting. We learned about the jungle animals and the jungle life. Our day concluded with a swim in the river, dinner, a fire with jungle juice and jungle stories as we lounged in hammocks.
One experience is more striking than all the others, however. While canoeing down the Rio Napa, our guide told me a very familiar story from a world of personal experience. He recounted the story of Nate Saint, Jim Elliot, Ed McCulley, Pete Fleming, and Roger Youderian. As we cruised past a rocky beach he said, "There. Right there they gave their lives for the Waodani." He told the story so beautifully in a language I am still struggling to grasp. But while I did not catch his every word—I heard it all and I saw it all in his countenance. He spoke of how those men and their families changed the jungle. He spoke of personal change in the life of his grandfather through the hope of Jesus that ultimately brought change to his entire family. He thanked God for the life that he has and privilege he has of knowing Jesus and experiencing the beauty of God´s creation everyday in the jungle. It was a powerful moment that is difficult to describe. I have heard the story of these men and even seen the movie, but to hear it from the lips of one changed by their sacrifice was remarkable. To see the very location where they gave their lives and even experience a glimpse of their lives in the jungle for a few short days sparked something in me.
I was ever so gently reminded that the Gospel is worth my life, every part of me. As we were riding home, I opened a book I have been reading, "When I Don´t Desire God" by John Piper. As I read, Piper recounted the sacrifice of these men saying that their joy in Him was the power behind their obedience and faith. Coincidence? I think not.
I am so grateful for a patient God who will go to such incredible lengths to remind me that my life is His and He is truly all I need. Every sacrifice is so small compared to His glory. And ultimately, "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose."
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Riobamba, Ecuador
Greetings from Riobamba, Ecuador! After only 5 days in Ecuador, I must admit that it is very difficult to write in English—my mind is overflowing with Spanish words and phrases! What a beautiful country!
There are beautiful flowers everywhere!
The city is surrounded by mountains on each side. It is gorgeous. Here is one of the many volcanoes in Ecuador.
More pics to come soon!
I am staying with a family here, mi mama y mi pape. I am truly part of the family. Mi mama calls me ¨mi hija¨ meaning my daughter. Every day I awake to kisses, every afternoon I receive kisses when I come home, and every night I am sent to bed with a kiss. That is a lot of kisses! The people here are very affectionate (obviously!), and family is more important than anything else in the world. Every day I walk home for lunch and eat the biggest meal you have even seen with mama, pape, and the other children. It is truly amazing. I love it. I have heard of such family dynamics but to actually be apart of it is quite an experience.
My first day with my family I failed to make it home for lunch. I just didn´t know better. When I got home that evening mi mama gave me 5 or 6 kisses and said she was worried all day with tears in her eyes. She talked all evening about how much she worried. Tuesday evening a group of us gringos went to watch a futbol game, and when I asked mi pape if I could go he replied with of course but if you want to invite all your friends to our casa you can. They are so generous and overflowing with love!
The hospital here is rather primitive. The past 2 days I have observed multiple surgeries, and I am always amazed at exactly what goes on—from the sterile procedure (or last thereof) to the procedure itself. It is a blessing to get to learn medical Spanish. I will definitely need it in the next few years!
I am learning so many things beyond a language and a culture—things about myself, things about God, and so much more. I am blown away that the Lord would bring me to such a foreign land to show me more of His beauty. He is so good. What more is there to say?
¨I was when I was happiest that I longed most…The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing…to find the place where all the beauty came from.¨ CS Lewis in Till We Have Faces
There are beautiful flowers everywhere!
The city is surrounded by mountains on each side. It is gorgeous. Here is one of the many volcanoes in Ecuador.
More pics to come soon!
I am staying with a family here, mi mama y mi pape. I am truly part of the family. Mi mama calls me ¨mi hija¨ meaning my daughter. Every day I awake to kisses, every afternoon I receive kisses when I come home, and every night I am sent to bed with a kiss. That is a lot of kisses! The people here are very affectionate (obviously!), and family is more important than anything else in the world. Every day I walk home for lunch and eat the biggest meal you have even seen with mama, pape, and the other children. It is truly amazing. I love it. I have heard of such family dynamics but to actually be apart of it is quite an experience.
My first day with my family I failed to make it home for lunch. I just didn´t know better. When I got home that evening mi mama gave me 5 or 6 kisses and said she was worried all day with tears in her eyes. She talked all evening about how much she worried. Tuesday evening a group of us gringos went to watch a futbol game, and when I asked mi pape if I could go he replied with of course but if you want to invite all your friends to our casa you can. They are so generous and overflowing with love!
The hospital here is rather primitive. The past 2 days I have observed multiple surgeries, and I am always amazed at exactly what goes on—from the sterile procedure (or last thereof) to the procedure itself. It is a blessing to get to learn medical Spanish. I will definitely need it in the next few years!
I am learning so many things beyond a language and a culture—things about myself, things about God, and so much more. I am blown away that the Lord would bring me to such a foreign land to show me more of His beauty. He is so good. What more is there to say?
¨I was when I was happiest that I longed most…The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing…to find the place where all the beauty came from.¨ CS Lewis in Till We Have Faces
Friday, May 30, 2008
Ecuador!
What a day! After traveling since 7am this morning, I have finally arrived in Ecuador! I am so excited to be here.
I flew through Panama City, Panama this morning and had quite a lengthy lay-over there. I met a woman in the airport from Ecuador who now lives in the states and was traveling to her daughter´s wedding in Quito. She helped me figure out how to get out of the airport in Panama for some fresh air--which was a pretty involved process of talking the customs officials into letting us leave and promising we would come back. She soon became my traveling companion--but she never told me her name and after spending several hours with her I felt awkward asking!
When I arrived in Quito after dark I was a little nervous about what my next move would be. I could 1) Wait 2 hours in the circus they call the airport in hopes of finding some of the guys from school who were on the next flight or 2) Brave the taxi on my own with my broken Spanish. And I chose neither because my nameless traveling angel companion offered me a ride to my hotel! It worked out perfect because I didn´t have to fight the airport crowd, and I didn´t have to worry about riding down dark alleys in a taxi on my own. Now, I just hope the guys can find their way to this place!
So, what a smooth trip so far! All my luggage also made it which is quite a miracle itself because I checked in 2 minutes before the cut-off time.
This is going to be quite the summer....
I flew through Panama City, Panama this morning and had quite a lengthy lay-over there. I met a woman in the airport from Ecuador who now lives in the states and was traveling to her daughter´s wedding in Quito. She helped me figure out how to get out of the airport in Panama for some fresh air--which was a pretty involved process of talking the customs officials into letting us leave and promising we would come back. She soon became my traveling companion--but she never told me her name and after spending several hours with her I felt awkward asking!
When I arrived in Quito after dark I was a little nervous about what my next move would be. I could 1) Wait 2 hours in the circus they call the airport in hopes of finding some of the guys from school who were on the next flight or 2) Brave the taxi on my own with my broken Spanish. And I chose neither because my nameless traveling angel companion offered me a ride to my hotel! It worked out perfect because I didn´t have to fight the airport crowd, and I didn´t have to worry about riding down dark alleys in a taxi on my own. Now, I just hope the guys can find their way to this place!
So, what a smooth trip so far! All my luggage also made it which is quite a miracle itself because I checked in 2 minutes before the cut-off time.
This is going to be quite the summer....
Sunday, May 18, 2008
The Need for Validation
It is in all of us—some far much deeper than others. Some buried under years of harsh realities and hurtful, discouraging, scarring remarks.
We all need to feel valuable, worthwhile. We need to know that our aspirations are not indeed ridiculous and that our hard work is not in vain.
We all need validation.
I am feeling that need today….
We all need to feel valuable, worthwhile. We need to know that our aspirations are not indeed ridiculous and that our hard work is not in vain.
We all need validation.
I am feeling that need today….
Monday, April 21, 2008
Slavery and Joy Unspeakable
"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. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air. No, I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize." 1 Corinthians 9:24-27
This verse is so extreme. Beating my body? Slavery? Yeah, right. I think to myself, Is this really necessary? Do I have to? But, for one reason or another this verse has been resonanting in me quite a lot lately.
Maybe it was the blister my shoe was rubbing on my foot today during my jog that made me feel as if I was beating my body. Or maybe it has been the amount of information that I have forced myself to learn over the past few months. Or perhaps it is something far deeper--
I know that as Paul writes to the church in Corinth that he is speaking of far more than a physical race; he was speaking to more than just blisters and muscle aches and fatigue. He was writing to souls weary from attempts to live holy lives in a demanding culture. He was writing to those who had lost site of the eternal prize and were begining to forfeit a imperishable medal for mere, this-worldly rubbish. Can you relate?
