Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?
Will you go where you don't know and never be the same?
Will you let My love be shown? Will you let My name be known?
Will you let My life be grown in you and you in Me?
Will you leave yourself behind if I but call your name?
Will you care for cruel and kind and never be the same?
Will you risk the hostile stare should your life attract or scare?
Will you let Me answer prayer in you and you in Me?
Will you let the blinded see if I but call your name?
Will you set the prisoners free and never be the same?
Will you kiss the leper clean and do such as this unseen,
and admit to what I mean in you and you in Me?
Will you love the "you" you hide if I but call your name?
Will you quell the fear inside and never be the same?
Will you use the faith you've found to reshape the world around,
through My sight and touch and sound in you and you in Me?
Lord Your summons echoes true when You but call my name.
Let me turn and follow You and never be the same.
In Your company I'll go where Your love and footsteps show.
Thus I'll move and live and grow in You and You in me.
By: John Bell
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
I Love Thee Yet
"Simon son of John, do you truly love me more than these?"
"Yes, Lord," he said, "you know that I love you."
Jesus said, "Feed my lambs."
As usual, Mr. Oswald Chambers has said something that disagreed with my spiritual stomach. I never thought about whether I loved Jesus or not. I think I thought it was a given. Jesus loves me (this I know for the bible tells me so) and so I love Him back. No big deal. Basic Christianity One-oh-one. Then I wake up one morning to the question. "Lovest thou me?" Yes, Lord, You know that I love You.
So someone explain to me why my heart is deeply troubled by this exchange.
Maybe it's the results of the love. Feed my sheep. Not going to lie, the Lord's sheep have been too hungry for too long and I have not done a thing about it. Maybe it's spiritual hunger among believers, but I haven't helped out there. Maybe it's physical hunger among the poor, but I've only fed myself this summer. Maybe it's feeding comfort, peace and joy to the world, but I see the starvation and I do nothing. Who are these lambs? Are they the same as my neighbors? Knowing who they are may serve to decrease, or increase, my guilt. I look at my fruits, the results of that love that I claim, and find that if I love the Lord, I have loved Him very ill indeed.
But then, maybe I do love Him, because the point of Mr. Chambers' short devotion is that a question, asked repeatedly by the Lord, can cause hurt to the faithful, as Peter was hurt when Jesus asked a third time if he loved Him. 'You can't say nice things' when corned with the question- Jesus asks in such a way that niceties are unacceptable. And of course, this scares me, because the quiet whisper of, 'No,' is enough to shake my world apart. 'Do you love Me?' No, Lord. I never knew You either.
And yet, from whence comes this hurt? I'm free, aren't I? I mean, if Jesus means nothing more to me than some old, old dead guy who started a revolution a long time ago, then there's no need to feel sorry for my fellow humankind, Christians especially. They got themselves into their mess and I'll help them out when it's convenient, but there's always someone else to deal with it. I have no reason to care about another person. I can go on living my life focused on me and I can find my own happiness. I can plan my own plans, go my own way, dream my own dreams and work however hard I want to achieve them. I don't need morality- it's been overrated for centuries. I mean, I'll stay a good person and that'll be good enough. Maybe then I'll have a boy who loves me, instead of waiting for whatever crazy idea I had about God sending someone into my life. I'll have a ton more free time, won't wake up late and feel guilty that I can't spend any time on a devotion. I can go to sleep at night with my thoughts filled of whatever I want, because then, no one else can see it. Yes, altogether, my life would be much better without this Jesus kid. I'd be in charge. It'd be great.
That hurt... hums... that hurt must be... loneliness. I mean, I'm far from my family, I'm just getting used to the planetarium staff to call them friend, everyone I'm close to is really out of reach a lot of the time. I must be lonely. Or maybe it's left over heartache- you don't stay single this long without longing for someone, sometime, and part of me thinks that the hurt of never knowing is just as bad as the hurt of losing love. Or best yet, perhaps that hurt is merely a growing pain- the sadness of losing my imaginary friend called god. But everybody does someday, right? The afterlife, the divine, miracles, things inexplicable except by the grace of God or some sketchy science, everybody knows they're like Santa Claus- something you believed in as a kid and think it'd be nice, maybe, if it continued, but you know, deep down, that you let that go a long time ago. So I'm not really hurting, I'm just mourning the loss of another part of my childhood and good riddance, because it was an abnormally consuming part of my childhood, youth, and later life.
