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
Friday, June 30, 2006
The tempest
It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed. Deuteronomy 31:8
It was with great reluctance and no small measure of trepidation that I embarked for Coahoma, Mississippi last Friday. Coahoma was relatively uncharted territory for me – I didn’t know the staff well, and despite a few trips to the tiny town this past year, I hadn’t forged any comforting relationships in the community. I dreaded the work ahead, having less than 48 hours to get this staff and site prepared to run their first week of programming. I felt alone heading into what looked like a very dry and weary land. Nonetheless, I took comfort in the fact that God would go before me. The night before I left, I wrote these words of prayer in my journal: “Give me freedom and confidence to RUN into Coahoma tomorrow, knowing that you will be waiting for me there. What a great comfort that is. I will look forward to meeting you there.”
So, with the same anticipation that comes from awaiting a visit with an old friend or beloved family member, I hit the road, trying to quiet the questions and fears and dread with the knowledge that I would be meeting God in the Delta. I was eager to crawl into his lap and feel his embrace – however figuratively.
When I was about an hour away from my destination, the clear blue sky began to fill with clouds. Ever-strengthening wind whipped dust and leaves across the flat expanse of farm fields. According to my car’s thermometer, the outside temperature had been steadily increasing, climbing to a scorching 96 degrees. I had become accustomed to driving through monsoon-like storms in the coastal states last summer, but I hadn’t expected to encounter torrential downpours in the typically dry delta. Suddenly the skies opened up, millions of celestial water balloons torpedoing down onto my car; my wipers couldn’t keep up. It was difficult to see, but all I could do was keep driving. Lightning split the sky and thunder rolled furiously.
In the same way that God spoke to Job in a whirlwind, I knew he was trying to remind me of something through this storm – which only seemed to get worse as I got closer to Coahoma. I wanted him to be my great big granddaddy in the sky that day, but he would not be contained to an easy chair. He is too mighty and powerful to be harnessed, to wild to be controlled or put into a box, to brilliant to be predictable.
He didn’t calm the storm that night; in fact, it kept raining all weekend long, more rain than the arid Delta had seen in weeks. He didn’t calm the storm, but he brought me through it, speaking all the way - boasting of his power and proclaiming his wisdom, majesty, and sovereignty, holding me tight. Though I had longed for a soft, comforting embrace, at the end of the day I knew there was no better place for me to be than in the grip of the One whose hand could orchestrate such a storm.
For you have not come to what may be touched, a blazing fire and darkness and gloom and a tempest… Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire. Hebrews 12:18,28-29
It was with great reluctance and no small measure of trepidation that I embarked for Coahoma, Mississippi last Friday. Coahoma was relatively uncharted territory for me – I didn’t know the staff well, and despite a few trips to the tiny town this past year, I hadn’t forged any comforting relationships in the community. I dreaded the work ahead, having less than 48 hours to get this staff and site prepared to run their first week of programming. I felt alone heading into what looked like a very dry and weary land. Nonetheless, I took comfort in the fact that God would go before me. The night before I left, I wrote these words of prayer in my journal: “Give me freedom and confidence to RUN into Coahoma tomorrow, knowing that you will be waiting for me there. What a great comfort that is. I will look forward to meeting you there.”
So, with the same anticipation that comes from awaiting a visit with an old friend or beloved family member, I hit the road, trying to quiet the questions and fears and dread with the knowledge that I would be meeting God in the Delta. I was eager to crawl into his lap and feel his embrace – however figuratively.
When I was about an hour away from my destination, the clear blue sky began to fill with clouds. Ever-strengthening wind whipped dust and leaves across the flat expanse of farm fields. According to my car’s thermometer, the outside temperature had been steadily increasing, climbing to a scorching 96 degrees. I had become accustomed to driving through monsoon-like storms in the coastal states last summer, but I hadn’t expected to encounter torrential downpours in the typically dry delta. Suddenly the skies opened up, millions of celestial water balloons torpedoing down onto my car; my wipers couldn’t keep up. It was difficult to see, but all I could do was keep driving. Lightning split the sky and thunder rolled furiously.
In the same way that God spoke to Job in a whirlwind, I knew he was trying to remind me of something through this storm – which only seemed to get worse as I got closer to Coahoma. I wanted him to be my great big granddaddy in the sky that day, but he would not be contained to an easy chair. He is too mighty and powerful to be harnessed, to wild to be controlled or put into a box, to brilliant to be predictable.
He didn’t calm the storm that night; in fact, it kept raining all weekend long, more rain than the arid Delta had seen in weeks. He didn’t calm the storm, but he brought me through it, speaking all the way - boasting of his power and proclaiming his wisdom, majesty, and sovereignty, holding me tight. Though I had longed for a soft, comforting embrace, at the end of the day I knew there was no better place for me to be than in the grip of the One whose hand could orchestrate such a storm.