I am finding that if I don't beat my body and make it my slave then I soon become its slave. My desires become selfish and my motives less than desireable. I am exhausted by the war within me and ultimately I lose. I thought I would have this figured out by now. I thought this should be much easier by now, but as the days go by the uphill slope is only getting steeper and the battle more intense.
But beating my body is so difficult and extreme. How can I possibily live that way? How can I possibily deny myself of the things my flesh longs for so deeply? I can barely make myself run an extra step when my feet hurt or get my wretched self out of the bed in the mornings. How will I ever be able to maintain those things engrained in the depths of my being? How will I ever live this holy live and run the race without looking back?
So many questions. I think I have missed the point completely though. Really.
I mean, I am running after a prize. As Paul writes, "I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air...." This isn't all for nothing. The athletes that will compete in Beijiing this summer have spent their lives preparing for the races ahead of them--they have not trained because they have to but because they are going after a prize. A name. Fame. They are doing the very thing they love.
How much more is at stake in our lives? This is no run around a track or leap over a stick we are talking about here. This is life. And not only do we have an eternal prize at stake, ultimately our own joy is up for grabs.
Psalm 16:11 says, "You will teach me how to live a holy life. Being with You will fill me with joy unspeakable; at Your right hand I will find pleasure forever." This is a verse I try so passionately to live by because I know that while I push so hard to make my flesh my slave, God supplies joy beyond measure. He lays out the path of life before us and is faithful to show us the way. And He never asks us to walk alone. The icing on the cake--in His hand are pleasures forevermore.
This is precisely where I went wrong. I too quickly forgot the provision of God for me. I forgot that though beating my body sounds pretty intense--He is supplying my needs and filling me with joy that is not found in any of my earthly pursuits. He is filling me with the life found solely in Him--and a joyous life it is indeed.
This verse is so extreme. Beating my body? Slavery? Yeah, right. I think to myself, Is this really necessary? Do I have to? But, for one reason or another this verse has been resonanting in me quite a lot lately.
Maybe it was the blister my shoe was rubbing on my foot today during my jog that made me feel as if I was beating my body. Or maybe it has been the amount of information that I have forced myself to learn over the past few months. Or perhaps it is something far deeper--
I know that as Paul writes to the church in Corinth that he is speaking of far more than a physical race; he was speaking to more than just blisters and muscle aches and fatigue. He was writing to souls weary from attempts to live holy lives in a demanding culture. He was writing to those who had lost site of the eternal prize and were begining to forfeit a imperishable medal for mere, this-worldly rubbish. Can you relate?
I am finding that if I don't beat my body and make it my slave then I soon become its slave. My desires become selfish and my motives less than desireable. I am exhausted by the war within me and ultimately I lose. I thought I would have this figured out by now. I thought this should be much easier by now, but as the days go by the uphill slope is only getting steeper and the battle more intense.
But beating my body is so difficult and extreme. How can I possibily live that way? How can I possibily deny myself of the things my flesh longs for so deeply? I can barely make myself run an extra step when my feet hurt or get my wretched self out of the bed in the mornings. How will I ever be able to maintain those things engrained in the depths of my being? How will I ever live this holy live and run the race without looking back?
So many questions. I think I have missed the point completely though. Really.
I mean, I am running after a prize. As Paul writes, "I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air...." This isn't all for nothing. The athletes that will compete in Beijiing this summer have spent their lives preparing for the races ahead of them--they have not trained because they have to but because they are going after a prize. A name. Fame. They are doing the very thing they love.
How much more is at stake in our lives? This is no run around a track or leap over a stick we are talking about here. This is life. And not only do we have an eternal prize at stake, ultimately our own joy is up for grabs.
Psalm 16:11 says, "You will teach me how to live a holy life. Being with You will fill me with joy unspeakable; at Your right hand I will find pleasure forever." This is a verse I try so passionately to live by because I know that while I push so hard to make my flesh my slave, God supplies joy beyond measure. He lays out the path of life before us and is faithful to show us the way. And He never asks us to walk alone. The icing on the cake--in His hand are pleasures forevermore.
This is precisely where I went wrong. I too quickly forgot the provision of God for me. I forgot that though beating my body sounds pretty intense--He is supplying my needs and filling me with joy that is not found in any of my earthly pursuits. He is filling me with the life found solely in Him--and a joyous life it is indeed.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Everything
You're everything
I could want
That I could need
If I could see
You want me
Could I believe?
'Cause You're perfectly
All I want, and all I need
If I could just feel Your touch
Could I be free?
Why do You shine so?
Can a blind man see?
Why do You call?
Why do You beckon me?
Can the deaf hear the voice of love?
Would You have me come?
Can the cripple run?
Are You the one?
To raise me up
From this grave
Touch my tongue
And then I'll sing
Heal my limbs
Then joyfully I'll run to You
You're everything
I could want and I could need
I can just, feel Your touch
And I can't breathe
And how You shine so
The blind can see
And how You call out
You beckon me
The deaf hear the voice of love
You bid me come
And the cripple run
You're the one
So raise me up
From this grave
You touch my tongue
And then I'll say:
Heal my limbs
And joyfully I'll run to You
You're everything
You're everything
You're everything
You're everything
And I'm alive and I'll sing
And I'm alive and I'm free
And I'm alive and I'll sing
And I'm alive and I'm free....
I could want
That I could need
If I could see
You want me
Could I believe?
'Cause You're perfectly
All I want, and all I need
If I could just feel Your touch
Could I be free?
Why do You shine so?
Can a blind man see?
Why do You call?
Why do You beckon me?
Can the deaf hear the voice of love?
Would You have me come?
Can the cripple run?
Are You the one?
To raise me up
From this grave
Touch my tongue
And then I'll sing
Heal my limbs
Then joyfully I'll run to You
You're everything
I could want and I could need
I can just, feel Your touch
And I can't breathe
And how You shine so
The blind can see
And how You call out
You beckon me
The deaf hear the voice of love
You bid me come
And the cripple run
You're the one
So raise me up
From this grave
You touch my tongue
And then I'll say:
Heal my limbs
And joyfully I'll run to You
You're everything
You're everything
You're everything
You're everything
And I'm alive and I'll sing
And I'm alive and I'm free
And I'm alive and I'll sing
And I'm alive and I'm free....
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Good 'Ole Days
This weekend I experienced both the sunrise and sunset over the crawfish farms of central Louisiana. I realized that I miss the middle-of-nowhere. I miss the slow pace, the good food, the open road, and the amazing friends. I ate crawfish and roasted pig and sat around a campfire and laughed about old times. The weekend was all together perfect and refreshing.
There is something about knowing that people believe in you that keeps you going. There is something about other people letting you know that your dreams are legit and that they know you are doing what you were made to do. The encouraging words come from somewhere deep--from those that know you well. They put everything back in perspective and for a moment cause to world to stop. And in that moment everything makes sense again.
You see, last week was exam week. It was miserable. I worked harder than ever and in the end felt that I had nothing to show for save droopy eyes, a messy apartment, and a growling stomach. My perspective soon became only a number, preferably one over 65 to keep me in the passing zone, and nothing more. But this weekend those I love reminded me that I am doing what I was made to do--I am going to be a physician. I am going to bring hope and healing to the lives of others. What an honor and a privilege! What a perspective.
I am thankful for being able to walk down memory lane with you guys this weekend. Thanks for the laughs, but most of all thanks for the encouragement. I needed it! You are a blessing and I am glad we were able to catch up--I know that God has amazing plans for each of you too and I am excited to see it play out in all our lives. Whether you feel like you're in a rut or at the top of a mountain, hold your head high and know that God is for you and not against you and will see you through.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Inadequate
As a girl, my mom took my brother and I to AstroWorld every week during the summer, many times more than once a week. It was there that I learned to pocket my fears & enjoy the drop in my stomach and wind in my face, the thrill of the ride. I have many fond childhood memories running from ride to ride, rain or shine, every week, eating funnel cakes and dip-n-dots, and checking out all the other “interesting” folks. Now, AstroWord is no more than an empty field of grass and only old photographs and my young memories remain.
The part of the neighborhood still standing--what we affectionately came to call “The World’s Worst McDonald’s.” Yes, that’s right. After a long day of riding rides and basking in the sun, we often enjoyed dinner at a sub-par McDonald’s. My grandpa always said, “Ya just give ‘em $20 and tell ‘em, ‘Just give me whatever you’re gonna get me anyway.’” About the only thing they were quick to do was mess up the order. “Um, I’d like a Big Mac and a root beer.” “Okay, ma’am, here is your salad and ice cream cone.”
