God's Feet

I’ve gone away. Ireland rains, and this cottage bears it like the cows do, silently. I hear one cow complain, as I might if I were out there. Jonny knows how the weather gives me a one-track mind.

The days are green, the nights blacker than any of London’s, and quieter. It’s a break from gray concrete and fluorescents, from close air, the thin walls of a council estate, the shouting and the rap music. I am on a dairy farm, the birds chatty, low gutturals of cattle, the drip of weather on the eaves.

I’ve got things on my mind. I was able to set them aside this week, mostly. We do different things with our cares: bury them, bat them away like midges, ignore them. Unpack them onto the table next to our cups of coffee, talk through them, pack them up again, carry them out of the café. Write them into a journal, allude to them in a blog post. Lay them at the feet of God.

The Bible talks about that last one, and Christians often use the phrase. What does it mean to lay our cares at God’s feet? How do we leave them there?

I came across a verse recently that I hadn’t noticed before, and it has made an impression on me, stuck in my head for a few weeks.

 “A glorious throne, exalted from the beginning, is the place of our sanctuary.” Jeremiah 12:17?

It’s a weirdly worded verse, but kind of poetic, comforting, a bit haunting. I started thinking about its meaning. First, a glorious throne, exalted from the beginning – God is on His throne and always has been. That speaks of his sovereignty, his rule, his control. Then, the place of our sanctuary. We use that word for the main room in church, where we hold the service, but it’s also a rest, haven, escape. This dairy farm has been a sanctuary. To me, that verse says that God’s absolute control over everything, the fact that He is on His throne, is something I can rest in and trust in. His sovereignty, from and for all eternity, is the place of my sanctuary, and I can lay my cares at the foot of this throne.

Before we came to this farm, we spent two nights in Dublin, and it was there as I lay on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet, exhausted from vomiting and lack of sleep, that this verse came back to me.

A glorious throne, exalted from the beginning, is the place of our sanctuary.

If I hadn’t been awake and throwing up for hours, I might have found the thought funny, me finding “sanctuary” in front of a “throne”, but I was only lying there because I had little strength to move, and the thought passed without a smile. I normally don’t share details about sickness online, especially the horrors of gastric flu, but this is significant because as I stared into that bowl, miserable, it reminded me of fallen humanity, and that Jesus exchanged his glorious throne of heaven for a disgusting one covered in the filth of all of us. Besides our sin, he took on all that comes with being human: tiredness, hunger, pain, grief, sickness. We go through hardship knowing he has experienced it, too. We can approach his throne with our cares – and rightly, with our worship – because of that exchange.

I’d lain sick, weak, on a cold floor at the foot of a toilet, but I can see now that I’d also been in His care, under His sovereignty, at the foot of His throne.

Food took its time appealing to me again, but it has. I’m grateful for this time away, for the chance to come to a place that’s been in my heart for years. What a sanctuary it’s been: green fields for miles, three-week old calves, hillsides dotted with baby sheeps, spaghetti and blankets and books and cups of tea by the fireside. I’ve still got things on my mind, but I thank God for the space to think and pray, to come before his throne, to rest in his sovereignty.

Hoarders

I don’t watch a lot of TV. If I do, it’s usually when I’m at my parents’ house, and that hasn’t been consistent in the last four years of college and one year of living overseas. But I’m home again for a three-month stretch, and there’s one show that has captured my attention. It’s a sick fascination, actually. The show is called Hoarders. Each episode shares the stories of two people who have filled their houses with stuff, usually from floor to ceiling. After watching one episode, I was so disturbed that I went and cleaned out my closet.

One show featured a woman who had over 50 dogs and cats in her house. She didn’t just love animals; you could tell she was desperately lonely.  One man hadn’t been able to access certain rooms for years because they were so full. He bought a little mini-fridge to keep in his bedroom because he couldn’t get to the main refrigerator.

It seems insane, and these people often need professional help, but I realize that these hoarding tendencies usually start after people experience a significant loss. There is real pain; they cling to the past, look for security and fulfillment in objects that others would deem as worthless, unusable trash. They dumpster dive and Goodwill shop, looking for steals and deals. And their houses fill.

