The aroma of Christ

"Come, Lord Jesus."

Rarely do I breathe this prayer as a casual invitation - it usually comes more as a desperate plea. Rarely is it spoken while I am on my knees - it usually comes while I'm driving, or sneaking away from the crowds under the guise of doing some necessary chore, or sometimes even while I am in the midst of conversation; it has been known to come with tears.

I pray this prayer with the knowledge that Jesus is already present, already working, always in control. It is a prayer of humility, recognizing my need for him, and my strong desire to see him and feel him there.

These three words laced my thoughts and conversations at my family's Christmas celebration this year. Our traditional Christmas festivities are always fun and warm and loving (though what family get-together is completely free of some minor tension?). Nonetheless, this year more than ever, I felt a loneliness, a longing for God's presence, for Jesus to be met and known at his own birthday celebration.

"Come, Lord Jesus."

As a quick run to the store for a bottle of Worcestershire sauce (crucial to Chex Mix and shrimp dip - staples in our family) on Christmas Eve afternoon gave me a chance for some quiet away from the crowd, I was confronted with a question: I am begging Jesus to come, but how am I making his presence known?

For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life. Who is sufficient for these things? For we are not, like so many, peddlers of God's word, but as men of sincerity, as commissioned by God, in the sight of God we speak in Christ. 2 Corinthians 2:15-17

Amidst so many familiar aromas this season - pine trees, peppermint candy canes, cranberry-nut bread baking in the oven, freshly sliced ham for Christmas dinner - are my actions and words spreading the aroma of Christ? And am I speaking as a woman of sincerity?

I read a prayer later on that evening that helped my heart to turn these questions into a request for His help.

Fill our minds and our mouths, O Lord, with the truth of Christ that we may speak well of him. Forbid that we would add to the avalanche of error spoken about Christ in the world.

I prayed this prayer for not only the words of my mouth, but for what is spoken by my actions and my very life as well. May I always speak well of him, and as I do so may my life be the aroma of Christ to both the living and the dying.

"Come, Lord Jesus."

This blog was written and posted from the charming Birchwood Cafe in the Seward neighborhood in Minneapolis. Next time you're looking for a good place to eat, get coffee, write a blog, or catch up with your college roommates, you should come here.

Waiting for Christ to come

There is a saying I’ve heard from time to time over the past couple of years – I don’t know that it’s necessarily a Southern phrase, but it’s one I’ve only heard since moving down here. My roommate used it the other day to describe some thick, sweet evaporated milk that was ever so slowly pouring out of its can: “Man, this stuff is slow as Christmas!”

O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear

Slow as Christmas? Christmas never seems that slow to me. With presents to buy, parties to attend, work to be done before the end of the year, travel plans to be made, and all of the other things that go into getting ready for Christmas, the day itself comes all too quickly. But the saying still rings true in the minds of children, for whom Christmas can’t come fast enough. Do you remember those days? The anxious anticipation of seeing grandma’s Christmas tree, eating the cookies mom baked and, of course, opening tons of presents. If only opening two or three Advent calendar doors at a time could make Christmas day come sooner!

O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free
Thine own from Satan's tyranny
From depths of Hell Thy people save
And give them victory o'er the grave

We were on the right track as kids – the Advent season is meant to be a time of expectation and anticipation. However, for too many of us, our eagerness was misplaced. While we were not-so-patiently waiting for new toys and good food and fun family traditions, we tended to ignore that which is deserving of our greatest anticipation: the coming of a mighty and gracious Savior. And now that we are older, our “preparations” for the holiday tend to distract us from genuine waiting and a sense of holy urgency.

O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
And death's dark shadows put to flight.

This Christmas season, I have found myself wishing that time would slow down. The Israelites waited thousands of years for the Messiah – and oh how eager they were for his arrival! Mary anticipated the birth of a son for nine months, taking time to praise her faithful God and reflect on His goodness. They waited in hope and faith for the promised Emmanuel, God with us, and their waiting was not in vain. He was born in a most humble way, and for thirty-three years, God walked on this earth – that in itself is indeed an “inexpressible gift” (2 Corinthians 9:15). The light, hope, and deliverance he brought and still freely offers are his most gracious gift to a broken world, yet we still wait for the day when we will be whole in Him.

O come, Thou Key of David, come,
And open wide our heavenly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery.

The four short weeks of Advent – and the celebration of Christmas itself – were never intended to be crowded with parties and presents. This time is meant for us to look back at the longing in the hearts of the Israelites and a special young girl so long ago. We also must look around and look ahead, waiting, watching and preparing for the day when God will be with us again – a day much more important than even our most treasured holidays. Along with the apostle Paul, we hear “the whole creation… groaning together in the pains of childbirth” (Romans 8:22), and “in this [earthly] tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling” (2 Corinthians 5:2). Did you catch that? We’re talking about groaning here, which to me implies desperation, an ache coming from a void which can only be filled by one thing. And so we wait expectantly with John, who after receiving the revelation of Jesus Christ wrote, perhaps even pleaded, “Come, Lord Jesus!” (Revelation 22:20).

O come, O come, Thou Lord of might,
Who to Thy tribes, on Sinai's height,
In ancient times did'st give the Law,
In cloud, and majesty and awe.

As we prepare for and celebrate Christmas this year, may we remember the Israelites and taste the lonely exile of a world that is not our home; may we recognize the darkness that surrounds us, and in turn rejoice with Mary, Joseph, the shepherds and the Magi that a great light has come; and may we, with the ardent hope of Paul and John, diligently seek the path that leads us home to Christ. And in the midst of it all, may we slow down long enough to be captivated by the majesty of a tiny baby who was Emmanuel, God with us.

Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

A Christmas missive

I wrote the following last year around this time - some of you may have read it then. If you are like me, you need to read it again.

Have we lost the true meaning of Christmas?

It’s a question that haunts many of us at this time of year. Sometimes it’s voiced in conversation, sometimes it just dances around the edges of jingle bells and whispers on silent nights. We clamor for the latest gadget, get stuck in mall traffic that rivals any urban rush hour, and stuff ourselves with treats, knowing we’ll need to loosen the belt a notch in a day or two. For some of us, Christmas brings tension and pain, opening old wounds and stirring up family conflicts that bear no hint of peace on earth or goodwill towards men. Christmas seems to have become a tribute to materialism, impatience, gluttony and stress, rather than a celebration of the birth of Christ.

Have we lost the true meaning of Christmas?

Much of what consumes us at this time of year, what provokes that nagging question, stems from a heartfelt desire to create a perfect, peaceful holiday. We should find the right gift for everyone on our list, holiday parties should go off without a hitch, the cookies should never be burnt, and we should do whatever it takes to avoid family drama. But for Mary and Joseph, the night their son was born was far from perfect and peaceful, and had this been a perfect, peaceful world, he wouldn’t have even been born.

Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!

These words, spoken by John the Baptist, tell me that we haven’t lost the true meaning of Christmas. The 21st Century American celebration of this sacred holiday simply reminds us of how much sin this world has for the Lamb to take away. Our pursuit of perfection, as well as our human reactions to imperfection, tend to distract us from rejoicing in the Christ child’s birth. However, that does not mean that the things that threaten to steal our joy and rearrange our priorities at Christmastime should be ignored. Instead, acknowledging them should be part of our very motivation for rejoicing.

We celebrate not just because Jesus came; we celebrate because of why he came: to take away the sin of the world. My own sin has been on my mind more often than usual lately – some of it hidden under shiny bows and wrapping paper, and some of it looming in front of me like a pile of neglected dishes the day after the office Christmas party. As I wrestle with pride, impatience, judgment, and worry, I see now how desperately I need the One whose birth we celebrate on Christmas day. Gold, frankincense, and myrrh pale in comparison to the gifts that were born along with Him: grace, forgiveness, hope, life. I am reminded anew of the joy of his birth into my own life, and I discover that I need to receive those gifts from him again – today, on Christmas day and every day.

