What if God DOES give us more than we can handle?

What do you say when your friend gets arrested for accidentally forgetting the item at the bottom of his cart before he walks out the door? What words can you possibly find for the friend awash in grief because her grown up sister suddenly drowned last week in a creek?  How do you answer the why in their tired eyes when a couple sits across from you at your kitchen table, describing how a house fire destroyed their home that morning?

And in case you're wondering--yes, all of those things happened last month to people I love. 

September was rough. 

When the lives of people around us are messy, when the pain they feel is bigger or different from any we've ever walked through, we get scared. It's uncomfortable, right? So we want to fix it, to say a magic word that will suddenly make it all better. Maybe we just want to be the hero.

Whatever the reason, if you feel the urge to tell them, "God won't give you more than you can handle"...just don't. 

The first reason is that it's simply not true. God DOES give us more than we can handle.

We know this from personal experience. Anyone who has ever had an EBD (emotional breakdown) knows that there are days we just. Can't. Deal. Life is chock-full of stress, and it only increases as we grow into our adult lives and accumulate more responsibilities.

But stress or tragedy in the lives of people who follow God is nothing new. What about Joseph, trafficked into slavery by his own brothers? What about Job, who lost his wealth and his kids all in one horrible day? What about Moses, terribly insecure and shaking in his bare feet when God told him to lead millions of people out of a country where they'd been slaves for 400 years? All of them were handed far more than they could handle.

Telling someone that they'll never be given more than they can handle feeds several lies:

1. It sets up an unrealistic expectation that life will be relatively easy for those with faith.

This sounds great, and is a key part of the Prosperity Theology preached by many. However, it is the complete opposite of what Jesus actually told his disciples to expect. Jesus said that "in this life you will have trouble" (John 16:33). He also declares that "if anyone would come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross and follow me" (Mark 8:34).

 Faith in God does not guarantee an easy life. In fact, the sheer number of verses calling believers to self-sacrifice, suffering, and endurance indicate the opposite.

2. If you do find yourself falling apart, it must be because you don't believe strongly enough that you have what it takes. 

This is such a terrible lie, straight from Hell. Not only does it further isolate the person, it also piles a heap of guilt on an already painful situation.

There is definitely a Biblical call to stand firm on the promises of God. But did Jesus promise an easy life? Did he promise that you would never have a meltdown or feel depressed? We must be careful that the promises we are claiming are actually from the Lord. (See point number 1.)



One of the reasons that folk theology takes root and gains popular acceptance is because it sounds so much like the truth. Telling someone that God won't give them more than they can handle is almost  a true statement.

However, the truth is that God will never give you more than His grace is sufficient for.

The Apostle Paul had a struggle that seemed to crush him. Three times he pleaded with God to take it away, but each time God said, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Corinthians 12:9)

Not only did God promise to give grace that is enough for all I need, he even seems to say that the best circumstance through which to display His power is our weakness. What kind of crazy, backward display of power is this? But that is the mystery of the majesty of our God.

The truth is that God never intended you to handle it alone. 

Our loving Father wants us to rely on Him, and not on ourselves. Our natural normal state is not independence, as if God wanted us to eventually remove the training wheels of His love and grace. Our natural, normal state is deep, constant dependence on Him for every need, every moment.

Our natural state is also community. Even about Adam, a sinless man in a perfect, pre-curse world, God said, "it is not good for man to be alone." (Genesis 2:18)

I firmly believe that one of God's primary and most tangible expressions of grace to believers is other believers. When we, as the Body of Christ, are all built up into the unity of the Spirit, we share one member's pain as our own. We bear one another's burdens.

The truth is that God loves us so much that he is even willing to allow painful circumstances in our lives to bring about this intimacy with Himself and within his Body. 

This is a delicate topic. I was so nervous to bring it up that I almost skipped it entirely.

I realize that it would be completely arrogant for me to look at anyone's pain and assume that I know the reason God allowed it. When God allows cancer, or sexual abuse, or a house fire, or a machete massacre in a Nigerian village, I have no words.

And friend, I don't know the "why" behind your story of loss.

But I know that the ultimate good for humans--the absolute best thing that can ever happen to us--is to know God. To see Him for who He is, to experience His greatness and love, to become intimate friends with the Creator who call us His own--this is the best, most joyful thing.

Your loving Father might allow pain and loss in order to bring you into the deep intimacy with Himself and his Church that is your ultimate good.

Paul described this experience in his own life like this:

8 We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters,[a] about the troubles we experienced in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself. 9 Indeed, we felt we had received the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God,who raises the dead. (2 Corinthians 1:8-9)

I firmly believe that there is no evil or pain that God cannot redeem for our good and His glory.