Hoarders interests me because it’s not a show that parodies these people’s problems. They bring in expert organizers, but they also bring psychologists to help tackle the mountains of emotional issues often linked to the mountains of possessions. They want to bring real change. The problem is, most of the time all they can offer is therapy and a team with three Got Junk? trucks.

I can’t help but liken this show to my own life, my own heart. You may have heard the analogy of our hearts being like houses, and over the courses of our lives, we accumulate things and pack them away, filling up our heart’s rooms. These could be hurts, memories—haunted or treasured—along with idols we use to fill up the emptiness. Our reconciliation to God is likened to us moving out of our “house” and Jesus moving in. We give him the keys to the house and make him Lord of our lives. Still, though he might now have keys to the front door, sometimes there are rooms locked away, areas where we just don’t want him to go. We have places in our hearts like the West Wing in Beauty and the Beast.  Off limits. Too painful, too private, too compromising, too shameful. And maybe blocking the way is a whole hallway full of junk.

I watch Hoarders, incredulous at how some people exist in such squalor, but I ignore my own “house”, filled to capacity with trash. Except it’s not milk cartons, cassette tapes, clothes, knick-knacks, and animal feces. It’s fear, pain, lies, false gods, and pride. And I’m hoarding them.

The good news is, Jesus doesn’t show up with a dump truck or filter through piles of my trash, asking what to keep and what to chuck out.  He knows I need healing, a deep purge of everything in me that’s not of Him. And when I truly surrender my life, I’m giving him the key to every room in my house, however painful it is, because I can finally see that he himself is all I’ve ever wanted. Those things I looked to for satisfaction and fulfillment and purpose—they don’t even come close to what He offers.

Psalm 139:23-24 says, “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”  I’ve read these verses many times, but Hoarders gave me a new perspective on it. I can see that therapist inch his way around mounds of boxes, or the team with protective masks as they rid a kitchen of rotten food. God searches out every hallway, every corner, and he removes the ruined clothes, the broken things, the offensive smells. He leads us in a better way.

Suddenly there’s no more room for fear, or lies, or pride; they’re replaced with the light of his presence, the depth of his detailed, specific love, the beauty of who he is.

He fills every room.

More Than Words

My mom recently told me the story of how I learned to read.

“We’d be driving down the road, and with every sign we passed, you’d chime from the back, ‘What’s that say? What’s that one say?’ After a while you could sound them out without help.”

I’ve always loved words. Sometimes I’ll play this game when traveling: I’ll look out the window but I’m not allowed to read any signs. It’s really hard. I’m one of those font nerds, too; I’ll see a billboard and think, That looks familiar…oh, it’s Century Gothic. To take this obsession even further — “words” is the theme of my upcoming wedding. We’re even having a Scrabble cake.

Words play a substantial role in my life. But lately I’ve sensed God challenging me on how much emphasis I put on their meaning, especially words that I deem true about His character. If someone asked me, “So what’s God like?”, I could easily rattle off a list of His attributes: loving, faithful, holy, just, sovereign, unchanging, gracious, strong.

But do I really believe that about God?  How do words lose their power and end up just marks on a page?

In his book, The Knowledge of the Holy, A.W. Tozer makes a bold claim: “The most portentous fact about any man is not what he at a given time may say or do, but what he in his deep heart conceives God to be like.” He explains that our life and choices stem from how we view God. This tells me that words true about God need to be true in my day-to-day existence, not just nice sounds coming out of my mouth or artsy fonts sprawled across my blog.   

Ok, so I pick a few words and hold them up against my everyday reality.

Trustworthy.  God is trustworthy, I can say that. It’s biblical. It’s true.

But if God really is trustworthy, then why do I worry? Why do I stay awake at night, plagued by what-ifs? Why do I let fear make my decisions?

Another one: powerful. I believe that, right?

Then why don’t I pray—about everything? Doesn’t he say that all things are possible with Him?

Strong.

God is strong? Then why do I use my weakness as an excuse when He’s calling me to a higher road?

Generous.

Then why don’t I ask?

Healer.