For the last few months, I have lived just a stone throw from that grassy field and the remaining McDonald’s. Occasionally, I drive by and laugh about the good ‘ole summer days I spent there as a child. And, occasionally, I take a stroll down memory lane and attempt to grab a nutritious bite to eat there. I am happy, or maybe terrified, to say that some things never change.
My first visit in over 5 years was a late night craving for some ice cream. I recounted my childhood memories and my grandpa’s saying to my partner-in-crime as we pulled up to the drive-thru and ordered our ice cream. “Sorry, ma’am, we ain’t got no ice cream.” “Um, I’ll take a diet coke.” “We ain’t got that neither.” “An apple pie?” “Uhhh, we only got cherry.”
We drove away empty-handed and laughing until we ached.
A few days ago I made another visit with another buddy to the famed McDonald’s. I recounted the stories and memories once again. We uneventfully placed our orders in the drive-thru, and to our pleasant surprise everything we ordered was available. My friend handed over her credit card and the cashier proceeded to swipe it and hand it back. This happened about 3 or 4 times before it dawned on him that something wasn’t quite right—back and forth with the credit card. He calls over his buddy, “Dominque, what up yo wit’ the thing?” They turn the credit card machine upside-down, backwards, and sideways. No luck. “Pedro, man, come see, dude.” Pedro tries his magic. No luck. The 3 look at each other at a loss. Then the original cashier says, “O yeah, dude, it ain’t working. I put the sign on ‘da drive thru a few minutes ago. I forget. It broke. Cash only.”
We dig for change holding back the laughter of the ever-so-faithful MickeyD’s. Our meal was a little chilly by the time we got home, but the trip was worth the laughs.
The place is faithfully deplorable. Completely inadequate. Specializing in messing-up. What a reputation.
Sometimes I wonder if my apples don’t fall far from that tree. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever get everything in life right. Sometimes I wonder if I am good enough. And more and more I am coming to the realization that I am not and never will be. You see, no matter how many times they swiped that credit card it was never going to work—the machine was broken. And I am finding that no matter how hard I try, I still don’t always measure up to who others expect me to be or even who I expect myself to be and much less who God expects me to be. I am broken. Even worse—I live in a broken world, and when one broken vessel knocks into other, you tend to just get a lot of broken pieces.
I am becoming more and more accepting of my inadequacy. I strive to pull myself together and grow more and more into the woman God wants me to be, but at the end of the days when the pieces crumble in my hands I find grace in the hands of a gentle God who wants all my inadequate pieces. I am reminded of the Scripture in Jeremiah 2:13, “…they have forgotten Me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed out cisterns for themselves, broken cisterns that can hold no water.” Too often I am striving too much only to find that these cisterns I build are laughable. Too often I don’t stop to simply, “Be still and know that He is God.”
I know that I will never measure up. But I also know a God who can move mountains, and surely can move my imperfect self out of the way. He is adequate. And in Him, I find grace and a fountain of living water that doesn’t need a cistern—whole or not—to hold it’s refreshing streams of life.
He is faithful and--I am sure--never runs out of ice cream when you need it....
The part of the neighborhood still standing--what we affectionately came to call “The World’s Worst McDonald’s.” Yes, that’s right. After a long day of riding rides and basking in the sun, we often enjoyed dinner at a sub-par McDonald’s. My grandpa always said, “Ya just give ‘em $20 and tell ‘em, ‘Just give me whatever you’re gonna get me anyway.’” About the only thing they were quick to do was mess up the order. “Um, I’d like a Big Mac and a root beer.” “Okay, ma’am, here is your salad and ice cream cone.”
For the last few months, I have lived just a stone throw from that grassy field and the remaining McDonald’s. Occasionally, I drive by and laugh about the good ‘ole summer days I spent there as a child. And, occasionally, I take a stroll down memory lane and attempt to grab a nutritious bite to eat there. I am happy, or maybe terrified, to say that some things never change.
My first visit in over 5 years was a late night craving for some ice cream. I recounted my childhood memories and my grandpa’s saying to my partner-in-crime as we pulled up to the drive-thru and ordered our ice cream. “Sorry, ma’am, we ain’t got no ice cream.” “Um, I’ll take a diet coke.” “We ain’t got that neither.” “An apple pie?” “Uhhh, we only got cherry.”
We drove away empty-handed and laughing until we ached.
A few days ago I made another visit with another buddy to the famed McDonald’s. I recounted the stories and memories once again. We uneventfully placed our orders in the drive-thru, and to our pleasant surprise everything we ordered was available. My friend handed over her credit card and the cashier proceeded to swipe it and hand it back. This happened about 3 or 4 times before it dawned on him that something wasn’t quite right—back and forth with the credit card. He calls over his buddy, “Dominque, what up yo wit’ the thing?” They turn the credit card machine upside-down, backwards, and sideways. No luck. “Pedro, man, come see, dude.” Pedro tries his magic. No luck. The 3 look at each other at a loss. Then the original cashier says, “O yeah, dude, it ain’t working. I put the sign on ‘da drive thru a few minutes ago. I forget. It broke. Cash only.”
We dig for change holding back the laughter of the ever-so-faithful MickeyD’s. Our meal was a little chilly by the time we got home, but the trip was worth the laughs.
The place is faithfully deplorable. Completely inadequate. Specializing in messing-up. What a reputation.
Sometimes I wonder if my apples don’t fall far from that tree. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever get everything in life right. Sometimes I wonder if I am good enough. And more and more I am coming to the realization that I am not and never will be. You see, no matter how many times they swiped that credit card it was never going to work—the machine was broken. And I am finding that no matter how hard I try, I still don’t always measure up to who others expect me to be or even who I expect myself to be and much less who God expects me to be. I am broken. Even worse—I live in a broken world, and when one broken vessel knocks into other, you tend to just get a lot of broken pieces.
I am becoming more and more accepting of my inadequacy. I strive to pull myself together and grow more and more into the woman God wants me to be, but at the end of the days when the pieces crumble in my hands I find grace in the hands of a gentle God who wants all my inadequate pieces. I am reminded of the Scripture in Jeremiah 2:13, “…they have forgotten Me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed out cisterns for themselves, broken cisterns that can hold no water.” Too often I am striving too much only to find that these cisterns I build are laughable. Too often I don’t stop to simply, “Be still and know that He is God.”
I know that I will never measure up. But I also know a God who can move mountains, and surely can move my imperfect self out of the way. He is adequate. And in Him, I find grace and a fountain of living water that doesn’t need a cistern—whole or not—to hold it’s refreshing streams of life.
He is faithful and--I am sure--never runs out of ice cream when you need it....
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Audrey Caroline
Tomorrow at 4 pm, a baby girl named Audrey Caroline will enter this world. Audrey has polycystic kidneys and congenital heart defects--she is not expected to live. For nearly 9 months her mom has carried her and loved her despite her prognosis. I have been keeping up with her journey to this point and have been amazed. I could try to re-tell the story but I think it is most beautiful from her mother's eyes. I love how she continues to remember the truth that God is the same yesterday, today, and forever. I love how she knows He is near and in control. I love how she is real, raw, and heartfelt. My heart truly aches for her and her family, but is encouraged by her faith despite the unfathomable pain. On the eve of Audrey Caroline's arrival, here are Angie's thoughts--
"He"
When I was about 4 years old, I was hospitalized for several days because I battled with overwhelming anxiety. I remember the hospital room, the way I would watch out the door when it was open to see who was coming. They made me draw pictures and ran all kinds of tests. I saw a child psychologist as well, and the best part was that my parents took me out to dinner afterward and I felt very fancy. At the time I didn't understand that something was wrong with me or that I was different from other kids. My stomach hurt all of the time. I used to make my father walk me around the house before bedtime to make sure that the stove was turned off, the front door was locked, and that my baby sister was breathing in her crib. I would worry for hours about things that could happen to my family, to my house, to myself. I vividly remember asking my dad what he would do in the event that someone broke into our house and tried to hurt us. Did he have some kind of plan? Was he strong enough to overtake a burglar if he needed to?
I worried at school. I worried that kids wouldn't like me, that something would happen to my mom while I was away, that my sister would have to eat alone in the cafeteria (I actually broke the rules several times to sneak to the kindergarten side and sit with her until they would catch me and send me back to the second-graders).
I just worried. I never wanted anyone to feel like they weren't "taken care of," and for my entire life, this pattern has remained constant. When we were at Disney World recently, I walked into a little shop that I remembered from childhood. All the stuffed animals were on the same wall that I had pictured them on in my memories. I got so choked up remembering myself as little red-headed girl who stood in front of the Goofy dolls (he was my favorite), tenderly lifting one off the shelf and then feeling the overwhelming guilt that all the other ones would be sad because I hadn't chosen them. I would look at their faces and try to decide which was the most needy so that I could rescue him. I vividly remember walking away with the "chosen" one and starting to cry because all the other ones must have felt abandoned.