After all, the brutal murder of an innocent man named Jesus was the way God chose to bring salvation to the world. 

Five minute Friday:: Care

This month has spun past full and fast. Some months are like that--each day so brim-full of people and conversation and work and weekends busier than the weeks between that you can barely catch your breath. 

I crave the process of writing like a runner craves the road. I feel so thankful that I finally get the chance to sit for five minutes on this Friday night and pin down meaning with these keys. I'm grateful to Kate for faithfully hosting this writer's party each week, even though I know her month might have been as full as mine. 

Tonight the prompt is CARE. And if you have no clue what's going on, head on over here to check out what Five Minute Friday is all about! 

{CARE}

An open letter to the woman with the 101-year-old mother:

Today you tipped a little while in my direction and spilled out some of your story. I felt honored that you would tell me, the girl a half century behind you in wisdom.

You told how she came to live with you this summer. How her house sits empty in Ohio with no one to cut the grass. How the sister in another state was caring for her, but now it’s your turn and you feel like there are days it’s just simply too. Much.

You told how she was a rock for your family, caring for your handicapped brother until even his hair was gray and he fell. Your mouth pulled in at the memory, and I thought how painful it would be to lose a brother. I told you so, and your eyes grew glossy.

You told how exhausting it is now, how you were unprepared to physically lift the woman who carried you as a child.

I don’t know what it’s like, but thank you. Thank you for caring. Thank you for dying to self for the sake of the dying. Thank you for making her breakfast each day, making her bed, making her smile.

We—the self-absorbed, the media-glutted, the youth-obsessed—we desperately need your example. We need to see love in action that is not flashy, not instagrammed, not applauded. We need to know that it’s possible to love our parents this way so that when the day comes, we will have the courage to care too. 

Five Minute Friday::Glue

Today I am linking up with Five Minute Friday, a writing exercise where you set a timer for five minutes and write on a specific topic until it chimes at you to lift your fingers from the keyboard. You can join in here!

Today's word = GLUE

Yesterday was all unraveled and ragged. I flew out the door with my shoes barely on my feet and a granola bar in my hand. Seriously, God bless granola bar makers.

My house looks like a garage sale after all the good pickings have been picked over. Ever since our washing machine decided to re-create Noah's Flood two weeks ago, we've been living in a carpet-less home without baseboards or doors or basic organization. Just getting out the door is a feat of memory and agility. Where was my jacket again...? *wracks brain, bumps into furniture*

It really hasn't been too bad. Now that the thirteen rumbling red industrial fans and honking-huge dehumidifier are gone, at least I have a kitchen again. Even while the fans roared, we laughed about their white noise making it easy to sleep.

But yesterday at work my shoulders and neck creaked with painful lumps as the phone constantly rang and rang and rang and my throat grew dry from explaining. The papers piled up faster than I could sort them. My fingers clicked constantly, almost independent of my tired brain as the mental to-do list grew longer and heavier.

It felt like I was coming unglued. Can anyone relate?

I stumbled up the stairs to our homegroup meeting with only half a heart to be there. Heavy-eyed, foggy-brained from my desperate post-work nap, I willed myself to sit.

"Between the songs", they said,  "let's tell what God has been doing in our hearts". What have You been doing, Lord? I wondered. I'm so unglued and discombobulated.

As I flipped backward in the blue journal looking for scraps I'd chanced to record, I found the sweetest words. Words that had patched me together on another ragged, teary day in January.

"Cherise, you do not have less at this moment when you are exhausted and fighting a cold than you do on days when you are well-rested, healthy, and feel in control. You have Me in abundance at all times, and I am all you need."

Wonderful truth.

He is not diminished if I am depleted, and He holds even my unraveled, unglued moments together by his powerful Word.


Side note: My homegroup will notice that this journal entry wasn't what I shared last night with the group. It felt like a personal hug from Jesus for that moment, something just between the two of us for me to feel his love while I shared something else out loud. But now, in the light of a new day, it seemed  appropriate to share.  I hope someone else will feel His love in the middle of an unglued moment like mine. 

Less than two months away!

The excitement has been slowly building in my heart since January, when our letters were signed and sent. Part of me still can't believe that we are actually returning to Milan! (Click here for last year's post on returning...it's still a true expression of how we feel to be going back!)

In case you're new to the blog, or just need a reminder, here's what's going on:

Our church has linked arms in partnership with a tiny, brave church plant in Milan, Italy. Like us, they focus their ministry on the college students at a local university. Also like us, they are passionate about discipleship.

This was our team with the students last year on an excursion. Such a fun day! Hubby and I are front, left.  