Then why do I hold my wounds up to the world’s false remedies?

Holy.

Then why do I treat sin with such a casual attitude?

Loving.

Then why do I approach His throne with anything less than confidence, secure in His love and in what Jesus did through his death and resurrection?

How do I view God? Do I see these words as His outfits, something He can put on and take off, something true about him sometimes but not at other times?  Or do I see them as His very nature, as who He is?

In John 18:37, Jesus tells Pilate that “for this reason I was born, and for this reason I came into the world, to testify to the truth.” I think he means the truth about what God is like. He came to a world very confused about who God is, and he lived a life of demonstration. It’s as if he took one word at a time, and he didn’t just say them. He showed them.

 “God is compassionate.” So Jesus went out and healed the blind, lame, leprous.

“God is holy.” He drove the money changers and merchants out of the temple.

“God is sovereign.”  He baffled Mary and Martha by letting Lazarus die, a greater purpose in mind.

“God is loving.” He took our punishment upon himself.

Are these just words to me? Or do I see them as truth about God that I’m desperate to imitate?

I’m drawn to words, and I love that God made me this way. I can’t wait until my own children ask me about those words flying past the car window. But I’m in constant prayer that the shapely ink marks and rich sounds won’t fade into meaninglessness or render me callous to the reality they represent. I need their truths about the Living Word to shape me into His likeness and propel me into worship.

Help My Unbelief!

This will be a short post, but I wanted to share something God has been speaking to me. Lately I've indulged worry and anxious thoughts, about wedding plans, about work, about my future. And Jesus was right: worrying doesn't add any hours to your life. And I'd say it ruins those hours you do have.

So I've been praying that God would help me to trust Him. I was reading in Romans 3, and verse 3 seemed a font size larger than the rest of the page.

"What if some did not have faith? Will their lack of faith nullify God's faithfulness? Not at all!"

Short yet deep.

What's it saying? God is still trustworthy even if I struggle to trust Him. His character does not change just because my feelings do. The depth and purity and fact of who He is does not depend on whether I feel it to be true or not. Thank the Lord that our lack of faith doesn't nullify His faithfulness.

Faith isn't just believing that God will do what He said He will do. It's also believing that He is who He says He is. When feelings contradict the truth of the Word, I can cry out like the father of the demon-possessed son did: "I do believe; help my unbelief!"

Every one of my days needs this reminder, that in the fluctuation of my emotions and circumstances, God is still the same.

Hope for the Change Averse

I'm on the bank of the Thames watching Tower Bridge watch the tourists. Change sits beside me in the absence of Helen, my partner in crime (i.e., cooking and cleaning).  I'm on our Thursday night walk alone. In about half an hour I'll return to my apartment building where my friends are not.

I know change can be good, but this change messes with me in a way I've never felt.  A year passed faster than it should be allowed to, and I'm left reeling from one teary goodbye after another.  I still wake up to the neighboring construction site's drills, hammers, shouts, but there's no one left to hear my noisy rants about the noise.  

How strange that your entire life can change overnight.

One day you're part of a close circle of friends doing a gap year together, and the next day they're homebound on their coaches and trains and planes, and you're an intruder in your own home. (That might be a bit dramatic, and the new teams here now are great, but that's how I felt.)

Why do I fight change so much? Why is it so easy to make routine and security and comfort and familiar faces my god? Something shifts, someone leaves, and my entire world disintegrates. I'm left wondering if maybe they made up too much of my world?

Characters in the Bible experienced change, which tells me we're to expect it in our own lives. Abraham was told to move countries. Job saw everything he loved snatched away. The disciples watched their hope die on a cross.  Life IS change, especially in this fallen place.

I know it's ok to mourn this loss. But I'd be fooling myself to think life stays the same. I'd be fooling myself to want that. 

New seasons bring new pain. But I can see that through every loss and heart-breaking transition, God brings good things, too. And it's encouraging to remember that the same God who brought those people through their most difficult times of change is the same God who brings me through it now. I may hate the noise from the construction site, but those workers aren't just over there getting paid to make noise. They're building something. (More flats, I think.)