Goodness, did Peter run through all of this in his mind before he answered the last time? They're lies, sigh, though comforting. I've been lonely before, it's not this. I've listened to my heart beat through an ache and it's only dimly like this, like the flash from a burnt-out light bulb is like a supernova of a dying star. Best yet, I've lost an imaginary friend, even slightly recently, and that was nothing like this. Maybe part of the reason we feel the stupid pains in life is so that we know, when God's got something to say, that these smaller pains, no matter how big, are not the cause behind it. Like Christian, at the beginning of Pilgrim's Progress, who knows that he must start a journey because this is no normal agitation of the mind and heart, we can come to know when our heart is being taken from us by this world and when God is tugging and we feel it a little less gently.
But this is Jesus! He's not supposed to hurt like everyone else. He is our refuge, our peace, our love, or so they say. And yet, He doesn't ask to hurt us, not in the normal way. The title of the passage in John is not, 'Jesus saying things that hurt Peter's feelings and make him feel guilty so he does his best to make it up to the Lord,' it's 'Jesus reinstates Peter.' It's a realization hurt, it lets us know what would happen if we found that we really didn't love Jesus, and it's bringing us to see how much He can't be seen, if He has to ask three times. And it's not like I don't hurt Him every day, in the normal way.
The Summons. Stanza Three:
Will you let the blinded see if I but call your name?
Will you set the prisoners free and never be the same?
Will you kiss the leper clean and do such as this unseen,
and admit to what I mean in you and you in Me?
Lord, You know all things; You know that I love You. But how is such a love to be shown? And if I admit to what You really mean to me, how can I ever live up to that? Your love is never ending- mine is never-endingly finite. And yet, I do love Thee. Perhaps I'll borrow a bit of Your love, just to tide Your sheep over until You come back.
"Yes, Lord," he said, "you know that I love you."
Jesus said, "Feed my lambs."
Again Jesus said, "Simon son of John, do you truly love me?"
He answered, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."
Jesus said, "Take care of my sheep."
The third time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?"
Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, "Do you love me?" He said, "Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you."
As usual, Mr. Oswald Chambers has said something that disagreed with my spiritual stomach. I never thought about whether I loved Jesus or not. I think I thought it was a given. Jesus loves me (this I know for the bible tells me so) and so I love Him back. No big deal. Basic Christianity One-oh-one. Then I wake up one morning to the question. "Lovest thou me?" Yes, Lord, You know that I love You.
So someone explain to me why my heart is deeply troubled by this exchange.
Maybe it's the results of the love. Feed my sheep. Not going to lie, the Lord's sheep have been too hungry for too long and I have not done a thing about it. Maybe it's spiritual hunger among believers, but I haven't helped out there. Maybe it's physical hunger among the poor, but I've only fed myself this summer. Maybe it's feeding comfort, peace and joy to the world, but I see the starvation and I do nothing. Who are these lambs? Are they the same as my neighbors? Knowing who they are may serve to decrease, or increase, my guilt. I look at my fruits, the results of that love that I claim, and find that if I love the Lord, I have loved Him very ill indeed.
But then, maybe I do love Him, because the point of Mr. Chambers' short devotion is that a question, asked repeatedly by the Lord, can cause hurt to the faithful, as Peter was hurt when Jesus asked a third time if he loved Him. 'You can't say nice things' when corned with the question- Jesus asks in such a way that niceties are unacceptable. And of course, this scares me, because the quiet whisper of, 'No,' is enough to shake my world apart. 'Do you love Me?' No, Lord. I never knew You either.
And yet, from whence comes this hurt? I'm free, aren't I? I mean, if Jesus means nothing more to me than some old, old dead guy who started a revolution a long time ago, then there's no need to feel sorry for my fellow humankind, Christians especially. They got themselves into their mess and I'll help them out when it's convenient, but there's always someone else to deal with it. I have no reason to care about another person. I can go on living my life focused on me and I can find my own happiness. I can plan my own plans, go my own way, dream my own dreams and work however hard I want to achieve them. I don't need morality- it's been overrated for centuries. I mean, I'll stay a good person and that'll be good enough. Maybe then I'll have a boy who loves me, instead of waiting for whatever crazy idea I had about God sending someone into my life. I'll have a ton more free time, won't wake up late and feel guilty that I can't spend any time on a devotion. I can go to sleep at night with my thoughts filled of whatever I want, because then, no one else can see it. Yes, altogether, my life would be much better without this Jesus kid. I'd be in charge. It'd be great.