Each year, we send a team of students to encourage and help this church by putting together fun, interactive English Clubs for the students of Bicocca University. The clubs provide a great setting to meet students and build relationships.

We love the fact that we stay for two full weeks! That second week gives time for trust to form and conversations to go beyond the surface.

For many young people in Italy's post-Christian secularism, broken homes and shallow relationships are the norm. Knowing this, my husband and I have tried to text and Facebook our Italian friends throughout the year. Going back to the team and to our Italian friends--well, it's a bit like a family reunion.

Even though support raising is far from complete, my heart is full to bursting right now with thanks for friends like you who give to make it possible for us to return!

By our returning we tell the Italian students that they are more than a two-week project. The returning lends weight, not only to the friendships, but also to the declaration that Jesus is just as real and alive and life-changing as the first time we told them.

Never underestimate the power of persistent love. My own heart is proof that it can soften, redeem, transform.

Will you help us return? Click here for Fellowship Church's secure giving site.
**NOTE: please put "Castille Italy Mission" in the comment box before clicking "submit". This helps your gift go to the right place.

Will you pray?
Mark the dates for our trip in your phone calendar! (May 11-25)

• Pray for hearts to be open to the love of Jesus.
• Pray for us to be humble.
• Pray for courage and cultural sensitivity.
• Pray for Frank, Pam, Stacy, and Debbie--the long-term missionaries in Milan.
• Pray for every team member to reach their support goal by April 11.
• Most of all, pray for God's name to be famous and lifted high.

 

Avoiding ministry burnout

Ever heard of Perspectives? For years, I've heard stories of life-change from anyone lucky enough to take this rich, intensive 15-week course on missions. We have a joke that no one can talk about Perspectives without using the word "perspective"...because, well, a new perspective on missions, on God and even--or especially--their own relationship to Him is what everyone leaves with.

 

So when hubby and I started Perspectives this spring, I was expecting to be changed on a global scale for global mission. But this was different. This was much closer to home.

 

Somewhere in Lesson 2, I arrived at the article by Tim Dearborn entitled “Beyond Duty”. He wrote about the tendency for many churches and mission agencies to motivate people into missions using “bad news”.  It all sounded so familiar:

 

Statistics of the hundreds of thousands dying without Christ.

Photos of malnourished children in Sudan.

Overwhelming numbers of martyrs dying each year for their faith...

and on and on.

 

Not only did it remind me of sermons and mission conferences, it reminded me of my own prayers in the past: full of heavy tears and a crushing burden for the lost and broken.

 

In Dearborn’s own words, I had “worked myself into exhaustion with exhortations to give more, do more, be more, care more, serve more, love more, sacrifice more,” but I always ended by feeling hopelessly inadequate for the task.

 

Because of course, I was.

 

And then, this:

“Mission is ultimately not a human response to human need. …Lack of interest in mission…is best remedied by intensifying people’s passion for Christ, so that the passions of his heart become the passions that propel our hearts.”

 

Wait, mission is not human response to human need? *mind blown*

 

As I sat with highlighter poised, God began to clarify truth even beyond what Dearborn had written. Human-centered motivations, because they originate in finite humans, will always be limited. No matter how earnest my compassion, no matter how much I immerse myself in knowledge of the world’s needs, no matter how much zeal I fan into flame with my own will, it will all fall flat eventually because I myself am finite.

 

An Infinite Source is needed.

 

Suddenly He whisperered to my exhausted heart. Cherise, this is part of why you felt burned-out in your homegroup.

 

Me: Ohhhhhhhhh.

 

I realized that I had served and lead from a dry well of self-generated desires and passions to serve human needs rather than from a simple, pure desire to love and please my Father. When the people I served became hard to love or did not return my friendship, I fizzled. I was counting on my own compassion and love to sustain me, but (shocker!) it proved a poor source for long-term sustainability.

 

It turns out that the same incomplete motivations for global mission are just as incomplete on the home-front.

 

BUT there is a higher motive that is a deep well, never running dry! It has nurtured and upheld missionaries in generations past, enabling them to give and serve for years without thanks, without praise, without the support of community or the comforts of home.

 

It is this: The glory of His Name. His honor. God receiving the praise He deserves.

 

If I live for His praise, I won't be living for mine (and won't be crushed when I don't receive it.)

 

I have a sneaking suspicion that this will be a lesson learned over and over. 

 

Ignite: Then and Now

Have you ever tried to water a potted plant that was bone-dry? The water beads up and splashes off the dust with no effect.

Only small drops, patiently dripped, get through the crust.

Just after Christmas, the hubs and I squeezed onto a bus with 56 other people and drove to Indiana’s capital for the Ignite Conference. Ignite is a bit like a family reunion for the several hundred college students and staff who gather every two years from all the churches in the Collegiate Church Network. For two days, we worship, barely sleep, hang out, and hear dynamic teachings designed to re-ignite our hearts with love for God and for people.