It's the same with us. We're not built into Christ's likeness without change, without the noise.  But these words bring me comfort in the throes of change, whether the change dashes me to the floor or simply makes me sit less comfortably:  "In the hands of a changeless God, I need fear no change."

"[He who fears the LORD] is not afraid of bad news; his heart is firm, trusting in the LORD."

Psalm 112:7

London Calling, Part 2

“How was London?” Loved ones back home will ask.

How can I even begin to answer that?

These past eleven months hold much.

London is still crowded. Diverse. It was sunny most days, homesick some days. London was a lesson: how to tourist-dodge and power-walk, how to avoid Oxford Street on Saturdays, a lesson on how many people you can fit in a Tube carriage. 

London was a rush.

A rush of games/crafts/songs, kids with sticky hands, tired mums, restless teens.

It was cold.

It was jigsaws at midnight, bleary-eyed breakfasts, dinner feasts kitted out with candles and cake.  It was a rush of tea and probably too many biscuits.

London was a mad dash of a year gone too fast, and a quiet walk through God’s steady grace.

It was a group of strangers become friends...become family.

“How was London?” They’ll ask.

 Who could give that answer justice?

But as Seonaid would say, “It was a good laugh.”

Pray Big

The day before my fiance and I flew from the UK to the States for a friend's wedding, he left his passport on a train.

I got the text while shopping for a present for the bride. I stood there incredulous and teary, staring at nightgowns, as Jonny told me that the train carrying his backpack could be anywhere from central London to miles outside the city. The bag could still be tucked behind a seat, or it could be sat at any lost-and-found of any of the stations along the route. And we were leaving early the next morning for Tennessee.

The backpack also had his wallet, keys, security card granting access to his work building. Since there wasn't enough money on his travel card to get him home from work, I had to go to his office and give him cash. He walked me to an ATM; I punched in my PIN and tried to stop crying. I held out the £10, couldn't look at him. Anger was there, faintly. He's known for leaving things behind. But it was more disappointment than anything, the deepest disappointment I've known in a while.

I had to get to work, still sniffling on the bus ride back. I envy people who can hide their emotions. And I couldn't shake it, couldn't forget about it. I also envy people who can compartmentalize their emotions, put them aside. This colored everything I tried to do that day. I kept saying, "I cannot believe this is happening," over and over in my head.

Jonny called every train station on the route. He went to Waterloo, where the train terminated before going out again, and checked the ticket offices, Lost Property, and holding huts on all the platforms. Nothing. He was told that even if it was found that day, it would take about 24 hours to process through their recovery system. And we knew their security policy: any passports found must be destroyed.

The title of this article is "Pray Big", and I've said nothing about prayer yet. What's the difference between small prayers and big prayers, anyway? Maybe big prayers are those that seem most impossible to be answered. Or maybe they're the ones with the highest stakes.

My prayers that day consisted of, "Please, God. Please." That's all I found the heart to utter because I knew this was a Big Prayer. The odds of Jonny getting his passport back were close to zero. If the bag was found, it'd take too long to process. If they processed it, they'd destroy his passport as part of their security policy.

Sadly, my Big Prayer of "Please, God" became a statement of resignation: "Jonny is not coming with me on our 10-day holiday to see my family and celebrate my friend's wedding. I'm going alone."

I know at that moment Jesus would've said to me, like he did many times to his disciples, "Where is your faith?"

Jonny resolved to take me to the airport even if we didn't find his passport. He left work and had one last chance to check Waterloo for his bag. Still at work, I walked around holding onto my phone.

It rang and I hit the answer button, dreading to hear the words that would put the last nail in the coffin of our vacation.

"Shan? I have it."

I almost dropped the phone. I started crying even harder then, pure relief plus the aftermath of being so upset all day.

"It had just been handed in when I got there," he said, "and my passport was about 20 minutes away from being destroyed." He'd managed to convince the worker not to process it through their system and just hand it over.

I suddenly felt very small. Incredibly humbled. Maybe a bit ashamed. It had looked impossible to me, so I'd decided it must be. Could I be any more arrogant? Who was I to decide what was or was not possible? Hadn't I learned yet that, with God, probability has nothing to do with possibility?