Throughout our celebration of Christmas, in both the worldly and the sacred, may we be reminded of its true meaning: Christ, our Savior, is born. Emmanuel, God with us, comes ready to tear open the flashy wrapping and deal with what’s inside, to plunge his hands into the water and scrub, scrub, scrub, until our sins are washed away.

I wish you joy this Christmas – not just the happiness that comes from unwrapping presents or being surrounded by loved ones – but the deep, enduring joy that comes from recognizing that you are in need of a Savior, and that Savior was born on Christmas Day.

Where is your focus?

Never has it been so easy to live in half a dozen good harmless worlds at once -- art, music, social science, games, motoring, the following of some profession, and so on. And between them we run the risk of drifting about, the "good" hiding the "best"...

It is easy to find out whether our lives are focused, and if so, where the focus lies. Where do our thoughts settle when consciousness comes back in the morning? Where do they swing back when the pressure is off during the day? ... Dare to have it out with God... and ask Him to show you where or not all is focused on Christ and His glory...

How do we bring things to a focus in the world of optics? Not by looking at the things to be dropped, but by looking at the one point that is to be brought out. Turn your soul's vision to Jesus, and look and look at Him, and a strange dimness will come over all that is apart from Him.

- Lilias Trotter (1853-1928), missionary to Algeria

On an average Tuesday afternoon

Tuesday, November 28 was a pretty average day - the most routine as they come in my life. I would go so far as to say the day was a fairly boring one. The warmth and rest of Thanksgiving had warn off, and Christmas was still far off. I was spending the week in the office, but my mind was elsewhere. There was nothing special or remarkable about this Tuesday afternoon.

For me, that is. However, a thousand miles away on a blustery South Dakota day, two of my dear friends from college were drinking hot chocolate and getting engaged. Two lives, from that day on, would never be the same. There was nothing routine or boring about this Tuesday afternoon.

It occurred to me, upon hearing the words, "She said yes", that there were countless descriptions of this November Tuesday. For some - perhaps for most - it was "average" as it was for me. For others, the day surely brought great joy; that was certainly the case for my two friends, and I am sure there were others for whom this day brought a new birth, healing from an illness, a new job, or some other thrilling news. At the same time, there were some for whom the world stopped that day: a heartbreak, a death, a great loss.

No two people experience a day in the same way. Nonetheless, whether we are celebrating, grieving, or just getting through, we are all called to respond in the same way:

This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. Psalm 118:24

I pray that we will all rejoice and be glad, no matter what the day brings.

Thoughtful thanks

One of my favorite writers, in whose words I find the greatest comfort and challenge, is Elisabeth Elliot. She is a woman of deep wisdom and strong faith, the epitome of a godly woman with remarkable courage and confidence of God's hand and provision.

As Thanksgiving is upon us, I'd like to share an excerpt from one of Ms. Elliot's newsletter articles (which I read in the compilation Keep a Quiet Heart, but can also be found on her website - listed in my links section). I hope that none of us are at a loss about what to be thankful for this year - but hopefully this will stir you to more a more thoughtful and creative Thanksgiving.

...As an editor my father spent his life reading other people's writings and never thought of writing a book. Three collections of his short writings were published in book form, however, one entitled New Every Morning (published by Zondervan in 1969, now out of print). Here's the title piece, an exercise in thanksgiving, and a glimpse of the man he was. I think you'll see why I'm thankful for such a father.
"Blessings taken for granted are often forgotten. Yet our Heavenly Father 'daily loadeth us with benefits' (Psalm 68:19). Think of some of the common things which are nevertheless wonderful:
--the intricate, delicate mechanism of the lungs steadily and silently taking in fresh air eighteen to twenty times a minute;
--the untiring heart, pumping great quantities of clean blood through the labyrinth of blood vessels;
--the constant body temperature, normally varying less than one degree;
--the atmospheric temperature, varying widely it is true, but never so much as to destroy human and animal life;
--the orderly succession of day and night, spring, summer, autumn, and winter, so that, with few exceptions, man can make his plans accordingly;
--the great variety of foods, from the farm, the field, the forest, and the sea, to suit our differing desires and physical needs;
--the beauties of each day
--the morning star and growing light of sunrise, the white clouds of afternoon, the soft tints of a peaceful sunset, and the glory of the starry heavens;
--the symphony of early morning bird songs, ranging from the unmusical trill of the chipping sparrow to the lilting ecstasy of the goldfinch and the calm, rich, bell-like tones of the wood and hermit thrushes;
--the refreshment that sleep brings;
--the simple joys of home
--the children's laughter and whimsical remarks, happy times around the table, the love and understanding of husband and wife, and the harmony of voices raised together in praise to God.

All these and many others come from the bountiful hand of Him 'who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies; who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's' (Psalm 103:4,5).

'It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness' (Lamentations 3:22,23).

'It is a good thing to give thanks unto the Lord, and to sing praises unto thy name, O most High' (Psalm 92:1)." - Elisabeth Elliot, "An Overflowing Cup"

The only story I need to hear

Today is officially "C.S. Lewis Day" on my blog. Grab yourself a nice cup of English tea and read along.

I read The Chronicles of Narnia last winter, and found more life lessons and profound thoughts in those stories than I could ever capture in a single reading. I look forward to reading them again one of these days.

In the third book in the series, The Horse and His Boy, one line is repeated in two different instances. It is a statement that has echoed in my mind constantly since I first read it. When a character begins asking questions about the events that have unfolded in the life of another, Aslan gently chides, "Child, I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own."

Stay in your story, dear one. It is the only story you need to hear, and it will all unfold in perfect time.

I am not very good at staying in my story. I get impatient and, like a little child, try to turn the page too soon. I get curious about what's unfolding in other people's stories. Their stories begin to look more interesting than my own, and all too often, glancing over at someone else's page leads to discontentment that is nothing short of sinful.

Jesus's disciples fell into this trap - wanting to skip to the end, straining to eavesdrop on someone else's story. At the end of the book of John, after Jesus has been resurrected, he tells Peter "by what kind of death he was to glorify God". He tells Peter that he will be martyred, and then says, "Follow me." Peter looks at John, then says to Jesus, "Lord, what about this man?" How will his story end? Jesus's reply to Peter is somewhat less than gentle: "If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow me!" (John 21:18-22)

What is his story to you? I am telling you your story, and that is all that matters. Listen to me, follow my lead. Trust that my will is being done in the story I tell.

Jesus, my worries, my impatience, my envy of what others have all add up to a lack of trust in your perfect will. Help me to set my eyes and my mind on you and follow. I know that you are the all-wise, all-creative, all-powerful Storyteller, and you are weaving the most intricate and beautiful story that could ever be told. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of that.

He's not safe - Book Report #3

I've been reading The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis, and good ol' Clive continues to speak boldly and wisely into my life. I wholeheartedly recommend this book, though I'd advise against making it your introduction to Lewis. It can take a little while to get used to his voice, but once you do, hopefully you too will feel like you're hearing from an old friend, or perhaps a doting and highly intelligent grandfather with the proverbial twinkle in his eye.

The admonishment that I most needed to hear as I read this book:
If I am sure of anything I am sure that [Christ's] teaching was never meant to confirm my congenital preference for safe investments and limited liabilities. I doubt whether there is anything in me that pleases Him less (120).

Oh, how often this congenital preference wins out in me, and how that must displease my wild, daring, and wholly trustworthy Savior!

How is it that we come to love?

I continue to ruminate on some of the thoughts I posted in "109 Little Words", and to ponder love in general. Some words I read weeks ago have surfaced in my mind once again, and I want to post them here. Perhaps you can join me in chewing on them.