When I went to Ignite two years ago, I was like a waterless plant that had forgotten how to drink. Starved for friendship, terribly lonely, and laboring under a false weight of expectations, my hard protective crust blocked out the love I needed.

I'm not saying love was not offered--it was. The sweet women in our group welcomed me, sat by me, chatted as we made coffee. But the wounds I nursed were so painful that I was unable to soak it in. Love splashed off, ineffective. 

This time was so different! The acceptance got through this year and soaked my heart. 

To all the women who loved me that weekend, thank you!
When your engagement secret was shared, I squealed as I anticipated your joy to come.
Adoption hopes whispered over our pillows thrilled my heart for you and your future family. 
You came on an impromptu picture-snatching adventure with me in the bright cold, and I felt like your sister. 

You sat beside me for hours in the dark on a swaying bus, just to talk and listen. 
You prayed with me, 
You smiled at me, 
you weren't embarrassed to worship beside me. 

But the real thanks welling up in my heart is to the One who has patiently dripped love into my crusty heart. Dripped and dripped so persistently and long. And then He gave me a milestone like Ignite. A two-year bookend--something to hold side by side for the difference--so I could compare the soils of me then and me now. 

He used some of you, and my heart is so thankful!

If you feel like your own heart is impermeable, that it is too dry for love or friendship, take heart. He is a Spring of Living Water, and He doesn't give up that easily. 

If you feel like you are the water, continually poured on a hard one that won't receive, take courage. The softening is His job--yours is to be the pipe, the spigot, that He pours through. 

Adults Bully Too

Lately I've been researching workplace bullying. Read into that what you will.

I always thought bullies were a middle-school thing, but apparently adult bullying is pretty common. A Wikipedia search told me that almost half (49%) of all Americans reported being affected by bullying currently or in the past. Maaaan, I thought I was out of the danger zone!

The Health and Safety Executive website says that workplace bullying is "negative behavior being targeted at an individual, or individuals, repeatedly and persistently over time." Pretty broad definition, but they break it down:

• ignoring or excluding someone
• giving unachievable tasks, or "setting you up to fail"
• spreading malicious rumors or gossip
• making belittling remarks
• undermining your integrity
• not giving credit where credit is due
• withholding information purposely

The Workplace Bullying Institute says stress from being harassed or bullied can cause emotional and mental damage leading to things like depression, heart problems, and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Yikes!

My research, and my own experience, have convinced me that the question is not whether it will happen to me, but when. And when it does, what is the mature, responsible response? Is the advice given to kids in middle school appropriate for an adult workplace? And as a Christian, should my behavior be different from what I could legally do?

These are genuine questions. 

As a kid, I was told, "Ignore bullies; they just want a reaction. If that doesn't work, stand up to them." But as a homeschooled kid, I had a pretty limited exposure to bullies. Not much chance to practice. 

Now I'm adult in the corporate world, and I sense a pressure to give as good as I get or get run over. Gossip is the norm, and if you don't conform, then guess what--you're the new target. "Good Americans" are confident, assertive individuals who would never allow themselves to be bullied, right?

But as a Christian, I've resisted this, struggling to know how to respond and remain obedient to Jesus. I mean, He said some pretty un-American stuff on this topic. 

"You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.' But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles." (Matthew 5:28-41)

A person who slaps me, steals my hoodie, and sues me. Hmm, sounds like a bully to me. And Jesus says "do not resist" this person. Instead He seems to advocate a policy of "killing with kindness", giving good for evil. 

Until this week, Jesus and Corporate America seemed totally out of sync. Then I had a revelation: perhaps "resistance" was not the same as "assertiveness."

Resistance pushes angrily back when it is shoved. It fights fire with fire, leading to an inferno. I have always known that this was a baaaaaad idea. Assertion, on the other hand, can be respectful and controlled. It speaks the truth in love. It may confront, but it never keeps grudges and it never gossips. 

I am still chewing on this new distinction. How to assert lovingly--and ensure that people know it's done without malice? How to confront people who have never known healthy conflict? How to break habits of silence and avoidance that have grown over months?

Maybe I'll do a sequel to this post as I learn more. But in the meantime, I'd appreciate prayer. I have a new appreciation for the hard life of the picked-on. 

How does my garden grow?

 The last time I showed you my garden, the box stood stark in the ground, softened only by a few tiny pepper and tomato plants.

Look at it now!

Because of the drought our area has had for the past two summers, I was considering installing an auto-drip system. But because this summer has been pretty wet so far, my new concern is drainage. Too much water equals root-rot. I'm hoping that the fact that it's a raised bed will help.