We left the next morning and had an amazing time. Although during the trip, Jonny gave me permission to ask him every hour or so, "Where's your passport? Do you have all your bags?"

I heard an anecdote on a podcast recently that fits with this experience. It may or may not be true, but the lesson resonates with me.

Alexander the Great had a trusted general in his army whose daughter was getting married. Alexander said to the general, "I'd like to help out with the cost of the wedding; ask me for an amount."

So the general wrote an amount on a piece of paper and gave it to the treasurer. The treasurer stormed off to the emperor and waved the paper at him. "Look at this! Look how much he's asked you for! Who does he think he is?"

"Give it to him," Alexander replied. He took it as a compliment. "With such an outlandish request, he shows that he thinks me both rich and generous."

That story made me ask some questions. What do my prayers say about my view of God? Do I think he's able to answer big prayers? I realized that it's glorifying to Him to pray big, to "ask for the nations", because it's saying something about how I see Him.

In the grand scheme of life, my prayer about Jonny's lost passport was a relatively small prayer. It's tempting to think that God sees it that way, too, to think, "God's busy with more important things, like war and cancer and missing children." I think that's why this answered prayer humbled me and literally drew me into worship. It wasn't that my love for God was dependent on the prayer being answered. He owes me nothing. I found myself in awe of Him, to know that Someone so great heard and answered a cry from someone so small.

I've never felt so loved.

As life carries on, I have this to hold on to: God answered my prayer. When it seems like He's distant and I feel unheard, I can remember that God answered my prayer. When a situation seems impossible, I can glorify Him by asking for the impossible.

I have learned, and am still learning, to pray big.

Written in Grammar Class, 2008

For Becca, one of my favorite proper nouns.

You are a comma in my life,

You make me pause before I speak or decide without thought,

You link parts of me together and

make sense of my complicated-ness.

You are a period sometimes.

(Called a full-stop in England.)

You bring my foolishness to an end.

You make new things begin.

You're an exclamation point

adding excitement and passion

to my monotony!

You're a question mark

You make me ponder my ways

Make me think?

and give me some intonation.

Maybe you're a semi-colon;

we talk about serious stuff.

No out of place jokes;

that's for when our interactions are essays.

You're the adjective to my noun, the adverb to my verb-

bestowing clarity and helping me explain.

How many times have you edited my life?

(Author's rights.)

You say:

Don't worry about being singular.

One of these days I will make you plural.

Don't write too much in past or future tense, and

don't live in the passive voice.

Now for the prepositions:

I will call you up,

call you out,

call you over,

call you near,

call you in,

call you down,

call you through,

call you beyond.

London Calling

"How's London?" Loved ones back home ask.

How does one even answer that? "British as ever"?

But six letters hold much.

London is crowded. Diverse. Sunny some days, gray most days. London is traffic. London is a park amidst a concrete sea. London is a wealthy capital and a back alley. London is a posh block of flats and a weather-worn council estate. It's a rush of adverts, a rush of faces, a rush of tea and biscuits. London is a rush. London is a mad dash for the Jubilee westbound and a quiet walk in steady rain.

London is searching, crying out for answers.

I wanted to see the world and its cultures, so I came here. I wanted to love the people of the world like God does, so I came here. I wanted to tell London that the answer is Jesus Christ. So I came here.

Six letters. But infinitely more than that.

"How's London?"

I'm finding out, slowly. This could take all year.

London City Mission

So, I graduated from USF this past May, and since then I’ve been praying about my next step. Do I get a job and settle into Sarasota life? Do I try for a job somewhere else, with a change of scenery?

I decided on something that’s been on my heart since I graduated high school: mission work. I’ve wanted to join some sort of missions program since I was 18, but my parents thought it’d be wise to go to college first. Now that I’m finished, I’d like to give my time to missions for a little while before I choose a career.