And as we behold the glory of Christ in the gospel and savor his purity, we come to see sin as repugnant, and salvation as magnificent. We see people no longer, as Paul says, "according to the flesh" (2 Corinthians 5:16), but with a love that "bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things" (1 Corinthians 13:7). We despair of no one, because in spite of human depravity, "with God all things are possible" (Matthew 19:26). And we see culture no longer merely with the eyes of seduction or despair; but with eyes of hope. The sovereign, living Christ will someday claim this world for himself. Our spirit is wakened and enlivened by beholding the glory of Christ and his passion to make all things serve the glory of his Father.

As our spiritual perception of all things changes by keeping Christ in our steady gaze, our conformity to Christ becomes very practical. Our behavior changes. "A new commandment I give to you," Jesus said, "that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another" (John 13:34-35). As we behold the glory of the Lord in the gospel, the glory of his moral perfections more and more become our desire and our experience, especially the glory of his love for his enemies [...]

As we fix our mind's attention and our heart's affection on the glory of Christ's love, more and more we become loving. John Piper, God is the Gospel, 94.

Mosquito bites on Halloween

I once spent Halloween night trick-or-treating in one of the biggest Minnesota blizzards of my lifetime. Having grown up accustomed to chilly Halloween nights, costumes hidden under layers of cold-weather gear, I never thought that I would spend a Halloween swatting mosquitoes.

I am writing this post from a hotel room in Houma, Louisiana, about 45 minutes southwest of New Orleans. My clothes and hair are still heavy with the smell of bonfire smoke, my stomach full of hot dogs roasted and marshmallows toasted over the fire. The people I met tonight - many of whom were instrumental in housing, feeding, and caring for this summer's YouthWorks staff and participants - were full of stories and laughter. There are a few precious communities where YouthWorks is so well-loved that anyone related to the organization is instantly welcomed as family. This is one of those places.

I spent a good bit of time tonight talking to a man named Javier. Javier is originally from Venezuela, and now works in banking in Miami. He is here visiting his daughter and her new husband. How strange and wonderful to find myself sitting under the Southern Louisiana moon, speaking Spanish to a Venezuelan, laughing together as a pirate, a cat, and Spiderman climb a flowering tree in the front yard.

New places. New stories. New sights and new adventures. New people - who somehow become old and familiar by the end of the evening. What a gift it is to be a part of this.

This is one of those nights that makes me love my job.

Part of the village

Today, I had the great privilege of holding five-day-old Katie, my friends Chris and Angela's baby, for the first time. She is a beautiful, healthy baby girl (seriously folks, even objectively she is beautiful). It was a joy to meet her, and not just because she is so darn cute. We have been praying for this little one since she was just a twinkle in her parents' eyes. We rejoiced when Angela found out she was pregnant. We continued praying when the baby was nothing more than a "little lizard" in Angela's womb. We cheered and got busy buying pink things when they learned it would be a girl, and were calling her by name long before she made her first appearance.

Katie was born just six days before my birthday, so I find myself looking at Chris and Angela and thinking of what my own parents were doing 25 years ago - changing, feeding, cooing, their lives re-focused overnight.

I think also of others who were involved in my young life in various ways - praying, supporting, shopping, visiting. I am thankful for them. I am thankful, too, to be entering the time in my life when I will be able to be a part of the village that loves and cares and cheers for a new generation of little ones.

109 little words

* Dear readers - please take time to read the comments on this post.

Last weekend, I flew up to Milwaukee for my cousin Ryan's wedding. It was the first family wedding we'd had in years, and the first one I'd been to in even longer, so it was an exciting occasion.

Time spent with my family inevitably brings up a great deal of introspection. Time spent with my family at a wedding increases the amount of introspection and deep thinking ten-fold.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails... I Corinthians 13:4-8

This ever-popular passage was one that Ryan and Becky chose to have read as they sat before the altar. I listened to the words with a heavy heart, especially as I heard "Love never fails". Here I sat, surrounded by the products of failed love. Everyone I knew at the wedding was either a child or at least a grandchild of divorce. Clearly, love had failed in many cases here. My parents, my grandparents, some of my aunts and uncles had at one time stood at an altar much like this one. Some of them may have heard these same words from Paul read by a friend or family member. They spoke the same vows that Ryan and Becky would - they promised to love. Yet somewhere along the line, promises were broken, and it would seem that love had indeed failed.

My internal monologue as the ceremony progressed went something like this:
Love never fails? But it does! Look around! Clearly, love fails. I mean, obviously, sometimes it doesn't - this family is certainly a testament to that as well - but sometimes love fails. How can Paul say never? But if love can fail, what good is it? And what about the fact that God is love? God can never fail. Hence, love can never fail... but then it does. This doesn't make sense!

My mind continued to race, shaken, troubled. If love could fail... I was too scared to finish that thought.

Ok, for a moment, let's just believe that Paul is right: love never fails. Then how do we explain the pain in my family, the wounds of divorce, the scars of broken relationships?

Perhaps we fail to love.

Maybe we, in our frail humanity, mess up this whole "love" thing, thus messing up relationships that are supposed to be rooted, supported, sustained by love.

The words "I love you" are probably three of the most complex words in the English language. At times, I think I've used them too sparingly. There have also been occasions when I've used them too liberally. More often than I'd like to admit, I'm used them inaccurately - perhaps even dishonestly. I should have said "I want to love you," or maybe "I'm trying to love you," or even "You're making me want to rip my hair out right now" (though in that instance I suppose the best bet would have been to say nothing at all).

When I say "I love you," I should be saying.
I am patient with you
I am kind to you
I do not envy what you have, nor do I envy others for their relationships with you
I am not proud or boastful
I am not easily angered with you
I've let go of anything you've ever done to hurt me
I do not delight in evil or hurtful things, but will rejoice when truth is spoken - even hard words.
I strive to protect our relationship
I trust you, and you can trust me
I hope for the best for you
I am here and will continue to be here, no matter what comes
I won't mess this up.

After all of that, I may never say "I love you" again, because I don't know of anyone in my life - even the people I care about the most - to whom I could truthfully say all of those things, or for whom they would be true all of the time. I certainly aspire to this kind of love, and wonder where it can be found. Where can it be found? Only in God, for God is love. God is the one who enables us to love and shows us how it's done, and he is the one who will strengthen us to love even when our flesh and heart fail to do so. He is also the one who redeems our failures, and offers the grace needed to reconcile us to himself and each other when we do fail to love.

I hope the people I love know how much I love them, whether or not I say it. I hope that my actions never make me into a liar when I do say "I love you". I hope that love might triumph, even if I fail. I pray that, as 1 John 4:16 says, I would abide in love, and in so doing abide in God, so that he may abide in me.

The real pot of gold

I post this on a beautiful, clear day here in Birmingham; I haven't seen so much as a raincloud in days. While days like this certainly stir up awe and thanksgiving for the One who created them, I still feel compelled to remember the work He does - and the light he shines - on the darker days.

I’ve always appreciated rainbows, but I think my true fascination with them really began on my sixteenth birthday. As we were driving to dinner, a rainbow shone in the sky ahead of us. I laughed to myself, thinking that this must be God’s birthday gift to me. That night, the rainbow represented joy.

On my eighteenth birthday, I went to a funeral. A guy in my youth group, who was just one year older than me, had collapsed on the basketball court and died. As a vanload of us drove from the funeral to a youth group retreat at camp, I saw a fragment of a rainbow in the sky. That afternoon, the rainbow gave me hope.

Since then, there have been more rainbows in the skies above my head than I could count. No matter what is going on or where I am, the rainbows always speak to me somehow. Sometimes, they simply whisper of God’s creativity. Some arcs boast of his power and majesty. Others tell me of his provision. Some just remind me that He is present, working, and beautiful.