I refused to come down the stairs on Christmas morning when I was 5 because I was convinced that Santa didn't find me worthy of toys. I hid under the covers and cried and cried until my dad brought me some red and white pom-poms from under the tree to prove that Santa had come, and that he had remembered me. The feeling that I needed to be the rescuer, that I needed to keep people safe, that I needed to be good enough.
I have never been able to completely shake these emotions. They came with me to college, to graduate school, to marriage, to the delivery room, to the doctor's office. To the ultrasound where I was told that my worst fears had been confirmed. They walk beside me in the daylight and wake me in the night. Fear wraps itself around me and refuses to let go. I can feel my fingers getting numb, my vision getting hazy, my breathing quicken, and I know it is upon me. But I believe now, years later, that this voice has a name, and he lurks in the shadows, waiting to devour. I feel that I have been in the midst of spiritual warfare as I have walked this path, and I have constantly had to silence the enemy with the only word that can. I utter the name of Jesus as I get into bed, as I cry in the night, as I sense the evil that Satan has tempted me to believe. Today he has sought me out. To paint horrific images of tomorrow, to shake me to the core, to tell me that my Lord has no power to intervene now. It is too late.
I have not made it out of bed today because I have so sensed the need to concentrate wholly on what I know to be true, even when I don't feel it. A few hours ago, I talked to God about what I was feeling, and I begged mercy for my doubts. He reminded me gently of a man named Job, whom he loved and knew as a righteous, holy man whose heart was filled with His spirit. He allowed Satan to test Job, to take away what was most precious to him. Job walked through the depths of suffering, more than I can fathom. I opened my Bible to his story, and asked God what it was that He wanted from me today, on the eve of the day where I have been called to anticipate the loss of my sweet daughter. He spoke, as He always does. I wasn't necessarily expecting to hear what He said in that moment, as I wept openly before Him in the profound wake of sadness that surrounds me.
I want you to praise Me.
He didn't ask me to praise Him because He was going to perform a miracle, although He knows that I would. He asked me to praise Him because He will be the same tomorrow regardless of what happens to Audrey. Is that hard for me to wrap my heart around? Yes. Does everything in me want to protest letting someone else be in charge? Yes. It has been my mode of survival since I was born. My parents told me that moments after I was born, I lifted my head off my mother's body and scanned the room. I was probably making sure someone was going to bring me to the right place and that the doctor was well aware of what he needed to be focusing on in that moment.
I have a history of not letting someone else "take care of things." And now I am being called to praise the One who is allowing this season? Who has taken every bit of control from me? Lord, I can't even read a book without a highlighter in my hand. I can't let my children walk too close to the ice-cream man without hovering a foot away (although, in fairness, you would do the same if you met him. Seriously creepy....). Are you serious?
I sat in the silence. I closed my eyes and thought about who He is to me. What He has been to me, in the bitterness and in the joy. I felt like He was beside me, waiting. And in that moment, I felt myself rest. My mind was still. All I know is that without intending to, I smiled. It was the most ridiculous thing you could ever imagine, unless you know what I know. And I hope you do.
He is Lord. Only He. Not me, not Todd, not my doctors, not my parents.
He.
We don't know what tomorrow will look like, how it will be remembered ten years from now. We can't begin to imagine the road that lies ahead of us, but I know that I will remember today as being a day that I trusted Him despite the hurt.
I want you to know, especially if you do not know the Lord, that He is real. This is not a fairy-tale coping mechanism that I rely on when I need to escape from reality. It is not something I do because it's nice to have a place to dress up for on Sunday mornings. It is my fervent prayer that somehow I can manage in this post to find a balance between not alienating people and sharing my heart. It's just that I don't know how people get through things like this without Him. I can barely choose stuffed animals without having a heart attack, and today, because of Christ, I am filled with peace. I pray the same for each of you as you walk through your own life.
One way or another, our daughter will be healed tomorrow. Praise God with me tonight for this truth.
Your prayers, as always, are with me. God has allowed my burden to be shared with so many "strangers" that I am overwhelmed. This little girl has been loved deeply, richly, profoundly by many. Thank you. I know you will be with us tomorrow, and for that we are more grateful than we can express.
My friend Jess will be updating the blog tomorrow as things are progressing so that we can share specific prayer requests. For today, please pray that we will be able to hear truth above fear, and that we will rest in knowing that truth.
With much love and great hope,
Angie
What a real God we have. What a loving Father we have.
"He"
When I was about 4 years old, I was hospitalized for several days because I battled with overwhelming anxiety. I remember the hospital room, the way I would watch out the door when it was open to see who was coming. They made me draw pictures and ran all kinds of tests. I saw a child psychologist as well, and the best part was that my parents took me out to dinner afterward and I felt very fancy. At the time I didn't understand that something was wrong with me or that I was different from other kids. My stomach hurt all of the time. I used to make my father walk me around the house before bedtime to make sure that the stove was turned off, the front door was locked, and that my baby sister was breathing in her crib. I would worry for hours about things that could happen to my family, to my house, to myself. I vividly remember asking my dad what he would do in the event that someone broke into our house and tried to hurt us. Did he have some kind of plan? Was he strong enough to overtake a burglar if he needed to?
I worried at school. I worried that kids wouldn't like me, that something would happen to my mom while I was away, that my sister would have to eat alone in the cafeteria (I actually broke the rules several times to sneak to the kindergarten side and sit with her until they would catch me and send me back to the second-graders).
I just worried. I never wanted anyone to feel like they weren't "taken care of," and for my entire life, this pattern has remained constant. When we were at Disney World recently, I walked into a little shop that I remembered from childhood. All the stuffed animals were on the same wall that I had pictured them on in my memories. I got so choked up remembering myself as little red-headed girl who stood in front of the Goofy dolls (he was my favorite), tenderly lifting one off the shelf and then feeling the overwhelming guilt that all the other ones would be sad because I hadn't chosen them. I would look at their faces and try to decide which was the most needy so that I could rescue him. I vividly remember walking away with the "chosen" one and starting to cry because all the other ones must have felt abandoned.
I refused to come down the stairs on Christmas morning when I was 5 because I was convinced that Santa didn't find me worthy of toys. I hid under the covers and cried and cried until my dad brought me some red and white pom-poms from under the tree to prove that Santa had come, and that he had remembered me. The feeling that I needed to be the rescuer, that I needed to keep people safe, that I needed to be good enough.
I have never been able to completely shake these emotions. They came with me to college, to graduate school, to marriage, to the delivery room, to the doctor's office. To the ultrasound where I was told that my worst fears had been confirmed. They walk beside me in the daylight and wake me in the night. Fear wraps itself around me and refuses to let go. I can feel my fingers getting numb, my vision getting hazy, my breathing quicken, and I know it is upon me. But I believe now, years later, that this voice has a name, and he lurks in the shadows, waiting to devour. I feel that I have been in the midst of spiritual warfare as I have walked this path, and I have constantly had to silence the enemy with the only word that can. I utter the name of Jesus as I get into bed, as I cry in the night, as I sense the evil that Satan has tempted me to believe. Today he has sought me out. To paint horrific images of tomorrow, to shake me to the core, to tell me that my Lord has no power to intervene now. It is too late.
I have not made it out of bed today because I have so sensed the need to concentrate wholly on what I know to be true, even when I don't feel it. A few hours ago, I talked to God about what I was feeling, and I begged mercy for my doubts. He reminded me gently of a man named Job, whom he loved and knew as a righteous, holy man whose heart was filled with His spirit. He allowed Satan to test Job, to take away what was most precious to him. Job walked through the depths of suffering, more than I can fathom. I opened my Bible to his story, and asked God what it was that He wanted from me today, on the eve of the day where I have been called to anticipate the loss of my sweet daughter. He spoke, as He always does. I wasn't necessarily expecting to hear what He said in that moment, as I wept openly before Him in the profound wake of sadness that surrounds me.
I want you to praise Me.
He didn't ask me to praise Him because He was going to perform a miracle, although He knows that I would. He asked me to praise Him because He will be the same tomorrow regardless of what happens to Audrey. Is that hard for me to wrap my heart around? Yes. Does everything in me want to protest letting someone else be in charge? Yes. It has been my mode of survival since I was born. My parents told me that moments after I was born, I lifted my head off my mother's body and scanned the room. I was probably making sure someone was going to bring me to the right place and that the doctor was well aware of what he needed to be focusing on in that moment.