In May I applied for an 11-month mission work program at an organization called London City Mission (LCM), and in June I was accepted. The program runs from September 6, 2010, until July 23, 2011. This organization has been around for 175 years and is still faithfully serving the city of London through community outreach. There are different outreach centers around the city that work with youth, the homeless, the elderly, and with society’s marginalized. Other efforts involve church planting, sports ministry, and coffee shop ministry. I’m not sure which group I’ll be placed in yet, but I’ll be assisting an already-established missionary. LCM is big on people using their gifts for the advancement of God’s kingdom, so I may even use my creative writing degree.

I’m nervous yet excited to join this team because I know God is going to stretch me and take me out of my comfort zone. It’s going to be a lot of work, and I need all of the prayers, encouragement, and emotional support I can get. Send me a loving email once in a while if you think about it: srowe2@mail.usf.edu.

For more info on London City Mission, visit www.lcm.org.uk

Life By His Words

"Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?" Matthew 6:27

Forgive me for my worrying, Lord; it's the opposite of trusting you. What does it mean to trust you? Worry comes in the form of feelings, and I know how easily it is to live by my feelings. I need to live by what your word says is true, not by how I feel. So...

Your word says that you take care of your people, that you know your sheep by name, that you open your hand and satisfy the desire of every living thing, that you're near to all who call on you in truth, that you are gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, that you will supply all of my needs, that you are Faithful and True, that you know what I need before I ask, that you hear my cry and will answer, that you lift up those who are bowed down, that you set the prisoners free, that you open the eyes of the blind, that you watch over the sojourners, that you are more than enough for me, that if I come to you I will want for nothing, that you are the truth, that you are the owner of the earth and all that fills it, that you're the Living One who sees me, that you are the Righteous Judge, that you have paid my way into the throne room of the Most High, that you are holy and desire purity in my life, that you have loved me with an unending, perfect love, that by your blood I am cleansed and made into a new creation, that you give good gifts because you are good, that you know me and still love me, that you won't leave me, that you're coming back to claim me, and that you will be glorified forever.

God, remind me of these things when I forget. Lift my eyes to you, and may I subject my feelings to and order my life around you and the truth of your words.

Our High Calling

There are tons of aspects about God that amaze me, but I want to highlight one of them. This gets me every time I read it in the Bible: how Jesus allows himself to be betrayed, mocked, beaten, and killed, and yet He is God of the universe. He hung there on the cross, dying, gasping for breath and in extreme pain, and the people who he made and formed and watched since they were little children, the people who grew up and became his enemies...those people stand there making fun of him, yelling things like, "If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross", and "He saved others; he cannot save himself."

This gets me because Jesus is the only one who ever lived who had the divine right to zap them out of existence, to call down those angel armies, to have that "I'll show you" attitude, and yet he hung there and loved them. He asked God not to hold it against them.

And yet we get up in arms when someone simply disrespects us?

I was reading a passage in 1 Peter that really challenged me. Ch. 2, verses 19-23.

"For this is a gracious thing, when, mindful of God, one endures sorrows while suffering unjustly. For what credit is it if, when you sin and are beaten for it, you endure? But if when you do good and suffer for it, this is a gracious thing in the sight of God. For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps. He committed no sin, neither was deceit found in his mouth. When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly."

What level of humility is this....and is it even attainable? This attitude isn't just something "nice" that's good to keep in mind. Here it says it's a calling. If we're claiming to answer the call to live a Christian life, that's major. His example that we're to follow is perfect...He's the one who had every right to revile, but He didn't. I love the end part about how he "entrusted himself to the one who judges justly." When we take revenge into our own hands, we're making ourselves the judge. But God says that vengeance belongs to Him. Can we trust him with the injustices we experience? Can we release those people to Him and ask, as Jesus did, that God would forgive them? Can we replace retaliation with prayer?

I don't think humility means living a boundary-less life or letting people walk all over us. That's not honoring to God, either. Humility is more about having a right idea about ourselves in relation to God, recognizing our sinfulness and rejoicing in His righteousness which, because he chose the road of humility which led to the cross, is now ours. Humility isn't weakness, either. It's easy to return evil for evil, right? I think it takes more God-given strength to go against something that comes naturally to us.