My captivation with rainbows has made me especially observant of the circumstances – the rain, the light, the clouds - that usually create them, and I’ve been known to hunt them down. I journaled about one such chase – and its end – last August:

There was a beautiful sunshower the other night, and I hurried back and forth between the front and back doors, anxiously awaiting the rainbow that I knew would come. Finally, colors started to spring to life outside the front door. I watched as they became more vibrant, and I could see an arch forming. I ran to the back door to look for the other end of it; it was there, but it was faint. Back to the front door: I pushed the screen door open and held it, keeping most of myself inside and dry while my left arm soaked in a cold, light shower. If anyone saw me, I’m sure they would have laughed – I had a huge smile on my face that just refused to be bottled up as I marveled at this glorious artwork in the sky. I pondered the wonder of a God who would make something like a rainbow. The first word that came to mind was SPLENDOR. Absolute splendor. A rainstorm would be enough. The land’s thirst would be quenched and the dirt of every day would be washed away. But our God would not stop at “enough” – he would give more. He would take this chance to bless us with a moment of fleeting beauty, a demonstration of his talent and power and majesty. I praised God for this gift, and I couldn’t help but laugh when I realized that a second rainbow was forming outside of the first. What a good and generous God, what a clear demonstration of the fact that His glory and my joy and so closely intertwined. That rainbow existed for God to showcase his own glory, and it produced in me an uncontainable joy that overflowed in praise and thanksgiving to him.

Indeed, the heavens declare the glory of the Lord, especially when they are adorned with a rainbow. As much as I think I know where and when to look for that glory, rainbows have been known to sneak up on me. Recently, I was on my way to a friend’s house, lost in my own thoughts. Overwhelmed by the questions and emotions that I was wrestling with, I was in tears as I drove the familiar streets. The sky was overcast, and though the rain had mostly passed and there weren’t many sunbeams breaking through. Nonetheless, all of a sudden I turned a corner and saw a breathtaking rainbow in the sky. The tears came even harder; this rainbow had completely arrested me, and if I could have gotten down on my knees in the driver’s seat I would have. There I sat, consumed with worry and fear, without a fleeting consideration that God might be at work right in front of me – and then, there he was, reminding me of his grace, his goodness, his presence.

Rainbows point me to God in a way that few other things do. They remind me – in many different ways – that HE is my treasure, the one whose value surpasses gold and silver, the one who can bring beauty out of a storm, the one who will always provide, the one who is most glorified when I find joy and contentment in celebrating him.

Praying beyond the surface

Several of my friends and co-workers just ran the Twin Cities Marathon (big congratulations go out to Mayme, Benj, Erica, Mara, Judy, Hannah, Katie, and Tim!). I admire these folks for their commitment to the marathon training process -- more than four months of long, hard running. I tried to remember to pray for them frequently during their training, especially on the long run days. I prayed especially hard on the morning of their marathon. I prayed for knees and ankles and muscles. I prayed for mental stamina. I prayed for joyful spirits and moments of inspiration. But I failed to pray for that which is most important -- the heart. If the heart fails, as it unfortunately did for one man on the race course, the strongest legs and sharpest mind can not keep running.

It is so easy to pray for things on the surface; the external, the obvious. When my cousin was in Iraq with the Marines, it was quick and simple to pray for his safety, and I did that often. While I was sharing that prayer request one day in the middle of his tenure, a wise friend pointed out that I ought to be going deeper in my prayers for my cousin. Don't just pray for safety; rather, pray that God's will would be done, and ask God to be working in his heart and mind. I had been failing to pray for that which is most important -- his heart, and God's work in it. Physical safety is worth nothing if the heart does not rest safely in God's hands.

So, as you and those you love are running the race, what are you praying for?

When I survey the wondrous cross

We sang the contemporary version of this song, "The Wonderful Cross", in church today (quite a feat for our "Untrained Country Choir"), and as I reflected on the lyrics, I was reminded that there's more to the song than what Chris Tomlin and Michael W. Smith are singing these days. I dug up the original Isaac Watts lyrics for his song, "When I survey the wondrous cross," and as usual find them absolutely arresting.

Read them well. Better yet, sing them, you know the tune.

When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss
And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to his blood.

See from his head, his hands, his feet
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

His dying crimson, like a robe,
Spreads o'er is body on the tree;
Then I am dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divien,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

-Isaac Watts, 1707

Be transformed

I’ve been working on memorizing Scripture lately, and let me say that it’s not as easy as it was when I was little. I still remember the sense of accomplishment I had when I memorized Psalm 23, and I’ve remembered it ever since that day. Church activities, summer camp, and the likes of Psalty and G.T. gave me a solid foundation in Scripture, but I don’t think I’ve really tried to memorize anything – other than SAT vocabulary definitions and Spanish verb conjugations – since sixth grade.

Now, I am hard-pressed to commit just a verse or two to memory, and there are no sticker charts or silly prizes at Sunday School to spur me on. Nevertheless, I’m working on it, and realizing the many benefits of having the Word of God in my head and my heart. One of these benefits is simply having God’s words on my mind throughout the day. As I recite them to myself over and over, I turn them around in my head and have a chance to really think about what they mean, in a way that’s different than when I’m just reading the Bible.

Conform yourselves no longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind…

This was one of the first passages I memorized. This is a familiar verse to me, but I’ve looked at it in a new light lately. I used to think of this transformation as a one-time event: ask Jesus into your heart, and BOOM!, like some great magic trick, you are transformed. But as I come to a deeper understanding of God, His grace, and our humanity, I realize that this transformation has to come on a daily basis. Each morning, I wake up a sinner, wanting to conform to the pattern of this world. Each day, I am desperately dependent on the transformation that would allow me to get out of my bed and step onto the narrow road.

Therefore I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to present your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God. This is your spiritual act of worship. Conform yourselves no longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind; then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is, his good, pleasing, and perfect will. Romans 12:1-2

Lord, bring transformation. Renew my mind through the understanding of your word.

Dreams come true

Before my summer began, Coahoma was the site in my area about which I knew the least. I hadn’t spent much time there, and while I knew that YouthWorks had a wonderful history there and long-standing relationships, I didn’t feel personally connected. How surprising, then, to look back and realize the impact that site had on me. My time in Coahoma inspired more writing than any of my other sites this summer. The adult leaders I got to know during my time there remain dear to me, and several of them will go down in history amongst my all-time favorite adult leaders. And as I think about the sites under my care this year, Coahoma is the one that haunts me, that makes me think and question and wonder and feel and pray the most. I still don’t have close friends there. It still doesn’t feel like home in the way some of my other communities do. But it’s gotten under my skin like no other place has – and I know I’m not alone in saying that. The following is something I sent out to the full-time staff at YouthWorks a few days ago, after making several post-trip follow-up calls to adult leaders who had come to Coahoma this summer.

I remember Eric talking about the story of the Good Samaritan earlier this year. He pointed out that part of the good in what the Samaritan did was continuing to walk alongside the man who was hurt – bringing him to the inn, caring for him there, providing for continued care, and promising to follow-up later. We talked about this as something we hoped our participants would be able to do, that they might somehow continue to walk beside our communities, whether directly or indirectly. A couple of my post-trip calls have shown me that that is happening, at least for one community.

Yesterday I spoke with Ryan, a trip leader from Missouri who brought his youth to Coahoma this summer. His youth were deeply impacted by the trip, especially the time they spent at the Jonestown Community Development Resource and Activity Center (more commonly referred to as Ms. Burnett’s place). Our participants went to Ms. Burnett’s place for the Tuesday and Thursday morning Kids Club activity. Over the course of the summer, YouthWorks groups helped clean and set up the facility, organize books, launch a fledgling literacy program, and attempt to get ramshackle bunch of old computers up and running. The highlight of every group’s visit was meeting Ms. Burnett. It is not enough to say that she is inspiring. One cannot leave her presence without feeling like they’ve been with God – this is a woman who truly shows the love of Christ in all that she does (even yesterday, when I chatted with her for a few minutes on the phone, I felt like she’d hugged me with her words and spirit, and almost expected my phone to be glowing when I set it down).