I'm excited about these baby tomatoes!

And these flowers will one day be cucumbers!

Not sure why the bell peppers are looking puny. Too much water perhaps?

There is one problem I have no clue how to fix. Little sugar ants are eating the stems of my zucchini plants at the root! Does anyone know how I can stop them?

"I'm doing good"

What makes a day "good"?

As a bank teller, I am constantly asking customers how their day is going. Of course, ninety-nine percent say "I'm good", I'm doin' fine", or something similar. Social norms put us on auto-pilot and keep everything clean and shiny.

For years, I've tried to avoid the plastic smile in favor of authenticity. Fake might be pretty, but it keeps us insulated from real friendships. Who relates to Barbie anyway?

So early on, I swung to the other extreme. (Hint: extremes are usually bad.) It made for some pretty awkward conversations with perfect strangers.

I like to think I've learned from my mistakes, that I know when to bare all and when to be polite, but I still have slip-ups.
But lately, I've been convicted that my desire to be authentic and "real" sometimes drives me to cross a fine line into simple griping. Or (gulp!) even gossip.

Which brings me back to my first question: What are the qualifications for a "good" day--one that I don't gripe or complain about?

Must the day be nearly perfect to be a "good" one?

Maybe my standards have been too high. Maybe a good day shouldn't have to be so perfect, measuring up to the "good" days of last year, or even last week.

A sweet young mommy-friend of mine has come to a similar conclusion. These days, exhaustion is the norm in her world. So are spit-up stains and tantrums and diapers and all the other normals that mommies of toddlers and infants endure. Three years ago, before kids, the lack of sleep alone might have translated into a no-good-very-bad-day.

So, she has wisely adjusted her standards. A "good" day is a day when her children are loved. It is a day when there was sleep before, no matter how little. It is any day when her heart is focused on thankfulness, on loving, on Jesus.

Good is a choice.

I will still share the hard things with friends. I will still show the reality of my life because shared comfort brings closeness.
But because Jesus is good, and He is with me, I choose to believe that today is good. 

Staying = Radical Obedience? Sometimes.

They were sitting there on our blue couch, earnest and eager as they told us about the Bright Mountain People*. Hubby and I traced curious fingers over pictures they had brought and tried to imagine living there, with all the foreign tastes, sounds and mannerisms. Such a beautiful people, but such a hopeless future without a Savior.

(not actual picture...only my imaginings)

As teens, our friends had heard about missionaries like Wycliff, Carmichal, and Elliot, but always as a history lesson to encourage the now. All the dangerous work had been done, they thought.

But then, they had a profound realization:

There are still entire cultures that have never heard the name of Jesus. 

 And each year, millions of people die without ever hearing of the God who loved them and died to buy their freedom from death. So our friends went, committing to a lifetime of language learning, relationship-building, and sacrificial living so that the statistic could change.

I was sitting there on the other couch, feeling as if I had swallowed a bag of hot marbles. What am I doing here while people are dying? I wondered. The faces from the pictures were still there when I shut my eyes, and I had a sudden urge to quit my job, sell my car, and book a flight. What if I missed my calling? I even felt a throb of jealousy, that they were living my old dream while I did laundry and brought home paychecks.

My response was not entirely wrong; it is right to be heartbroken over the eternal death of millions of people. If we feel more sadness over a flat tire or a disappointing football game, we need to do a serious gut check.

But I have a tendency to want to rescue people myself, rather than looking to the Rescuer.

An even bigger confession: I have a deep, inner aversion to averageness. Even as a 2nd grader, I hated earning less than an A+ on school assignments.  As a teenager, when I pictured my future, it never included the typical elements of the American Dream. I never wanted the picket fence, the cul-de-sac, the 2.5 kids or the fat paycheck. I wanted to be 100% sold out for Jesus and His Kingdom. In my mind, that meant that I would live sacrificially,  give extravagantly, and home school my nine children while my husband and I went to the furthest corners of the globe with the good news that Jesus reconciles broken people.

And none of this is bad in the least. Even now, many godly people are living this lifestyle and giving all the glory to Jesus.

 But do I desire this radical lifestyle because Jesus desires it from me? Or is it because I want to be "a cut above" your average Jesus-follower? Maybe it's a mix. Most of my movitations are, if I get real with myself.

Truth: even good activities can be downright disobedient if God hasn't asked you to do them. 
(King Saul found that out the hard way. For his story, check out 1 Samuel 15:22)

As I've prayed and journaled through these thoughts, here are some in-progress conclusions:

1) I should make sure my heart is in a position of continual availability to go. Maybe the answer I have taken as "no" is in reality "not yet." If I knew He would send me outside the US in five years, how would that knowledge affect the way I live today? As my cousin, Jeremy recently tweeted: "Your vision of the future affects the decisions of your life today. Without a heart set on eternity you will live for only temporary things."