Humility is a funny thing though; it can't be aware of itself or else it'll cease to be. Anyone who says "I'm humble" would be considered arrogant. It's definitely a process, part of our sanctification, and not a state to be reached completely in this life.

Asking for humility is dangerous prayer to pray, but what a privilege to walk in the steps of Christ!

Ruined For Anything Less

I had a dream a while ago and was recently reminded of it:

I was standing in line at the concession stand at the beach. I bought all this unhealthy food (pizza, fries, a hot dog, chips, soda, candy) with the only money I had with me, and I stood there looking at it in disgust, wishing I didn't have to eat it, but that's all there was, and I was hungry.

Then my sister came up to me and said, "Shan, what are you doing? Dad's taking us out for a really nice dinner."

I woke up thinking about it, and the word that came to mind was "settling". At that time I know that God was speaking specifically to me about a relationship in my life that needed to go; He had something much better planned. But I think it can apply to the amazing grace of God and what we're missing out on when we settle for second best (or for just plain ridiculous), whether it's with what He's called us to do, who He wants us to reach out to, the way He wants us to live our lives...

Why do we settle? We don't see beyond what's right in front of us? (I thought junk food was my only option.) Laziness? (It was easy, the concession stand was right there.) We dare to assume what is and is not possible? (I only had enough money for cheap food, not a nice dinner.) But the word says that God is able to "do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine" (Eph. 3:20), and that nothing is impossible with Him (Mark 10:27).

Sometimes our choices don't make sense in light of what He's offering.

My prayer is that we will have our eyes opened to the areas in our lives where we may be settling, as well as to what God wants to do instead. And it's more than what's in His hand or what His plans are for these little blips of time we call our lives --- it's about HIM. It's important to recognize where we may have replaced intimacy with Him with something or someone else, things that will always be infinitely less. He's beckoning us in to sit with Him at the fanciest party, an awesome feast, and we'd rather sit in the dirt outside with a Slim Jim and a can of Pringles? C.S. Lewis puts it like this: we are like "an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased." (from The Weight of Glory).

I love the phrase "ruined for anything less"; it describes how I feel about being in relationship with God. Nothing else compares... nothing and no one else can even come close. I don't want to settle because I trust that His heart toward me is good, and that He wants what's best for me in all areas of my life, in my relationships, in how I spend my time, in my thoughts, in my speech...because ultimately, what's best for me is being close to Him, and a life connected with Him is what will bring Him glory.

Known

I wrote this because of how Psalm 139 helped me realize God's intimate knowledge of and care for me, which in turn helps me to trust Him.

On the beach, at dusk. I hold your thoughts about me in both hands and let them sift through my fingers, the breeze slight and not too cold, people walking over shells and seaweed and soft white, the waves a constant rhythm that breathes over the shore, in, out, in again, a pulse sent to erase footprints and make the packed sand look like the water, rippled.

I cannot get away from you.

Why do you care so much? You know when I stand and brush off your thoughts and you saw when I sat down, you know my own thoughts, ones that will stay as silenced feelings and ones that might form words---healing, hurting words. You sit beside me and you're in the canyons of this ocean and in the farthest lines of sunset, lines that stretch into black and then are exchanged for faded gray, pink, and finally the burning orange of morning, lines like my pre-printed days in your book written before I was brand new, woven in the secret place and hidden until you read aloud the first page, the first day of my life.

Don’t let me let go of you.

Tramp through this heart, cut a path through these ruins, sift through these piles of complicated sand and find that garden you’re looking for.

Battleground

Tonight I went with a group from Chi Alpha and did a prayer walk around campus in a huge loop, claiming those places and people for Him, breaking strongholds, speaking life over it all. I was convicted. I haven't prayed as much for my school as I'd like to. I've been there almost every weekday for 3 and half years, and I walk everywhere, but I can't say I'm active in praying as I walk. That needs to change. I want His heart for that place. I want to see it as He does, to see the people as He does, to love them like He does...