I have a history of not letting someone else "take care of things." And now I am being called to praise the One who is allowing this season? Who has taken every bit of control from me? Lord, I can't even read a book without a highlighter in my hand. I can't let my children walk too close to the ice-cream man without hovering a foot away (although, in fairness, you would do the same if you met him. Seriously creepy....). Are you serious?
I sat in the silence. I closed my eyes and thought about who He is to me. What He has been to me, in the bitterness and in the joy. I felt like He was beside me, waiting. And in that moment, I felt myself rest. My mind was still. All I know is that without intending to, I smiled. It was the most ridiculous thing you could ever imagine, unless you know what I know. And I hope you do.
He is Lord. Only He. Not me, not Todd, not my doctors, not my parents.
He.
We don't know what tomorrow will look like, how it will be remembered ten years from now. We can't begin to imagine the road that lies ahead of us, but I know that I will remember today as being a day that I trusted Him despite the hurt.
I want you to know, especially if you do not know the Lord, that He is real. This is not a fairy-tale coping mechanism that I rely on when I need to escape from reality. It is not something I do because it's nice to have a place to dress up for on Sunday mornings. It is my fervent prayer that somehow I can manage in this post to find a balance between not alienating people and sharing my heart. It's just that I don't know how people get through things like this without Him. I can barely choose stuffed animals without having a heart attack, and today, because of Christ, I am filled with peace. I pray the same for each of you as you walk through your own life.
One way or another, our daughter will be healed tomorrow. Praise God with me tonight for this truth.
Your prayers, as always, are with me. God has allowed my burden to be shared with so many "strangers" that I am overwhelmed. This little girl has been loved deeply, richly, profoundly by many. Thank you. I know you will be with us tomorrow, and for that we are more grateful than we can express.
My friend Jess will be updating the blog tomorrow as things are progressing so that we can share specific prayer requests. For today, please pray that we will be able to hear truth above fear, and that we will rest in knowing that truth.
With much love and great hope,
Angie
What a real God we have. What a loving Father we have.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Dirty Love
I never really considered my dreams to have much significance until recently. Although I’ve read about how God has given people divine revelations through their dreams, I honestly didn’t believe them.
Then a few months ago I found myself standing on a rocky cliff in Africa looking upon a man covered with lesions due to AIDS. I could feel a quick breeze hit my face, as I saw the sun pound upon the man’s dark skin. His head was buried in his hands as he wept. As I drew closer, I could see a mixture between snot and spit coming down from his hands. He finally noticed me and looked upon me.
“Hey man, what’s wrong?” I asked naively. I could tell this broken man couldn’t understand me. He just looked at me with extreme sorrow in his eyes; sorrow I’d never seen in a man’s eyes before. He tried to stop crying. I was afraid he was going to start hyperventilating. I wanted to tell this man so badly that everything was going to be OK, but I couldn’t.
I just gave him a hug. I could feel his body bleeding on my fingertips. The man’s frail arms were shaking as he held onto me like one would hold onto a life preserver. I immediately woke up crying.
The most disturbing aspect of the episode was that I wasn’t crying because I saw this man’s suffering through AIDS and the poverty around him. Even though I was aware that I couldn’t get AIDS from merely touching the man, I was still repulsed by the idea of touching him. The basic instinct was that if I touched the man, others would think I was just as dirty as society has made him out to be and I didn’t want to be part of that.
I really liked Christianity until it involved actually living out Jesus’ teachings. I loved hearing about how Jesus fed the multitudes, healed the lepers and made the blind see. I figured most of the work for Christians was done, because our focus was to save souls from eternal damnation—not getting our hands dirty because of Him.
I started flipping through the pages of my Bible to find something so much more than the Jesus I learned to bottle up like a genie. However, seven eternal words continuously stared me in the face: Love your neighbors as you love yourself.
Although I knew this new commandment well, it didn’t really sink in until I started reading about how Jesus healed the lepers. The lepers had this stigma around them that the man in my dream had. Society didn’t want them because they were dirty–even if they couldn’t help their condition.
The style of love Jesus shows is so different than what many of us believe. When we hear about the love of Christ, it feels that many of us think tolerance of our Christian neighbors.
Tolerance isn’t a bad thing by any means, but I am convinced the love of Christ runs deeper than that. It’s a love that requires us to accept a person for who they are.
Before we can accept a person like Jesus would, I am convinced we have to relearn empathy. Through empathy we learn to humble ourselves enough to feel what the other person is feeling. We live in a time where we dehumanize others through words such as, “sinner” or “lost soul,” which kills the connection we could have with some really amazing people. I am convinced that when we start building relationships with them, just to be friends, even if they’re of a different religious affiliation, then we will see a different side of life and be able to empathize with them.
Through this acceptance, we understand these people we love have faults and accept that. We understand they may even have a different political or religious affiliation, but that shouldn’t stop us from the love we find in Christ. If anything, this should propel it so they can experience the love we find through Jesus. After all, our neighbors aren’t all exactly Christian ones.
This love turns societies upside down. It doesn’t appeal to us white-collar Christians who put money in the offering plate on Sundays in hopes this helps others.
After a few prayers and a long sermon, we try to forget the injustices of the world by staying on our cell phones as we pass through life mindlessly. Or we help them, thinking someone from church may catch a glimpse of this good act.
Jesus’ dirty love turns the tables and tells us to do the right thing because it’s right. It coaxes us to understand others and to take time out of our days to really empathize and accept our neighbors.
It’s interesting to see how many of us Christians are willing to do everything but physically help a homeless man in need—much less a man ridden with AIDS. Not long after I had the dream I saw two Christians outside of a local restaurant talking with this homeless man. He was hungry and needed something to drink. It was obvious they had no intention of helping him out physically, but they were ready to save his soul. After handing him a tract, they walked inside to get their overpriced food.
I saw the same fear in this man’s skittish eyes as I did in my dream. He was even crying in a similar fashion as the man in my dream. It was unnerving. At that moment, I learned what it really felt like to step out of my own comfort zone to really show someone the love Jesus taught. Sometimes that love can only be found through a hug or a burger.
-Christopher Shaver, Relevant Magazine
Then a few months ago I found myself standing on a rocky cliff in Africa looking upon a man covered with lesions due to AIDS. I could feel a quick breeze hit my face, as I saw the sun pound upon the man’s dark skin. His head was buried in his hands as he wept. As I drew closer, I could see a mixture between snot and spit coming down from his hands. He finally noticed me and looked upon me.
“Hey man, what’s wrong?” I asked naively. I could tell this broken man couldn’t understand me. He just looked at me with extreme sorrow in his eyes; sorrow I’d never seen in a man’s eyes before. He tried to stop crying. I was afraid he was going to start hyperventilating. I wanted to tell this man so badly that everything was going to be OK, but I couldn’t.
I just gave him a hug. I could feel his body bleeding on my fingertips. The man’s frail arms were shaking as he held onto me like one would hold onto a life preserver. I immediately woke up crying.
The most disturbing aspect of the episode was that I wasn’t crying because I saw this man’s suffering through AIDS and the poverty around him. Even though I was aware that I couldn’t get AIDS from merely touching the man, I was still repulsed by the idea of touching him. The basic instinct was that if I touched the man, others would think I was just as dirty as society has made him out to be and I didn’t want to be part of that.
I really liked Christianity until it involved actually living out Jesus’ teachings. I loved hearing about how Jesus fed the multitudes, healed the lepers and made the blind see. I figured most of the work for Christians was done, because our focus was to save souls from eternal damnation—not getting our hands dirty because of Him.
I started flipping through the pages of my Bible to find something so much more than the Jesus I learned to bottle up like a genie. However, seven eternal words continuously stared me in the face: Love your neighbors as you love yourself.
Although I knew this new commandment well, it didn’t really sink in until I started reading about how Jesus healed the lepers. The lepers had this stigma around them that the man in my dream had. Society didn’t want them because they were dirty–even if they couldn’t help their condition.
The style of love Jesus shows is so different than what many of us believe. When we hear about the love of Christ, it feels that many of us think tolerance of our Christian neighbors.
Tolerance isn’t a bad thing by any means, but I am convinced the love of Christ runs deeper than that. It’s a love that requires us to accept a person for who they are.
Before we can accept a person like Jesus would, I am convinced we have to relearn empathy. Through empathy we learn to humble ourselves enough to feel what the other person is feeling. We live in a time where we dehumanize others through words such as, “sinner” or “lost soul,” which kills the connection we could have with some really amazing people. I am convinced that when we start building relationships with them, just to be friends, even if they’re of a different religious affiliation, then we will see a different side of life and be able to empathize with them.