2) I should be humble enough to realize that Jesus may want me to live a life of faithfulness and relative obscurity, devoid of the moving stories, exotic passport stamps or flashy sacrifices. Am I willing to accept obscurity, the life of the suburban soccer mom and "sideline involvement" in missions if that's what Jesus asks of me? It takes faith to believe that being still and patient can accomplish as much as radical action. Staying can be its own sacrifice, and secret prayer may be more news-worthy in Heaven than any foreign travels on earth.

*The "Bright Mountain People" are called by a pseudonym here, to protect our friends and other workers who bring them the Good News. 

Invisible Gardening

Buried in darkness, the germ of life waits in secret. So much potential packaged so tiny, lost in the loam, out of sight.

Under the heat lamp and the peat and the dark, the first finger of growth presses through membrane into the earth and tiny fibers take shape. Cells add themselves to each other feverishly, exploding quietly.

But above the lamp, I hover. I'm impatient. I see none of the growth below, and the dirt is just dirt, and I wait.

You might have noticed that I haven’t blogged. Normally, I’m not one to lack words, but the creativity seemed buried as well this Christmas. In many ways, my heart has been like a seed in one of my peat trays, growing invisibly, even to me. 

Most mornings I’ve had to take a deep breath, releasing my desire to perform and achieve and produce, trusting that even in the darkness, the Gardener was doing something good in me.

Out my back door lies a freshly dug hole, wide and shallow. My biceps ache, but I’m happy. In the hole rests a new wooden box I made, open to receive compost and the baby plants that now stretch green toward my desk lamp.

So much preparation, weeks in advance of any growth.

For the past few months, I have plugging away doggedly at the things I know are good for my heart. I’ve been reading a challenging book, asking myself the challenging questions, choosing to be vulnerable. And honestly, the lack of visible growth been frustrating.  I’m a more patient gardener than I am a garden, it seems.

But last night, a friend told me that I seemed less anxious and more trusting than I was in the fall. A tendril of green that I had overlooked!

Even when our hearts feel like bare dirt, He is good, and He is at work.

Being Like the Blond

It was the year I turned five, and her hair was bottle-blond. Blond and curly.

That’s all I can remember about my Sunday School teacher’s appearance, but I vividly remember the love I felt in her class. She gave soft, frequent hugs, and her excitement about Jesus was magnetic. She probably didn't have a great singing voice, a perfect figure, or a seminary degree, but she loved two people well: me and Jesus.

Flash forward to another teacher, a taller, ganglier me. This time I remember the lipstick. It was sunset orange, and whenever she saw me it was stretched wide into the most welcoming smile. Ms. Kay had sadness in her life—I found out later—but she was full of Jesus’ joy and it spilled out on all of us.

(found on the website for iHeart Radio)

Even as a kid, I saw the impact that their love and willingness had on my own attitude toward Jesus, the Bible, and ministry. Jesus wasn't only for adults. We worshiped him kid-style: with fun tunes and hand motions and wiggling that exactly expressed how I was learning to know Him. We were kids and He was the One who held kids on his lap, who loved us and our Picasso-esque attempts to color him.

So why share the memories with you today?

After years of being a kid in the class, a teenage helper, and more recently a volunteer teacher, I'm humbled and thrilled to take on the role of Sunday School Coordinator for the older classes!

I will be working under one of our pastors, helping to choose the curriculum, stock the supplies, and train our awesome volunteer teachers and helpers. We're even dreaming of how to use the puppets and costumes that I have stashed in a box in my living room!

I don't have a degree in kid's ministry or elementary education, and I am the first to admit that any parent will probably know how to manage their kid better than I will. Honestly, when I let myself dwell on my inadequacies and the magnitude of what I've signed up for, I start to tremble a little in my new Chacos.

But God loves to use small stuff and weak people. Like the beloved ladies of my past, I don't have all my junk together, but I'm learning that God cherishes willingness and humility more than talent. May I be so.

Goodbye, Suite 140

A friend asked me the other night how I've been doing lately.
"In a nutshell?" I hesitated, looking for the right word. "It's a season of transition."

I'm pretty sure she couldn't guess just how much transition was packed behind that little sentence.

I know I already blogged today about last week's planning retreat, but today is a red-letter day! Today I said goodbye to a job that has been a constant in my life for the past two and a half years, and I'm feeling the need to commemorate the closing of such a significant chapter.