My Chi Alpha pastor read some scripture before we went out. One part he read was in Ephesians 6, about how we don't wrestle against people, but our fight is with "rulers, authorities, spiritual forces of evil". It goes on to talk about the armor of God, and I realized that because I've heard it a lot, I've let that passage become trite/stale for me. I'll tune it out because I think I know it or, "I've already heard that, don't need to really ponder it, I get it." How prideful and foolish is that attitude? I love it when God takes something you've heard a million times and shows it to you in a new way. As my pastor read it, I just started thinking about it: "What does this really mean, and what does this look like lived out in my life?"

The belt of truth...what is that? Am I letting everything I see and hear go through a filter of truth? Am I testing those things to see if they line up with the Word? What lies have I been believing? Breastplate of righteousness....it's incredible how choosing purity, choosing right over wrong and to walk in God's ways protects your heart as well as affects other people in your interactions with them, for "out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks" (Luke 6:45). I'm not sure about the shoes one, "having put on the readiness given by the gospel of peace". Maybe it means being ready to take the gospel anywhere, into your workplace or classroom, into your group of friends, or being willing to leave your comfort zone for the sake of sharing this life-altering news. The shield of faith is crucial; many things come to sabotage our trust in the Lord and the knowledge that he is good, that he is sovereign. Fiery darts... lies about God's character and heart toward us, other oppression, etc. Along with that, the helmet of salvation and sword of the Spirit (word of God) are to be taken up in all circumstances, as well as prayer and supplication. In all circumstances.

Take one look at the world and it's clear there's a battle going on, a battle for hearts. And if you claim to belong to Christ, I'd dare to say you're even more of a target. And really, what idiot walks onto a battlefield without a weapon? (Even David had a sling and some rocks. But more importantly...he believed that God was with him and greater than his enemy.)

In school I'm required to read a lot, and I get used to skimming and internalizing the main points, making quick notes in the margins. But with scripture it should be different. The Word and prayer are two of our greatest weapons. My Bible could be marked up in every color of highlighter or scribbled all over in pen, but if I haven't allowed God to mark me up with His words, to scribble all over me, to underline the things in me that need transformation, to change me in such a way that I actually think about and then live out what I'm reading, then I might as well have left the book on the shelf.

We are spoken for, covered, claimed. How would our prayers change if we really believed that God answers them? Let's take back what's His and what's ours because of Him. And let's be open to hearing and responding to His timeless truth.

God's House

The other day my mom asked me what my favorite verse is. Any question beginning with “what’s your favorite” has always been hard for me to answer, maybe because I have yet to get good at decision-making in general.

But this one I knew right away. It resonates with me because I know it speaks about our purpose for living, what we were made for.

It may change, but for now my favorite Bible verse is Psalm 27:4. “One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire (or meditate) in his temple.”

I love this because it’s single-focused and whole-hearted. “I could ask of God anything but there is just one thing I want, and I choose to seek after it in all that I say and do, in every area of my life…”

That one thing? Being with God. Dwelling in his house. I’m not just here for a long weekend… I’m moving in. I’m moving back in. And there’s no rent to be paid because He’s not my landlord; He’s my Father. He made me His child and now I belong in his house. I have my own key.

At some point we all contemplate what the word “home” means to us. It changes as we get older, as we move around for jobs or school, as family dynamics switch around, or in some cases, when family falls apart. Maybe we have a concrete and secure definition of that concept at the moment, but there’s no guarantee it won’t be different tomorrow.

For me this verse offers a promise of home, one that won’t disintegrate. It’s a place of constant and faithful love, a place with community, where we are no longer orphans but children of God, His Church.

This verse isn’t just talking about heaven, either, or being with God after we die. “All the days of my life…” That’s today. This God-conscious life starts here, now. It’s an every moment thing of following Him, discovering who He is, offering each breath and bit of energy as that which will bring Him glory. I’m convinced God can be found in the mundane, every-day routine as well as those moments we’d consider dots on our timelines, the ones that stick out as significant. “To gaze upon the beauty of the LORD”… that’s everything true about God that elicits praise from us. And “beholding is becoming…” We begin to look like whatever it is we’re looking at.

It’s easy, really, if I can position my heart in the right way. Am I breathing? Yes. Then I can praise Him. Is He worthy of it? Yes. And I will choose to walk through the open door into His house.