For you have not come to what may be touched, a blazing fire and darkness and gloom and a tempest… Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire. Hebrews 12:18,28-29
Friday, June 09, 2006
Renowned plantations
I will make with them a covenant of peace and banish wild beasts from the land, so that they may dwell securely in the wilderness and sleep in the woods. And I will make them and the places all around my hill a blessing, and I will send down the showers in their season; they shall be showers of blessing. And the trees of the field shall yield their fruit, and the earth shall yield its increase, and they shall be secure in their land. And they shall know that I am the LORD, when I break the bars of their yoke, and deliver them from the hand of those who enslaved them. They shall no more be a prey to the nations, nor shall the beasts of the land devour them. They shall dwell securely, and none shall make them afraid. And I will provide for them renowned plantations so that they shall no more be consumed with hunger in the land, and no longer suffer the reproach of the nations. And they shall know that I am the LORD their God with them, and that they, the house of Israel, are my people, declares the LORD GOD. And you are my sheep, human sheep of my pasture, and I am your God, declares the Lord GOD. Ezekiel 34:25-31
Park Avenue Baptist Church in Atlanta is an answer to some of those prayers prayed around the conference table this year. God was gracious to not only answer our prayer for a suitable housing site, but to answer my prayer that we might find friends in Atlanta as well - a true sense of community, people who care about the ministry of YouthWorks and our staff. I read these words from Ezekiel while sitting on the steps of the church after a stop at the local coffee shop with Pastor Tony. After more than thirty prophetic chapters of death and destruction, chapter 34 brings a turning point - God's promise to seek out the sheep who have been scattered and to provide for them in his pasture. These words were beautiful, refreshing, and as I read along one phrase jumped off the page to me: "And I will provide for them renowned plantations..."
Renowned plantations. A dwelling place where God's sheep would be safe and well-fed. Renowned plantations. The very words connote an image of splendor and wealth, yet I know that my mental picture of such a place is merely a shadow of the renowned plantation that is being built for us in Heaven. Nonetheless, I wondered: could I be sitting on the steps of a renowned plantation at this very moment?
A secure place, where showers of blessing rain down, where God has provided plenty and stands watch to guard his own. Though this aging church may lack worldly renown, God has made it his own, and is using it to show us what a good shepherd he is.
God did not promise to provide the Israelites with renowned plantations for their own benefit; he did it so that they would know that he is the LORD their God with them. Perhaps that is all a place needs to be considered a renowned plantation: to be a place where God's sheep can see and rest safely in his provision, and know with confidence that he is the Lord. I pray that each of my sites would be such a place this summer: from our newfound home at Park Avenue Baptist in Atlanta, to the allegedly bug-invested but still beloved Coahoma Inn in Mississippi, to the school-turned-YouthWorks-site-turned-hurricane-shelter in Marvell, Arkansas to Woodlawn United Methodist church in Birmingham, the mission control center for the Southeast region. In each of these places, may my staff see showers of blessing, may they be fed by the Word of God so they are no longer consumed with hunger, and may they be kept safe from those who would try to prey on them, who would threaten the work that God would do in and through each of them. More than anything, may they KNOW - with child-like faith tempered by the wisdom of true experience - may they know that He is the LORD their God with them.
Park Avenue Baptist Church in Atlanta is an answer to some of those prayers prayed around the conference table this year. God was gracious to not only answer our prayer for a suitable housing site, but to answer my prayer that we might find friends in Atlanta as well - a true sense of community, people who care about the ministry of YouthWorks and our staff. I read these words from Ezekiel while sitting on the steps of the church after a stop at the local coffee shop with Pastor Tony. After more than thirty prophetic chapters of death and destruction, chapter 34 brings a turning point - God's promise to seek out the sheep who have been scattered and to provide for them in his pasture. These words were beautiful, refreshing, and as I read along one phrase jumped off the page to me: "And I will provide for them renowned plantations..."
Renowned plantations. A dwelling place where God's sheep would be safe and well-fed. Renowned plantations. The very words connote an image of splendor and wealth, yet I know that my mental picture of such a place is merely a shadow of the renowned plantation that is being built for us in Heaven. Nonetheless, I wondered: could I be sitting on the steps of a renowned plantation at this very moment?
A secure place, where showers of blessing rain down, where God has provided plenty and stands watch to guard his own. Though this aging church may lack worldly renown, God has made it his own, and is using it to show us what a good shepherd he is.
God did not promise to provide the Israelites with renowned plantations for their own benefit; he did it so that they would know that he is the LORD their God with them. Perhaps that is all a place needs to be considered a renowned plantation: to be a place where God's sheep can see and rest safely in his provision, and know with confidence that he is the Lord. I pray that each of my sites would be such a place this summer: from our newfound home at Park Avenue Baptist in Atlanta, to the allegedly bug-invested but still beloved Coahoma Inn in Mississippi, to the school-turned-YouthWorks-site-turned-hurricane-shelter in Marvell, Arkansas to Woodlawn United Methodist church in Birmingham, the mission control center for the Southeast region. In each of these places, may my staff see showers of blessing, may they be fed by the Word of God so they are no longer consumed with hunger, and may they be kept safe from those who would try to prey on them, who would threaten the work that God would do in and through each of them. More than anything, may they KNOW - with child-like faith tempered by the wisdom of true experience - may they know that He is the LORD their God with them.
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