I admired L.E.'s sassy, purple-hued bangs next to me as I explained things from my seat at her side, and realized, with a nostalgic twinge, that this was the last time. I held another co-worker's baby, and thought "well, this won't happen very often at the new job." I snagged a hug from Neva as she walked by on the way to the copier, and took a moment to savor the closeness we've built over the past few years.

This is the job I took as a green, insecure 22-year old whose only experience with Excel was in her high school computer class five years earlier. At that ancient gray steel desk I learned how a corporate budget operates and developed the perseverance necessary to not give up when that same budget simply WOULD NOT make sense. I've learned the quirks of all four pastors, and the soda preferences of every one of the staff. I've learned that prayer really does help computers/printers/copiers function when all hope is lost. I've learned never to take an administrator for granted; without them, nothing can function! And I've learned that there is grace for the mistakes I will inevitably make.

All day long, I was feeling thankful for the experience of working alongside people who really follow Jesus, not just with their words but in the way they walk down the hall and interact with people. So many of them came by the desk just to say "congrats!" and give a hug.

And then they threw me a little goodbye party! I felt so loved.

Goodbye, church office. It has truly been wonderful. 

Please be praying for L.E. as she takes over a challenging position, and for me as I dive into this new season. New job, here I come!

Staff Retreating

Q: What were 90 of our church leaders doing at a dusty retreat center last week?
A: The annual Staff Retreat!

Let me give fair warning: the word "retreat" is misleading. While we do go to a camp location outside of town with bunkhouses and a dining hall, it's more accurately thought of as a boot camp--a boot camp of meetings. Along with our pastors and full-time staff, about seventy student leaders show up to pray, seriously evaluate their personal lives and their small groups, and make concrete plans that will direct them in the coming year.

My first retreat was in the fall of 2009. I was a rookie leader, scared to death by the intensity of holding my life under the microscope, but amazed that over seventy people would take leadership so seriously.

Like most Americans, I had spent half an hour every year--maybe--on those doomed goals that everyone makes the night before the January 1st. But really, aren't those more like wishes? I resolve (hope/wish) to lose ten pounds. I resolve (hope/wish) to be more patient. But here I was, spending an entire week making goals that actually seemed...attainable. Wow, what a concept.

Now, 3 retreats later, I find that the time spent in planning on this retreat is one of the most valuable things I do all year. Ok, ok, it could always be MORE valuable (for instance, if I actually reviewed those goals on a regular basis), but at least the process of taking a good hard look at my habits, attitudes, and goals doesn't crush me into a pile of weepy tissues like it did in '09.

Last week, seeing my flaws was not painful, but honest. I'm not a failure; I'm a forgiven work in progress. And now I feel encouraged, inspired to approach the challenging fall ahead with some fresh perspective.

I know that the goals I made are still too ambitious for me to do on my lonesome. But that realization is healthy because it leads me to the One who never gets tired, burnt out, or discouraged.

Italy: Ciao for now!

Even though the goodbyes were hard, this last day in Italy was sweet and full. 

We spent the day in Milan's throbbing heart: a bustling downtown area filled with tourists, shops, and ancient architecture. After lunch with other teammates, many of our new friends from English clubs met us at the Duomo. (see pic!>>) Some of us climbed to the roof, and I was amazed by the detail carved into parts of the building that would never be seen from the ground. Even though the name of the cathedral means "made by man", the building's creators must have had a greater Audience in mind, one who would see the painstaking details so far from the street. 

As we walked, I thanked God for the Italian students and for the friendships we've formed in these past two weeks. Helena, Stefano, Belentina, Natalya, Lisa, Federico, Andrea...and so many others--all are so precious to me now. I knew before I came that it was a relational trip, but now I am beginning to understand the importance of long-term investment in these students. 

Some of my teammates had been here before, and I was amazed at their persistent, faithful love shown to the students that they had met in past years. It was because they had prayed, facebooked, and continued contact with those students that so many returned. Not only did they return; many of them were open to discussing spiritual things for the first time, and almost five of them have even said that they want to begin studying the Bible with the long-term missionaries here! 

Love shown once can be good, even influential. But to persistently, constantly, faithfully love someone over time--this could change the world. 

I am seriously asking God whether He wants me to come back next year (as I hope!), and asking Him for wisdom in how to keep up with my new friends. 

The beautiful sky last night! 

Ohhhh, I'll miss this food....

Helena!

Lisa!

What an amazing group. And each person is so precious to God! 

Please pray for us to have a safe trip and that we actually sleep on the plane! And pray that hubby and I get over jetlag quickly, especially since we have to re-pack and leave for Colorado on Tuesday. :)  A marathon, but Jesus is enough to help us through it. 