Through this acceptance, we understand these people we love have faults and accept that. We understand they may even have a different political or religious affiliation, but that shouldn’t stop us from the love we find in Christ. If anything, this should propel it so they can experience the love we find through Jesus. After all, our neighbors aren’t all exactly Christian ones.
This love turns societies upside down. It doesn’t appeal to us white-collar Christians who put money in the offering plate on Sundays in hopes this helps others.
After a few prayers and a long sermon, we try to forget the injustices of the world by staying on our cell phones as we pass through life mindlessly. Or we help them, thinking someone from church may catch a glimpse of this good act.
Jesus’ dirty love turns the tables and tells us to do the right thing because it’s right. It coaxes us to understand others and to take time out of our days to really empathize and accept our neighbors.
It’s interesting to see how many of us Christians are willing to do everything but physically help a homeless man in need—much less a man ridden with AIDS. Not long after I had the dream I saw two Christians outside of a local restaurant talking with this homeless man. He was hungry and needed something to drink. It was obvious they had no intention of helping him out physically, but they were ready to save his soul. After handing him a tract, they walked inside to get their overpriced food.
I saw the same fear in this man’s skittish eyes as I did in my dream. He was even crying in a similar fashion as the man in my dream. It was unnerving. At that moment, I learned what it really felt like to step out of my own comfort zone to really show someone the love Jesus taught. Sometimes that love can only be found through a hug or a burger.
-Christopher Shaver, Relevant Magazine
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Finding the Smoke Detector
Not long ago a friend of mine told me that he "discovered his smoke detector." While I laughed at his simplicity, a few weeks later I definitely found my smoke detector.
That particular evening, just as I was getting settled in my cozy bed, that beast went wild. I mean, I was in one of those half-awake states, and I could have sworn the building was on fire. It was ear-piercing and ridiculous--enough to wake someone up from a coma really. I jumped out of my bed fearing for my life and expecting to find my place rapidly turning to ash. I readied myself for an escape out the window, and just as I was deciding whether or not my neighbors would mind seeing me in my drawers, silence. The siren ceased and all that could be heard was my heart pounding in my chest. I felt a little on the insane side and a little violated all at the same time. I paced around for awhile, throwing on lights and trying to make some sense out of the event. None could be found, however, and I returned to my slumber.
The next evening came, and the memory of the events of the previous night were long forgotten and tucked away in my random story folder. And then again. Same story. I just knew I was dreaming. This could not possibly happen two nights in a row without an apparent cause. I mean, was I blowing smoke in my sleep?! I got up more annoyed than frightened. The siren stopped and all was well again.
The next morning, I promptly called the maintenance department at 8:00. I told them my story, and the less-than-helpful-and-kind woman says, "Did you check the batteries." Ha. What an insult to my intelligence. I am not a fool--I know the difference between the this-building-is-burning-down-call-911 and please-change-my-battery-least-I-peep-till-kingdom-come. My batteries were not dying. She insisted that I check them, but I refused and a few hours later new smoke detectors were being installed in my apartment.
I have not had any more rude smoke detector awakenings since, but I have noticed something else that sometimes keeps me awake at night.
When my friend said that he "discovered his smoke detector" he was simply talking about the light. Before, he had never even noticed its presence, but the darkness revealed its bright green light. It has been awhile since my smoke detector mishaps, but lately I notice that green light more and more. Even in the light it is there, but in the darkness it is radiant.
When I turn out the lights at bedtime I am reminded of John 1:5-- The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. And then I begin to wonder to myself if I am standing far too often in the light with my "holy huddle" and not penetrating the darkness. I am challenged knowing that the darkness cannot overcome the light, but I fear I forget. I fear I am too busy to be the light of the world. O God, rescue me from my selfishness, and make me to shine in the darkest of nights.
That particular evening, just as I was getting settled in my cozy bed, that beast went wild. I mean, I was in one of those half-awake states, and I could have sworn the building was on fire. It was ear-piercing and ridiculous--enough to wake someone up from a coma really. I jumped out of my bed fearing for my life and expecting to find my place rapidly turning to ash. I readied myself for an escape out the window, and just as I was deciding whether or not my neighbors would mind seeing me in my drawers, silence. The siren ceased and all that could be heard was my heart pounding in my chest. I felt a little on the insane side and a little violated all at the same time. I paced around for awhile, throwing on lights and trying to make some sense out of the event. None could be found, however, and I returned to my slumber.
The next evening came, and the memory of the events of the previous night were long forgotten and tucked away in my random story folder. And then again. Same story. I just knew I was dreaming. This could not possibly happen two nights in a row without an apparent cause. I mean, was I blowing smoke in my sleep?! I got up more annoyed than frightened. The siren stopped and all was well again.
The next morning, I promptly called the maintenance department at 8:00. I told them my story, and the less-than-helpful-and-kind woman says, "Did you check the batteries." Ha. What an insult to my intelligence. I am not a fool--I know the difference between the this-building-is-burning-down-call-911 and please-change-my-battery-least-I-peep-till-kingdom-come. My batteries were not dying. She insisted that I check them, but I refused and a few hours later new smoke detectors were being installed in my apartment.
I have not had any more rude smoke detector awakenings since, but I have noticed something else that sometimes keeps me awake at night.
When my friend said that he "discovered his smoke detector" he was simply talking about the light. Before, he had never even noticed its presence, but the darkness revealed its bright green light. It has been awhile since my smoke detector mishaps, but lately I notice that green light more and more. Even in the light it is there, but in the darkness it is radiant.
When I turn out the lights at bedtime I am reminded of John 1:5-- The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. And then I begin to wonder to myself if I am standing far too often in the light with my "holy huddle" and not penetrating the darkness. I am challenged knowing that the darkness cannot overcome the light, but I fear I forget. I fear I am too busy to be the light of the world. O God, rescue me from my selfishness, and make me to shine in the darkest of nights.
Monday, March 03, 2008
My Deepest Need
Your love is life to me
My truest longing
My deepest need
Without it one moment
I dont know where I'd be
Your love is life to me
Bread for my body
Light for my eyes
All that I need You daily provide
Deep in my being
More than my blood
My very exsistence depends on Your love
Your love is life to me
My truest longing
My deepest need
Without it one moment
I dont know where I'd be
Your love is life to me
Moment by moment
I am aware of Your tender mercies
And Your constant care
My hope and my strength
Through all of my days
I see so clearly in so many ways
-FFH
My truest longing
My deepest need
Without it one moment
I dont know where I'd be
Your love is life to me
Bread for my body
Light for my eyes
All that I need You daily provide
Deep in my being
More than my blood
My very exsistence depends on Your love
Your love is life to me
My truest longing
My deepest need
Without it one moment
I dont know where I'd be
Your love is life to me
Moment by moment
I am aware of Your tender mercies
And Your constant care
My hope and my strength
Through all of my days
I see so clearly in so many ways
-FFH
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Hope This, Hope That
I’m not talking about blind optimism here -- the almost willful ignorance that thinks unemployment will go away if we just don’t think about it, or the health care crisis will solve itself if we just ignore it. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about something more substantial. It’s the hope of slaves sitting around a fire singing freedom songs; the hope of immigrants setting out for distant shores; the hope of a young naval lieutenant bravely patrolling the Mekong Delta; the hope of a millworker’s son who dares to defy the odds; the hope of a skinny kid with a funny name who believes that America has a place for him, too.
Hope -- Hope in the face of difficulty. Hope in the face of uncertainty. The audacity of hope!
In the end, that is God’s greatest gift to us, the bedrock of this nation. A belief in things not seen. A belief that there are better days ahead.
I believe that we can give our middle class relief and provide working families with a road to opportunity.
I believe we can provide jobs to the jobless, homes to the homeless, and reclaim young people in cities across America from violence and despair.
I believe that we have a righteous wind at our backs and that as we stand on the crossroads of history, we can make the right choices, and meet the challenges that face us.
-Barack Obama
It sounds beautiful. I won't deny that. But really? Sorry, I am skeptical. I want it to be true, I really do. But, how Mr. Obama?
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down
Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the Lenten season--a season of repentance and prayer. I do not pretend to know much about Lent due to my traditional Baptist upbringing that does not celebrate the season. Most of what I know is from friends and from wikipedia. However, the tradition is beautiful to me. I think the reason I have begun to appreciate Lent is the recognition of need for a season of repentance. Yes, I know we can repent every day all year long--and we should. But to me, there is something special about a season in which the act is uplifted. The 40 days of Lent are often times related to the 40 days Jesus spent in the wildnerness preparing for ministry. And what a neat opportunity for us to practice a similar discipline with hope--hope that looks forward ultimately to the resurrection of Christ. The resurrection that means our sins are gone, washed away. What hope and joy!