Back to Ryan’s group. When they returned home, one of Ryan’s youth told his father that he wanted to donate all of the money he’d saved up from his summer job ($1500) to Ms. Burnett. This youth was one who had tried to get her computers up and running, and knew that they would not quite get the job done. He has rallied his fellow youth group members, and with Ryan’s support they are planning a huge fundraiser and hoping to get some matching grants to be able to provide computers and supplies for the community center.

This in itself is a huge example of youth taking their love for a community and transferring it into action. But it’s not the only one. Today, I called Pastor Dennis, an adult leader from Florida. Pastor Dennis wasn’t actually the one who initiated or planned their trip to Coahoma; rather, two of his high school seniors did. Since their return home, the fire has continued to burn. The youth’s excitement about helping the community spilled over to their congregation, and thanks to some technologically savvy folks and a couple of corporate connections, they’ve acquired twelve new computers, installed Windows XP, and Pastor Dennis, one of the two youth who planned the trip, and another member of their congregation will be making the trek back up to Jonestown in October to install the computers at the community center. Now that this group has taken care of the center’s computer needs, I am excited to hear about how Ryan’s group will be able to contribute towards other needs.

God continues to work in unexpected and seemingly forgotten places, and as he does so he continues to work in me to show his wisdom and faithfulness. Praise Him for touching these youth that came to Coahoma in such a way that they had to act. That is what we constantly hope and pray for at YouthWorks!

Resonance

I sit here every week or two or three and wax eloquently about some subject or other, crafting my musings into a piece that I deem worthy of posting on this "Carefully Chosen" blog. I tend to like what I say. More often than not, I am confident that my words are true and right, and I hope that what I write proves worth the while of those who read it. Some of my entries come after a few days of pondering, but some take weeks. I love the process: I come across a word or a thought or a story, sparked by something I see or read or hear. Ideas start scampering around in my head, and pretty soon they are jumping, running, pouncing like a bunch of wild animals. Some days I can tame the wild animals, bringing them to a docile state where they can be seen and touched and studied. Other days, I find that I'm dealing with lions who refuse to be tamed. Then, I must be content to watch from a distance, to get even a snapshot that could begin to capture the sense of wonder with which such a creature must be approached. Some days, I write because I have answers. Others days, I write because I need to articulate the questions, and need to humbly remind myself that there is only One who has all the answers. But it seems that with the final punctuation at the end of a piece, the animals are gone. Wild or tame, they vanish. The resolve with which I click "Publish Post" when I finish writing an entry is matched only by the speed with which I forget what I've just written - the answers, the questions, the thoughts that kept my mind on its toes. All is quiet again, but I find myself missing the romping and roaming that sometimes keep me up at night.

This seems wrong. It seems wasteful. It is sad to me that I would encounter these dancing, prancing, roaring creatures and not be changed by them.

But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like. But the one who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts, he will be blessed in his doing. James 1:22-25

This passage had been quietly pacing back and forth in my mind for the past few days; it virtually howled as Eric read it in church this morning. I have been a hearer of the Word and an occasional writer of words, but I have too often failed to be a doer. I have looked intently at my face in the mirror, and even written about what I have seen, but I still go away and at once forget what I look like.

Jonathan Edwards, a Puritan preacher by whom I find myself constantly intrigued and inspired, used to ride his horse around the countryside in order to keep his mind and body fit. He would think about many things on these rides, and in order to remember his thoughts and questions, he would stop, jot something down on a piece of paper, pin it to his clothing, then keep on riding. He would come home covered in little slips of paper, reminders of things to do, topics to write about, questions to research.

I think Edwards was on to something. Part of me would like to take up this practice, pinning verses and words and thoughts to my shirt so that I might not forget what I hear, read, write. I need to start living like these words matter beyond jotting them in my journal or posting them in cyberspace. Being a doer of the word means that these words must be spoken in how I live my life, not just in what I write and quickly leave behind.

May the words I read and write ring loud and true and long, so that they could not be quieted or forgotten.

Free music that is worth listening to

Perhaps I could subtitle this entry "CD Report #1" - I hesitate to do that though, because it could unleash a monster: there's a lot of good music out there. However, not much of that good music is FREE, so I want to tell you about some that is.

Derek Webb is one of my favorite artists. He has a great voice, pretty good guitar skills, and is a talented and provocative songwriter. When my dad listened to him a few weeks ago, he said his voice and words were reminiscent of Bob Dylan. Derek Webb would be proud. He is a Christian artist, but with a unique and refreshing slant on things - by that, I mean he sings about what is true and right and challenging. He has the courage to go where few Christian artists have gone before. And now he's giving his music away for free. If you click on the title of this entry, you'll go to a website where you can download Derek's latest CD, Mockingbird. It's a CD that would definitely be considered "controversial" by some, but only by those who would consider the following lyrics, from the song "Rich Young Ruler", controversial:

poverty is so hard to see
when it’s only on your tv and twenty miles across town
where we’re all living so good
that we moved out of Jesus’ neighborhood
where he’s hungry and not feeling so good
from going through our trash
he says, more than just your cash and coin
I want your time, I want your voice
I want the things you just can’t give me

I'd encourage you to download Mockingbird and listen to it a few times. I hope it will make you think!

Not your typical Sunday morning

In my church, like many others, the Sunday morning liturgy includes prescribed Scripture reading. To prepare for the pastor's reading of the Gospel passage, a lay person reads three passages: one from the Old Testament, one from the Psalms, and one from the New Testament. At the end of the Old and New Testament readings, the reader says, "The Word of the Lord," (in my church, sometimes the reader forgets to say this. If that happens, there's an awkward silence followed by someone in the congregation whispering those words loudly). The congregation dutifully replies, "Thanks be to God," in the same monotone chorus that elementary school students might use to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.

The Israelites of Ezra's day seemed to know that hearing the Word of God required a heartier response:

Ezra the priest brought the Law before the assembly, both men and women and all who could understand what they heard, on the first day of the seventh month. And he read from it facing the square before the Water Gate from early morning until midday, in the presence of the men and women and those who could understand. And the ears of all the people were attentive to the Book of the Law... Ezra opened the book in the sight of all the people, for he was above all the people, and as he opened it all the people stood. And Ezra blessed the LORD, the great God, and all the people answered, "Amen, Amen," lifting up their hands. And they bowed their heads and worshiped the LORD with their faces to the ground. Nehemiah 8:2-6

These people did not get to hear Scripture read every Sunday. They did not have twelve Bibles in each home or the liberty of debating which translation was most accurate. No one was encouraging them to have a daily quiet time replete with Bible, devotional book, and journal. When the Israelites had the opportunity to hear someone explain Scripture to them, they knew that great reverence was due.

Judging by the broad availability of Scripture in America and the amount of time we spend talking about the Bible, one might think that American Christians still acknowledge its weight and power. Yet it seems that by increasing our exposure to Scripture, we have decreased its power in our lives. We have become numb to its truth, and selectively chosen that which is convenient or comforting to us to read and study. The Israelites celebrated the chance to listen to the Law for hours at a time, while we are hard-pressed to sit for a ninety-minute church service or read our Bible for just five or ten minutes each day.

In a culture where we prize self-sufficiency and answers to life's biggest questions are available on every TV channel, radio station, and website, it is easy (though not excusable) to forget what we are dealing with. The Word of the Lord is:

a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. Psalm 119:105

living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. Hebrews 4:12

breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be competent, equipped for every good work. 1 Timothy 3:16-17

Some days, my path doesn't look as dark as it really is; some days, I don't want to go down the path that God's Word would light for me. This little book I hold in my hands doesn't look quite so pristine when it is piercing through me, cutting right through my thoughts, telling me things need to be different. Training for righteousness tends to require more discipline and effort than I'm willing to put forth. But just when I am content to start treating this like any other book, something leaps out of the pages and grabs hold of me. I am apprehended by the image of the Israelites falling on their faces as they hear the Word. Who am I to sit, half-listening, in my pew or lounge on my bed while I quickly skim through a few verses?