No Worrying Allowed

All this mental stretching, the waiting, the groaning under the weight of everything that I have to do.

Hmm...I think final exam week must be a small taste of what the final stage of pregnancy is like.

A) Pregnant girls can't go to the rec center and work out very hard, and neither can I.

B) They can't get very good sleep, and neither can I. 

C) They also have weird cravings for certain snack foods. (My craving: salted, roasted almonds, mixed with chocolate chips.)

If it's not a good comparison, my pregnant friend, Mrs. Kroeger, can correct me later. 

In the meantime, here's a little guy who made me smile today while I was walking on campus: 

Someone put a bowl of food for him outside their office window. Mr. Squirrel was so absorbed in his meal that he hardly noticed as I crept close and snapped this shot with my phone. 

It brought to mind something that my Savior said one day to a crowd: 

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?" (Matthew 6:25-34) 

Yes. My heart totally needed that reminder. If God feeds this little squirrel, He can certainly give me enough time and energy to finish this paper. 

And to get ready for graduation. 

And to pack for Italy.

And to train my replacement at work. 

He is faithful. :)

Hopefulness

I’m wrestling with the idea of hopefulness right now.  Its definition is shifting in my mind, squeezed out of its usual place by the unusual  pressures aimed at me from within and without.

What is its usual place, you ask? Well, think of the word “hopeful”.  What comes to mind?  If you’re like me, you think of up-tilted chins sporting confident smiles.  You think of bright colors and optimistic decisions to “assume the best” of people and situations.  You think of a row of shiny glasses of water—all half full.  Hopefulness means positivity, sunshine, and dogged cheerfulness despite all odds. Right?

But at the moment, the odds are stacked higher than I’ve ever seen them.  I feel enormous pressure to perform to standards both real and imagined, but I consistently fall short of the mark. You know those days when you’ve been crying so hard that positivity and cheerfulness feel like salt rubbed in a wound?  Yeah.

I’m a self-sufficient gal…and it’s not a good thing. I’ve tried pulling myself up by my bootstraps so many times that my boots lost their straps. Sometimes I glued the straps back on and kept walking despite the blisters. But now the blisters hurt too badly. And I’m tired.

In the past, I hoped for better performance. I hoped that I could become stronger, run faster, do better, and that somehow I would attain perfection. Here, at the end of my strength and endurance, I admit that I can’t conjure up change—or hopefulness!—for myself even if I scraped the bottom of those boots. Now, I know that I just contradicted every Disney slogan I ever heard as a kid, but it’s reality.

Hope must be based on reality. 

This is where I CHOOSE to believe a different definition of hope. My emotions, as real as they are to me, are slippery and unreliable. My abilities, as great as I sometimes think they are, are NOT enough. Reality must be found in a reliable Person, one who never lies, never gets tired, and never runs out. Only God fits that bill. Here is what He says about the hope I have:

“No one who hopes in you [God] will ever be put to shame” (Psalm 25:3)

"Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character, and character hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us." (Romans 5:3-5)


"And the God of all grace...after you have suffered for a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm, and steadfast." (1 Peter 5:10)

On my own, suffering produces blisters and exhaustion. But when I anchor my hopes on the truths God tells me, the same suffering produces a bouquet of good things, crowned by hope that will not put me to shame.

A season of weddings

"There is a time for everything and a season for every purpose under heaven."

So true. And it just so happens that the season through which I'm trekking is chock full of weddings. I like this season, partly because I am a hopeless romantic who will never get over that Moment when the bride comes into view on her father's arm. I take a genuine delight in observing the groom's facial expressions because I always get a little glimpse of the joy Jesus must take in us, His bride. (And of course, I also love the fact that there is cake!)

Tonight, my own (still very new) husband and I attended the nuptial celebration for a dear friend we have known for almost four years. She was like a sunrise, so vibrant and glowing and full of excitement that your heart melted to look at her. Only seven and a half months past my own wedding, I know what she must have been feeling: the sense of momentousness, of joy and disbelief, and of the rich meaning attached to every part of the day. You just want time to pause, so you can drink the joy fully and enshrine the moment in memory forever.

This year, I will stand with two-possibly three-brides as they covenant with their loves to be faithful until death.

I read a Proverb yesterday that asked "...a faithful man, who can find?" I love my husband, and can't imagine ever leaving him, but unfaithfulness is not always so drastic. Sometimes it looks like emotional distance, or a subtle shift in allegiance to some other person or even an occupation. In the words of the pastor at the ceremony today, it can be "anything that obstructs your ability to love your spouse the way Christ loves the church." I am totally capable of that, and I won't be so naive as to think that I could never have an even worse fall.

Without Christ helping me, I can't be faithful. But with the Faithful One, all things are possible.