Today I heard this song for the first time (I know my blog would not be complete without a song). It is called Dearly Loved by Jimmy Needham--
Please lay down your eros
For they're sure to pierce the skin
And water from a broken well
Will make you thirst again
When all things you've acquired
Are tested by the flames
And you can see them melting
Then will you call his name
It's worth it brothers
It's worth it friends
To know your maker
To lose your sin
Did you know that you are dearly loved
To the slaughters you are being led
Being told that it's a party
That this God is in your head
And every single lie
Sounds just like the greatest truth
But the one truth you're not hearing
Is that he died for you
No greater joy
No greater peace
No greater love than this
It's worth it brothers
It's worth it friends
To know your maker
To lose your sin
Did you know that you are dearly loved
What a message for all of us that we can know our Maker and lose our sins! And that is what Ash Wednesday is all about--knowing our Maker through repentance and losing our sins.
"For my people have committed two evils: they have forsaken me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed out cisterns for themselves, broken cisterns that can hold no water." Jeremiah 2:13
"...I am the Lord who practices steadfast love, justice, and righteousness in the earth. For in these things I delight, declares the Lord." Jeremiah 9:24
"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28
May we find our rest and hope in Him in this season where we are reminded that we all fall down but that His grace is enough.
Today I heard this song for the first time (I know my blog would not be complete without a song). It is called Dearly Loved by Jimmy Needham--
Please lay down your eros
For they're sure to pierce the skin
And water from a broken well
Will make you thirst again
When all things you've acquired
Are tested by the flames
And you can see them melting
Then will you call his name
It's worth it brothers
It's worth it friends
To know your maker
To lose your sin
Did you know that you are dearly loved
To the slaughters you are being led
Being told that it's a party
That this God is in your head
And every single lie
Sounds just like the greatest truth
But the one truth you're not hearing
Is that he died for you
No greater joy
No greater peace
No greater love than this
It's worth it brothers
It's worth it friends
To know your maker
To lose your sin
Did you know that you are dearly loved
What a message for all of us that we can know our Maker and lose our sins! And that is what Ash Wednesday is all about--knowing our Maker through repentance and losing our sins.
"For my people have committed two evils: they have forsaken me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed out cisterns for themselves, broken cisterns that can hold no water." Jeremiah 2:13
"...I am the Lord who practices steadfast love, justice, and righteousness in the earth. For in these things I delight, declares the Lord." Jeremiah 9:24
"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28
May we find our rest and hope in Him in this season where we are reminded that we all fall down but that His grace is enough.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Somewhere in the Middle
Somewhere between the hot and the cold
Somewhere between the new and the old
Somewhere between who I am and who I used to be
Somewhere in the middle, You'll find me
Somewhere between the wrong and the right
Somewhere between the darkness and the light
Somewhere between who I was and who You're making me
Somewhere in the middle, You'll find me
Just how close can I get, Lord, to my surrender without losing all control
Fearless warriors in a picket fence, reckless abandon wrapped in common sense
Deep water faith in the shallow end and we are caught in the middle
With eyes wide open to the differences, the God we want and the God who is
But will we trade our dreams for His or are we caught in the middle
Are we caught in the middle
Somewhere between my heart and my hands
Somewhere between my faith and my plans
Somewhere between the safety of the boat and the crashing waves
Somewhere between a whisper and a roar
Somewhere between the altar and the door
Somewhere between contented peace and always wanting more
Somewhere in the middle You'll find me
Just how close can I get, Lord, to my surrender without losing all control
Lord, I feel You in this place and I know You're by my side
Loving me even on these nights when I'm caught in the middle
-Casting Crowns
What a simple song--Somewhere in the Middle. Can you relate? Do you ever feel caught in the middle between who you are and who you used to be? Between being content and always wanting more? Between your faith and your plans? I know I do. Some days I strive so hard to be all the Lord has called me to be and others I am wallowing in sin up to my chin. I truly feel caught in the middle--constantly deciding whether the Almighty or the withering world is better. My heart longs for the God but my flesh is so loud--caught in the middle.
I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were either cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth. For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked.
-Revelation 3:15-17
Oh, God, thank You for your great mercy that holds us though we are wretched, poor, blind, and naked. Thank You for loving us in the moments we are caught in the middle.
Somewhere between the new and the old
Somewhere between who I am and who I used to be
Somewhere in the middle, You'll find me
Somewhere between the wrong and the right
Somewhere between the darkness and the light
Somewhere between who I was and who You're making me
Somewhere in the middle, You'll find me
Just how close can I get, Lord, to my surrender without losing all control
Fearless warriors in a picket fence, reckless abandon wrapped in common sense
Deep water faith in the shallow end and we are caught in the middle
With eyes wide open to the differences, the God we want and the God who is
But will we trade our dreams for His or are we caught in the middle
Are we caught in the middle
Somewhere between my heart and my hands
Somewhere between my faith and my plans
Somewhere between the safety of the boat and the crashing waves
Somewhere between a whisper and a roar
Somewhere between the altar and the door
Somewhere between contented peace and always wanting more
Somewhere in the middle You'll find me
Just how close can I get, Lord, to my surrender without losing all control
Lord, I feel You in this place and I know You're by my side
Loving me even on these nights when I'm caught in the middle
-Casting Crowns
What a simple song--Somewhere in the Middle. Can you relate? Do you ever feel caught in the middle between who you are and who you used to be? Between being content and always wanting more? Between your faith and your plans? I know I do. Some days I strive so hard to be all the Lord has called me to be and others I am wallowing in sin up to my chin. I truly feel caught in the middle--constantly deciding whether the Almighty or the withering world is better. My heart longs for the God but my flesh is so loud--caught in the middle.
I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were either cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth. For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked.
-Revelation 3:15-17
Oh, God, thank You for your great mercy that holds us though we are wretched, poor, blind, and naked. Thank You for loving us in the moments we are caught in the middle.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
PB&J, Freebies, and Healthcare-- Political Thoughts from My Politically Inept Mind
Today I brought my smashed peanut butter and jelly sandwich to school that I didn't eat yesterday. I wasn't particularly excited about its consumption but, hey, I was in a hurry and it was better than nothing. As lunchtime approached I was reminded that lunch was provided at a lecture today for the first 50 students in line. So, with smashed PB&J in tow I jumped on the vulture wagon of hungry med students figuring that anything was better than my fare for the day. As I enjoyed my fresh, un-smashed, free sandwich from Cafe Express, I listened to a discourse about healthcare, insurance, politics, and the like--topics in which I am very uneducated.
Some of the conversation was far over my head, but I think I got the gist--there is a huge healthcare crisis with no simple answer anywhere on the horizon. Well, duh, I already knew that. But as I enjoyed my free meal I had a small (and probably seemingly obvious) revelation. You see, in many ways our nation works in the same way that me and my smashed PB&J sandwich fated today.
Let me explain-- I had what I needed. No, it wasn't want I wanted. But it was plenty. And even without the little that I had I could I have made it through the day. And not only that, I could have easy done better. With little effort I could have walked down the stairs, swiped my credit card, and provided for myself something more palatable and desirable than my current option. But I didn't have too. Another option was supplied for me, and not only that, the option was free. So I did the most rational thing that any hungry medical student would do and received my free gift along with 49 of my peers.
Here is where our nation's crisis arises. We are handing out freebies to people who (1) have plenty to get by on (yes, maybe it is not as much as their neighbor, but it is more than enough) and/or (2) could easily do better with a little effort. I am not talking about people who are unable to make ends meet despite gruelling efforts or those with disabilities that prevent them from such efforts--unless of course you consider bare laziness a disability.
You may say that I am stereotypical, judgmental, or maybe even just plain not altruistic. But look around. You won't have to look far to find a grand example of this in action--it is rampant. Don't mistake me for saying that I do not care about the poor, the orphans, and the widows--those in real need. What I am saying is that our American greediness has overrun every aspect of our culture, and if we are so blind and ignorant as to think that giving more to the "pseudo-poor" as I like to call it is the solution we are sadly, sadly mistaken.
One of the questions proposed today was, "What responsibility does the government have to provide healthcare for the uninsured?" And as one of my peers pointed out the more appropriate questions that we should be asking ourselves are--"What responsibility do individuals have to provide for their own well-being? What responsibility do individuals have to take care of themselves and provide for themselves?" I mean, if we are in the mood to be charitable we could pool the wealth and become Communist. But I think we are mistaking charity with stupidity.
I was watching the news one night as some angry protesters went nuts in New Orleans about the demolition of an area of government housing. The reporter interviewed a woman who said, "I may be poor, but I ain't gonna live poor." What a mentality--I am going to get and get and get as much as I can. That is not called poverty. It is called greediness and laziness.