Imagine with me, if you will, that the Sunday morning Scripture reader doesn't settle for our lackadaisical response. Instead of just moving on to the day's reading from the Psalms, she pounds her fist on the lectern in front of her and fervently says, "Excuse me, folks, did you hear me? I didn't just finish reading the morning weather report or the recap of yesterday's game. I wasn't reading a physics textbook or bad poetry or the fine print on the bottom of some legal document. This is not Time Magazine or even Shakespeare sitting in front of me. This is the WORD of the LORD!"

May we lift up our hands, bow our heads, get down on our knees, saying,

"THANKS BE TO GOD!"

Having said all of that...

While I joyfully embrace the promise of this new year, I find myself equally - perhaps even more - excited about the familiar.

For the first time in seven years, I will not be spending any time this fall unpacking boxes or getting acquainted with new roommates. I returned from vacation on Friday to the same messy closet and sweet roommates I have known for almost a year now. I hurried into church this morning - late as usual - and was immediately greeted by a hug from Jonah, as he proudly proclaimed "I knew you'd come back!" By the time I left church, I had most of my week planned with the usual routine - Monday Girls, choir practice, God Chicks. When I walk into the office tomorrow morning, I will be greeted by my own files (however disorganized), familiar faces framed on my desk, and the friendly family of dustbunnies that has congregated under the conference table.

Much is changing in my small circle of Birmingham friends. Angela is pregnant. Zach and Ellen are engaged. Mayme, Lisa, and Melissa have moved away, and Nate will eventually be on his way too. In spite of all this, I find myself enjoying the unfamiliar feeling of stability. This is the start of my third year in Birmingham. I feel blessed to be able to continue some of the work and many of the relationships that began with GreaterWorks in the fall of 2004. I get a little teary-eyed as I watch the kids at church and see how they have grown and changed - mostly for the better - since we first walked into their Sunday morning youth group. I am overcome with thanksgiving as I am warmly welcomed back into the church congregation that has become my surrogate family.

I have been given so much here, so I know that much is expected of me. Comfort and familiarity can so easily breed the complacency I desperately wish to avoid but so quickly fall into. Stability can start to look a lot like an ugly rut, and I do not want to get stuck. My challenge will be to not just embrace and celebrate that which is new, but to approach my familiar routine and relationships with enthusiastic diligence, to be intentional in my investment of time and energy, to be a humble and thankful steward of all that has been given to me - materially, financially, relationally.

Paul admonished the Corinthians to give generously:
But as you excel in everything -- in faith, in speech, in knowledge, in all earnestness, and in our love for you -- see that you excel in this act of grace also. I say this not as a command, but to prove by the earnestness of others that your love also is genuine. For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich. And in this matter I give my judgment: this benefits you, who a year ago started not only to do this work but also to desire to do it. So now finish doing it as well, so that your readiness in desiring it may be matched by your completing it out of what you have. 2 Corinthians 8:7-11

Lord, if only I could live my life as one big act of grace. As I set out to continue the work that started a year or two ago, I pray that you will give me diligence - whether my desire is strong or weak. Help me to do the work of YouthWorks, of relationships, and of obediently following you with generosity and enthusiasm. Keep me moving forward so I will not get stuck, and when I find myself necessarily standing in place, help me to blossom there.

Happy New Year

I've been out of school for more than two years now, but I have yet to know a life that doesn't revolve around a school-year calendar. Thus, though there are no menacingly sharp #2 pencils, clean stacks of college-ruled looseleaf, or trendy Lisa Frank folders (are those still trendy?) with which to celebrate, I still find myself ringing in the new year at the beginning of fall rather than the middle of winter.

As I think about starting this new year with a few new folks in our office, new plans and visions for the year ahead, and maybe even some new office supplies (hey, a girl can dream), I praise God for his grace in giving us new opportunities.

But this I call to mind,
and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
Lamentations 3:21-22

He put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to our God.
Psalm 40:3

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.
The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.
2 Corinthians 5:17

What a generous God, to give us a new day, a new year. What a gracious God, to allow us to become new, to reveal to us more of himself. I hope that I will be a good steward of this newness - that I will praise him with a new song, that I will let go of that which needs to pass away, that I will live each day as a new creation, and that I will recognize and celebrate the love and mercy that is new every morning.

The new year begins at 9:00 tomorrow morning. Dick Clark has sent his regrets that he will not be able to attend the celebration, and I don't think our sleepy procession into the office will be broadcast on network TV, but I still look forward to rejoicing in the potential that a new year brings. 10...9...8....

She says it better than I could and Book Report #2

In the midst of my thoughts on marriage, I was reading a book about chastity - which in turn was a book on singleness, marriage, sin, grace, and Christian community. As I neared the end of the book, I had one of those "how did you get inside my head?" moments with the author, Lauren Winner. She somehow grabbed a hold of a few of the threads that had been flying around in my head, pulled them together, and braided them into a tight cord in a few articulate paragraphs. I feel compelled to share an excerpt here, because Winner wrote it so much better than I could at this point in time.

In the Christian grammar, marriage is not only for the married couple. Insofar as marriage tells the Christian community a particular story, marriage is also for the community. Marriage presupposes fidelity, and married people are a sign to the church of God's own radical fidelity toward all of us. He loves us, and is faithful to us, when we cheat on Him. He loves us, and is faithful to us, when we insist our love has died on the vine. Marriages are made in part to remind us of God's relentless fidelity.

And marriage tells the church about the communion and community that is possible between and among people who have been made new creatures in Christ. It hints at the eschatological union between Christ and the church. As ethicist Julie Hanlon Rubio has put it, "Marriage consists not simply or even primarily of a personal relationship. Rather, it crystallizes the love of the larger church community. The couple is not just two-in-one, but two together within the whole, with specific responsibility for the whole... They must persevere in love, because the community needs to see God's love actualized among God's people" (Real Sex, pg. 144).

"Marriage is also for the community." Yes! Marriage is for the community, because it gives this 24-year-old single girl a glimpse of God's relentless love and faithfulness that I might not be able to see on my own. Marriage is for the community, because a married couple who has committed their life to the Lord can serve him better as a team than either could as individuals (which is why God called them to be married). Marriage is for the community, because a diligently married couple shows us a human (and therefore still incomplete) picture of God's relationship with us.

And with that, my thoughts are - for now - a bit more complete, my mind a bit less restless. For that I am thankful. I am also thankful for intelligent writers and good books, especially those that speak to the questions rolling around in my mind, and even more so those that speak to questions that hadn't even started rolling around yet. Lauren Winner's books have done that for me. I've read two this summer (that may actually be all she's got right now): Girl Meets God and Real Sex: the Naked Truth about Chastity. Girl is Winner's memoir of her journey from being an Orthodox Jew to becoming a Christian in general and Episcopalian in particular. Her Jewish roots help to illuminate some aspects of Christianity for her - and did the same for me as I read - and I appreciated her take on Episcopal traditions. Real Sex is a valuable work both because Winner talks frankly about the discipline of chastity and the role of sex and relationships in the lives of Christians, and because it is a book that is about so much more than sex. It is mainly directed towards young-ish singles, but I think it is worth reading for anyone, at any point. She'll make you laugh a little, and she'll make you think a lot. Let me know if you read anything of hers - I'd love to hear what you think!

Thoughts on marriage

Marriage has been on my mind quite a bit lately.

I just had lunch with my friends Brian and Ashley, who have been engaged for less than a week. Ash still can't stop looking at her ring, and both of them are glowing, their heads spinning with plans for a wedding and a new life.

Last weekend, I visited my friends Shannon and Luke. They have been married for almost two months. I had the privilege of being a part of their wedding, and was awed by what I saw that day. Watching two people you care about commit their lives to each other is typically impressive enough, but there was something that made their day - and their vows - even deeper. Shannon's mom had been battling cancer for several months - by the time Shannon and Luke were engaged, they no longer hoped for a cure, but for enough time for her to see their wedding day. She did, and I have not seen a mother-of-the-bride more radiant than Mrs. Bugh was that day. Shannon's dad, the senior pastor of their church, gave a beautiful homily. I wrote the following in my journal the day after the wedding:

To see Luke and Shannon exchange vows last night in light of what her parents have been through lately was powerful... they've seen what "in sickness and in health" looks like, and they await impending joy and almost certain sorrow. Mr. Bugh's words carried much weight: marriage is not about happiness, it's about holiness. What a great journey of faith they are embarking on.

It hasn't been an easy journey so far. Shannon's mom passed away last Friday night.

I also spent time with my grandparents last weekend. Fred and Charlotte Walter have been married for 28 years, the second marriage for both of them after death parted them from their first loves. Now, as grandpa has passed 90 and grandma 80, marriage calls them to faithfully care for one another, to be patient with forgetfulness and a slower pace, to provide companionship and love in these days that could be lonely. I watch them, feeling humbled by their love for one another and comforted by the security of their enduring bond.

Engagement announcements and wedding invitations are flying left and right. Sometimes marriage seems so commonplace that I forget the weight of it. A sparkling diamond catches my eye, I watch him put his arm around her, and it's easy to forget that marriage is not all fun and games and butterflies. News of yet another divorce, whether in Hollywood or closer to home, threatens to make me forget that marriage is intended for the long haul.

Through it all, Mr. Bugh's words ring in my ears, louder than any wedding bells: marriage is about holiness, not happiness. Author Lauren Winner describes marriage as a "school of sanctification."

My own marriage is still a distant point on the horizon. Until I arrive there, I will continue to be burdened for those who already have. To agonize over finding the perfect engagement or wedding card that somehow conveys how important I think marriage is (I have yet to find such a card). To cheer for those who take the risk of saying "YES", and to pray that they will have the strength to keep saying "yes" each and every day. To grieve for those whose feeble yeses are overwhelmed by nos, and to pray that God might bring redemption and reconciliation for them.

These thoughts are incomplete. Since I was a little girl, there's been a constant conversation going on in my mind about marriage - yes, the institution of marriage, I was never just dreaming about what my dress would look like or where we'd go on the honeymoon. So, I have no doubt that this conversation will continue. I enjoy the fact that those of you who occasionally peek in on my thoughts here in blogworld find yourselves at many different places on the relationship/marriage spectrum, and I would welcome your involvement in that ongoing conversation.

Now what?

To my YouthWorks friends,

At long last, we've reached the finish line (and in Birmingham, there was actually a finish line - it was really quite impressive). The YouthWorks 2006K is complete. How does one recover from such a race?

At the end of last summer, I sat down to really think about the answer to this question - it was one I had not answered well in summers prior. Exhausted from the race and unsure of how to get my life back to a normal pace, my bed often claimed the victory, with the couch and remote control coming in a close second. My journal and my Bible collected dust, and my phone sat idle as I wondered how to start a conversation that would allow me to really talk about my summer. Those were dry times, empty times, but not for lack of water -- only because I chose not to drink.

After running such a race, our bodies, minds, and souls desperately need a chance to drink, to breathe, to slow down. There are some simple - and some not-so-simple - ways to make this happen. The following may or may not closely resemble a to-do list, but I won't apologize for that. These things have certainly helped me, and I hope some of you may find them helpful as well.

SLEEP. By all means, sleep. You've done a number on your body with the hours you've kept this summer, and you've earned some quality time studying the backs of your eyelids.

DO NOTHING for a while. Give yourself permission. Trust me, it'll be okay.

PINCH YOURSELF. Yes friends, it may seem distant and surreal, but you did, in fact, spend your summer in a completely random place, hanging out with even more random people, doing things that might make some question your sanity (let's face it -- if people don't look at you funny when you tell them you slept on an air mattress on a school or church floor all summer, I might question their sanity). It may sound like bad reality TV, but it was reality. In fact, you probably came face-to-face with reality more often this summer than most people do in their "normal" lives. The past ten weeks were not a crazy dream, nor a nightmare, but simply another piece of your journey, appointed and anointed by our very gracious God.

PICK UP THE PHONE. Call someone who will get it -- someone from your staff or your area or around YouthWorks who will certainly understand how you're feeling. We've all just finished running a long hard race. Once you've done that, call someone who doesn't get it. Part of cooling down after a race is stretching. Stretch yourself here -- take the risk to share a bit of your summer with someone who may not understand or appreciate what you've experienced. You never know how a story you share might plant a thought or a question in someone's heart. This is an awesome opportunity to honor what the Lord has done this summer.

PRACTICE WHAT YOU PREACHED. Remember how we all admonished junior and senior highers to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God? How we encouraged them to serve with willing hearts and to be like Jesus? Those words don't just apply to them, nor do they lose value or importance when we're not in "mission trip mode." This might be another one of those stretching exercises for you.

PRACTICE WHAT YOU PRAYED FOR. You prayed for your participants, that their experience wouldn't end on Friday morning, that their YouthWorks week wouldn't be about emotion but about real life-change, that they would take lessons home with them and put them into action. This was your honest hope and desire for them -- how is this happening in your own life?

Most importantly, no matter what you do or how relaxed you may be, let there be NO SPIRITUAL VACATION. What did Jesus do when He had a break from the crowds? He spent time alone with his Father. Satan would love to get a hold of you right now -- to make you neglect the disciplines of prayer and Bible reading you established this summer, to lull you into complacency and make you forget how God changed you and how real and alive and close he was this summer.

Know that God is as real and alive and present today as he was on any Thursday night this summer. He is just waiting for you to seek him out. As you do, ask him for what you need right now: help in processing this summer, guidance in preparing for what's next, wisdom for how to live today -- indeed, that's all you really need. Ask him for your daily bread, and come hungry.

Walk it off… that means you must keep moving forward. Stretch out, take a deep breath and a nice long drink, and when all is silent, listen for that still, small voice that will always be your best coach and your biggest fan.

Mr. Edwards, meet Ms. Betty

On Monday morning, I kicked off my sleeping bag and rolled off my air mattress at around 8:15 (ah, the blissful life of an Area Director, sleeping through another morning of Marshmallow Mateys). In a rare move - that I wish would become more frequent - I headed straight for my Bible and devotion book. I turned to the next meditation and found words that I wanted to shout from the rooftops:

Time is precious. We are fragile. Life is short. Eternity is long. Shall we not then enter on every venture with a vigilance like that of the young Jonathan Edwards when he wrote his fifth resolution: "Resolved, Never to lose one moment of time, but to improve it in the most profitable way I possibly can;" which is really a subpoint of his sixth resolution: "Resolved, To live with all my might, while I do live"... Yes, this can become compulsive and unhealthy. But for those of us who need to hear it as an antidote to squandering the preciousness of irretrievable time, let us hear it...

Surely God means for our minutes on earth to count for something significant. Paul said, "In the day of Christ I will have reason to glory because I did not run in vain nor toil in vain" (Philippians 2:6). In the same way, I have good hope from the Lord that my "labor is not in vain in the Lord" (1 Corinthians 15:58). And I commend this promise to you. No minute need be lived in vain. Eternity will render it significant if lived in faith for the glory of God. In the end we rest in this: "My times are in your hand" (Psalm 31:15).
- John Piper, Taste & See, #79

How fitting, I thought, for the first day of our last YouthWorks week this summer. Time is indeed precious. I resolved to live this last week with all my might.

On Tuesday, I visited one of our new ministry sites in Atlanta - Cafe 458, a soup kitchen that looks and acts like a restaurant. They have a clothing closet there, and I took a peek inside. There I met Ms. Betty, a sweet 70-year-old who grew up working in the cotton fields of central Georgia. She works in the clothing closet every day for four hours, helping people pick out the clothes they need, rejoicing in every generous donation she receives. She told me that she found the job through the AARP, but that even if they had to stop paying her, she'd still come as a volunteer - she just wants to be doing something.