Like I said, there are no simple solutions to the healthcare issue. But I think we are completely missing the point. I think we can package these ridiculous plans with pretty ribbons and bows all we want but when the big day comes for their unwrapping, some will be quite surprised when all they find is a box full of greedy snakes waiting in line for another dollar.
Please do not think I am saying that everyone on any sort of government program is a greedy snake. Rather, look and see how much the poor and needy are truly robbed by the "pseudo-poor" and un-needy in their abuse of the system.
As long as there is free food in the medical school there will be hungry students eagerly awaiting a good meal, and as long as we continue to rob ourselves with fluffy, pretty, simple plans there we be a line of lazies waiting for another check. Don't kid yourself.
Some of the conversation was far over my head, but I think I got the gist--there is a huge healthcare crisis with no simple answer anywhere on the horizon. Well, duh, I already knew that. But as I enjoyed my free meal I had a small (and probably seemingly obvious) revelation. You see, in many ways our nation works in the same way that me and my smashed PB&J sandwich fated today.
Let me explain-- I had what I needed. No, it wasn't want I wanted. But it was plenty. And even without the little that I had I could I have made it through the day. And not only that, I could have easy done better. With little effort I could have walked down the stairs, swiped my credit card, and provided for myself something more palatable and desirable than my current option. But I didn't have too. Another option was supplied for me, and not only that, the option was free. So I did the most rational thing that any hungry medical student would do and received my free gift along with 49 of my peers.
Here is where our nation's crisis arises. We are handing out freebies to people who (1) have plenty to get by on (yes, maybe it is not as much as their neighbor, but it is more than enough) and/or (2) could easily do better with a little effort. I am not talking about people who are unable to make ends meet despite gruelling efforts or those with disabilities that prevent them from such efforts--unless of course you consider bare laziness a disability.
You may say that I am stereotypical, judgmental, or maybe even just plain not altruistic. But look around. You won't have to look far to find a grand example of this in action--it is rampant. Don't mistake me for saying that I do not care about the poor, the orphans, and the widows--those in real need. What I am saying is that our American greediness has overrun every aspect of our culture, and if we are so blind and ignorant as to think that giving more to the "pseudo-poor" as I like to call it is the solution we are sadly, sadly mistaken.
One of the questions proposed today was, "What responsibility does the government have to provide healthcare for the uninsured?" And as one of my peers pointed out the more appropriate questions that we should be asking ourselves are--"What responsibility do individuals have to provide for their own well-being? What responsibility do individuals have to take care of themselves and provide for themselves?" I mean, if we are in the mood to be charitable we could pool the wealth and become Communist. But I think we are mistaking charity with stupidity.
I was watching the news one night as some angry protesters went nuts in New Orleans about the demolition of an area of government housing. The reporter interviewed a woman who said, "I may be poor, but I ain't gonna live poor." What a mentality--I am going to get and get and get as much as I can. That is not called poverty. It is called greediness and laziness.
Like I said, there are no simple solutions to the healthcare issue. But I think we are completely missing the point. I think we can package these ridiculous plans with pretty ribbons and bows all we want but when the big day comes for their unwrapping, some will be quite surprised when all they find is a box full of greedy snakes waiting in line for another dollar.
Please do not think I am saying that everyone on any sort of government program is a greedy snake. Rather, look and see how much the poor and needy are truly robbed by the "pseudo-poor" and un-needy in their abuse of the system.
As long as there is free food in the medical school there will be hungry students eagerly awaiting a good meal, and as long as we continue to rob ourselves with fluffy, pretty, simple plans there we be a line of lazies waiting for another check. Don't kid yourself.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Newness
Welcome to 2008! Wow, how the time flies and stands still all at the same time. I love the New Year because I love the time of reflection and renewal. Yeah, that seems like a trite or cliche thing to say, but it's true. A lot of people reflect on the year past and feel a sense of renewal--of starting over in a sense. The problem is that the renewal lasts for a day or two or maybe even a week or two--about until work or school or "normal" life kicks back into play. In my mind that is a tragedy--that we wear ourselves out so quickly and lose sight of the greater picture, the hope and joy that we have in Christ, that though life just plain sucks at times, He is faithful and good.
I feel like 2007 was a busy year. I was spare you all of a list of my 2007 accomplishments (because mostly they are boring and unimportant), but I flat out wore myself out. I even feel like I missed Christmas this year. Does anyone know what I mean? I was just so busy that when I was putting away the decorations I thought--did all this just happen already? Is Christmas tomorrow or was it last week? Running here and there and everywhere I missed it. I mean, sometimes I think that is just part of life. You can't slow life down. And that was me this year--there was nothing I could do to slow my life down.
But this week I am resting and doing exciting things that I have wanted to do for awhile now--like iron my curtains and organize my thousands of pages of notes from the semester. Exciting, I know. Today I chilled and as I was riding in the car I heard a great song on the radio. I must admit that, normally, I probably would have changed the station because, yes, it is the typical, overplayed, redundant, bordering on annoying, contemporary Christian song BUT its message hit home today and for me it is my theme song of the new year. It's called Miracle of the Moment by Steven Curtis Chapman--
It’s time for letting go
All of our if only’s
‘Cause we don’t have a time machine
And even if we did
Would we really want to use it?
Would we really want to go change everything?
‘Cause we are who and where and what we are for now
And this is the only moment we can do anything about
Chorus:
So breathe it in and breathe it out
Listen to your heartbeat
There’s a wonder in the here and now
It’s right there in front of you
And I don’t want you to miss
The miracle of the moment
There’s only one who knows
What’s really out there waiting
In all the moments yet to be
And all we need to know
Is He’s out there waiting
To Him the future’s history
And He has given us a treasure called right now
And this is the only moment we can do anything about
And if it brings you tears
Then taste them as they fall
And let them soften your heart
And if it brings you laughter
Then throw your head back
And let it go, let it go
You gotta let it go
Listen to your heartbeat
I love how it says, "He has given us a treasure called right now, and this is the only moment we can do anything about." What a wonderful thing to treasure day-to-day, maybe even seemingly mundane life. What a wonderful thing to live in the moment. Yeah, yeah, cliche you may say. But true nonetheless. Hold on to that. Enjoy the moment.
And one last thought--
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.
1 Corinthians 5:17
Welcome to the new year. May you experience the newness you have in Christ to its fullest this year and may you live in the miracle of the moment. May the Lord bless you and keep you and may His face shine upon and be gracious and give you peace....
I feel like 2007 was a busy year. I was spare you all of a list of my 2007 accomplishments (because mostly they are boring and unimportant), but I flat out wore myself out. I even feel like I missed Christmas this year. Does anyone know what I mean? I was just so busy that when I was putting away the decorations I thought--did all this just happen already? Is Christmas tomorrow or was it last week? Running here and there and everywhere I missed it. I mean, sometimes I think that is just part of life. You can't slow life down. And that was me this year--there was nothing I could do to slow my life down.
But this week I am resting and doing exciting things that I have wanted to do for awhile now--like iron my curtains and organize my thousands of pages of notes from the semester. Exciting, I know. Today I chilled and as I was riding in the car I heard a great song on the radio. I must admit that, normally, I probably would have changed the station because, yes, it is the typical, overplayed, redundant, bordering on annoying, contemporary Christian song BUT its message hit home today and for me it is my theme song of the new year. It's called Miracle of the Moment by Steven Curtis Chapman--
It’s time for letting go
All of our if only’s
‘Cause we don’t have a time machine
And even if we did
Would we really want to use it?
Would we really want to go change everything?
‘Cause we are who and where and what we are for now
And this is the only moment we can do anything about
Chorus:
So breathe it in and breathe it out
Listen to your heartbeat
There’s a wonder in the here and now
It’s right there in front of you
And I don’t want you to miss
The miracle of the moment
There’s only one who knows
What’s really out there waiting
In all the moments yet to be
And all we need to know
Is He’s out there waiting
To Him the future’s history
And He has given us a treasure called right now
And this is the only moment we can do anything about
And if it brings you tears
Then taste them as they fall
And let them soften your heart
And if it brings you laughter
Then throw your head back
And let it go, let it go
You gotta let it go
Listen to your heartbeat
I love how it says, "He has given us a treasure called right now, and this is the only moment we can do anything about." What a wonderful thing to treasure day-to-day, maybe even seemingly mundane life. What a wonderful thing to live in the moment. Yeah, yeah, cliche you may say. But true nonetheless. Hold on to that. Enjoy the moment.
And one last thought--
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.
1 Corinthians 5:17
Welcome to the new year. May you experience the newness you have in Christ to its fullest this year and may you live in the miracle of the moment. May the Lord bless you and keep you and may His face shine upon and be gracious and give you peace....
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