Throughout our conversation, Ms. Betty praised the youth who were volunteering at Cafe 458, talking about how nice it is to see young people working so hard and so willing to help. I found myself wanting to turn that praise around to her; it is exciting to see an older woman who is so willing to give of her time and energy, to serve so selflessly. She is truly improving the time she has, living with all her might.

As the day progressed, I realized how easy it would be to live with all my might this week. In the waning days of the summer, there is much to be cherished. It is easy to run hard now because the finish line is in site. I wonder if my resolution will still be strong after this race ends.

Will I live with all my might while I am on vacation next week?
Will I live with all my might in the dreary winter days when summer seems so far away?
Will I live with all my might when I am seventy years old?

Lord, my times are in your hands. Help me to greet each new day you give me with a resolve to handle each moment with care, to run with strength and perseverance, to live with all my might.

Dingy white t-shirt

One of the great things about working for YouthWorks is all of the free clothes I get. Now, I’m not talking about anything designer or name brand, and not even much that I can wear to work during the off-season, but over the years YouthWorks has outfitted me with enough quality screen-printed, poly-cotton blend t-shirts that I could wear a different one each day of the month and still have a few left over (granted, my t-shirt collection is now spread between Minnesota, Alabama, and a few random Goodwill stores). The YouthWorks Staff t-shirts that comprise my summer wardrobe have seen it all: summer road trips in vans with no air conditioning, hugs from little ones who haven’t bathed in days, splatters of taco grease, barbeque sauce, vanilla pudding, a few sprays of bleach water here and there, paint in various shades of YouthWorks brown, and more sweaty trips to Sam’s Club than one might care to imagine. After all of this (and I hate to admit it) these shirts don’t spend much time in the washing machine. I think I’ve worn most of my shirts four or five times between washings this summer. My gray staff t-shirts and colorful “One Word” shirts don’t seem to mind this routine too much. My white t-shirts are a different story.

I’m not sure who thought it would be a good idea to make half of our staff shirts white. At the beginning of the summer, they look great: bright, clean, maybe even a little more sharp and professional than the gray. However, after just a couple of wearings, these shirts begin to show the evidence of work-filled, hot summer days, and no matter how many times I wash them, they just won’t return to their original glory. They have become drab and dingy, and the pale yellow-gray hue they acquire just makes them look tired.

Watching my Coahoma staff team sporting their slightly ashen, formerly white YouthWorks t-shirts as they welcomed their groups this past Sunday, I thought about how their shirts didn’t match their attitudes. At the beginning of the summer when their shirts were fresh and new, these staff were certainly enthusiastic, but they lacked the cool confidence and ease that comes with having a few YouthWorks weeks under your belt. Now they are more on top of things, their site runs like a well-oiled machine, and it seems to me that their YouthWorks uniform should be as clean and sharp as their daily routine has become. But then I wonder, have we really become cleaner as the summer has progressed?

I certainly haven’t. I look back on the past eight weeks and think about how often I have worn my own dirt on my sleeve. Here I am in my fifth YouthWorks summer, and nothing has been easy, mostly because of how often I have been confronted with my own sin and messiness. My impatience with imperfect people has distanced me from some of my staff. Selfishness has led me to fight every step of the way when things weren’t going my way – whether that means arguing with my boss or getting mad at God. Disobedience has made me resist the steps that God would have me take, and He’s had to drag me down the narrow road kicking and screaming at times. Laziness has made me complacent about spending time praying and reading God’s word. All of this has come together to make me crabby, emotional, irritable, and a generally not-nice person. I feel like this summer has brought out the worst in me, and I am wearing my sin like a dingy white t-shirt.

I wonder if summer has felt this way for any of my staff. Has the intensity, pace, and close quarters of a YouthWorks summer brought some of their previously hidden spots and stains to the surface? Have they, too, come to realize how much they need grace, but how little they deserve it?

I fold my laundry and re-pack my suitcase, a little embarrassed by the state of my white shirts. I go ahead and relegate one to be a running t-shirt. I wonder if any amount of hot water and bleach might bring these shirts back to their original brilliance, but I doubt it. I wish that I could have a new start – a new set of fresh white shirts; maybe I could keep them clean the second time around. Inevitably though, the dirt would somehow show up again. This is sin. This is humanity. This is life.

...Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish. Ephesians 5:25-27

Only God has water hot enough and soap strong enough to wash it all away. Amazingly enough, he will continue to wash it away, no matter how many times the dirt keeps coming back. And when all is said and done, I will stand before my Savior and He will exchange my shabby garment for a spotless white wedding gown. That is grace. That is the Lord. That is life eternal and abundant.

May He be the difference

The first six weeks of the summer have come and gone, and I am finally finding some time - however limited and frequently interrupted - to breathe. My overly emotional, frayed-around-the-edges self is feeling the effects of oxygen deprivation. More than anything lately - more than time to bake or cook, time to read or time to talk with people whom I don't supervise - I've been craving time to write. I have a list in my head of stories to share, topics to write on, verses on which to expound, but now at the end of a full day in a coffee shop, I have run out of time. These thoughts will have to continue to stew.

Until I finally have the time and space to exhale in written form, I post these words from Pastor John Piper:

Finite and fallen as we are, we need much help to see the light. To us there are dark places in the truth. But who can say, in this brief vapor's breath of life, what light might break upon the soul that looks, unwavering, and long enough at some dark spot, with prayer and pondering and hope that it may turn into a portal for the sun?

Christ is the great, granite, Objective Fact... He is the lens which lets us see if the modern, creative king really has any clothes on. He is the hard, immovable, unshapable, intractable Reality that banks the sea of emotion into a river that has to flow this way and not that, deep and not shallow. When he died for our sins, it became evident, once and for all, that our fallen spontaneity needs the fine, sharp, painful control of a severe Calvary-like discipline before going public in poetry - or even prose. He is the difference between artsy gamesmanship and lasting glory.
Taste and See, Reading #54

Lord, may my hunger to write be far surpassed by my hunger for your lasting glory.

Indelible

indelible adj. 1. Impossible to remove, erase, or wash away. 2. Making a mark not easily erased or washed away.

James, the Work Projects staff at my site in Coahoma, shared a few words with the participants there last week that made quite an impact on me. I hope I can do them justice as I recount them here.

Like many YouthWorks Work Projects staff, paint has become a permanent part of James's wardrobe, splattered across his staff t-shirts, shorts and shoes. His hands have become a multi-colored palate, with blues and browns and grays embedded in and around his fingernails. As he stood at the sink one morning, scrubbing with Lava soap, it occurred to him that the paint might not come off of his hands until after the summer is over and he is back to his "normal" life. He thought back to other mission trips he'd been on, and realized how many of the things he had experienced and learned on those trips had washed away when he got back home. He admonished the youth in Coahoma that week to not allow the lessons learned and the change in their hearts to wash away when they got back home.

Lava soap is strong stuff. I remember washing with it as a little girl after I'd been helping dad with projects. It washes away grease and paint and muck that flowery-smelling Dial never could. The world that we live in is a lot like Lava soap - ready and waiting to wash away even that which we thought might stay with us. Friends and relationships and media and school beg to make these youth forget the way their hearts broke for the people of a tiny town in the Delta. The lies society tells our youth lies somehow pierce through even the most significant moments of self-discovery that happen in the mission trip setting. American idols of all forms clamor to take the place of Jesus as they encountered him this week. The comforts of home quickly wash away the dirt and sweat of an uncomfortable place that they miraculously grew to love.

May it not wash away. May the experience of a YouthWorks week - or a YouthWorks summer for my staff - be permanently written on the hearts of each one. The word "indelible" has become a theme in my prayers - and at times, it has been the entire content of them, breathing out that one simple but mighty word. May the world's Lava soap never be strong enough to wash away the indelible work of the Lord.

Let not steadfast love and faithfulness forsake you; bind them around your neck; write them on the tablet of your heart. Proverbs 3:3