That hurt... hums... that hurt must be... loneliness. I mean, I'm far from my family, I'm just getting used to the planetarium staff to call them friend, everyone I'm close to is really out of reach a lot of the time. I must be lonely. Or maybe it's left over heartache- you don't stay single this long without longing for someone, sometime, and part of me thinks that the hurt of never knowing is just as bad as the hurt of losing love. Or best yet, perhaps that hurt is merely a growing pain- the sadness of losing my imaginary friend called god. But everybody does someday, right? The afterlife, the divine, miracles, things inexplicable except by the grace of God or some sketchy science, everybody knows they're like Santa Claus- something you believed in as a kid and think it'd be nice, maybe, if it continued, but you know, deep down, that you let that go a long time ago. So I'm not really hurting, I'm just mourning the loss of another part of my childhood and good riddance, because it was an abnormally consuming part of my childhood, youth, and later life.
Goodness, did Peter run through all of this in his mind before he answered the last time? They're lies, sigh, though comforting. I've been lonely before, it's not this. I've listened to my heart beat through an ache and it's only dimly like this, like the flash from a burnt-out light bulb is like a supernova of a dying star. Best yet, I've lost an imaginary friend, even slightly recently, and that was nothing like this. Maybe part of the reason we feel the stupid pains in life is so that we know, when God's got something to say, that these smaller pains, no matter how big, are not the cause behind it. Like Christian, at the beginning of Pilgrim's Progress, who knows that he must start a journey because this is no normal agitation of the mind and heart, we can come to know when our heart is being taken from us by this world and when God is tugging and we feel it a little less gently.
But this is Jesus! He's not supposed to hurt like everyone else. He is our refuge, our peace, our love, or so they say. And yet, He doesn't ask to hurt us, not in the normal way. The title of the passage in John is not, 'Jesus saying things that hurt Peter's feelings and make him feel guilty so he does his best to make it up to the Lord,' it's 'Jesus reinstates Peter.' It's a realization hurt, it lets us know what would happen if we found that we really didn't love Jesus, and it's bringing us to see how much He can't be seen, if He has to ask three times. And it's not like I don't hurt Him every day, in the normal way.
The Summons. Stanza Three:
Will you let the blinded see if I but call your name?
Will you set the prisoners free and never be the same?
Will you kiss the leper clean and do such as this unseen,
and admit to what I mean in you and you in Me?
Lord, You know all things; You know that I love You. But how is such a love to be shown? And if I admit to what You really mean to me, how can I ever live up to that? Your love is never ending- mine is never-endingly finite. And yet, I do love Thee. Perhaps I'll borrow a bit of Your love, just to tide Your sheep over until You come back.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
A Toast
Mes amis, I commend to you Sydney Carton.
If Mr. Dickens would have been so kind as to develop his character a little more, I would understand him better and perhaps love him the more for it. Though maybe not. Maybe I don't want to understand the reasoning behind his determination to remain less noble than he can be and maybe I don't want to see the source of his unselfish heart that leads him to trade his life for another's. He troubles me as much as he delights me. My heart breaks for this fictional advocate but I am not entirely sure I could tell you why.
Perhaps it's knowing what he's going to, long before he ever reaches the steps of the guillotine. I saw the Wishbone version when I was little and all I remember is 'It's a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done before;' I have this vague idea of a parlor scene in which one man agrees to die for another, but even now, I'm really not sure that that's right, because the kind Wikipedia tells me that Wishbone was Darnay and I'm not sure that they had a mimic Wishbone hop up and take that slow trot to death. Come to think of it, it's a bit too violent for a kid's show, n'est-ce pas? In any event, it ruined it a bit for me, because from the second Carton is introduced in the court room, I know he's a dead man and part of me kinda wonders whether he knows it too.
Perhaps it's learning that he goes to his death for the love of a woman, not because he's such good friends with Charles Evremonde, called Darnay that causes such a break in my heart for the man. He confused me immensely, from the moment that he drunkenly admitted to Darnay that he didn't really like him (and why should he, when Darnay is simply a cleaner, more socially acceptable version of the poor man?) to the moment that he took the hand of the condemned french girl on their last ride. Why does he not struggle for redemption and look to improve his lot when he meets Lucie, so that she'll fall for him, the previously troubled but determined and devoted Englishman rather than the cleaner cut, but otherwise lamer Frenchman? Why does he allow himself the heartache of visiting Lucie and her happy family, even if only a few times a year? What brought him to Paris in the first place? How long had he contemplated exchanging his life for Darnay's? Why on earth would he do such a thing, when the man who had taken the love of his life from him stood condemned, opening up a road for him, Carton, into her life? He never professes to be noble; quite the contrary. Did it never occur to him that Lucie would survive her husband, if only to watch over her father, and after the grief of losing Charles, she might find in him an adequate substitute? Why, then, does he throw his life into the hands of a group of (fictional) revolutionaries who only want to see death and left justice behind long ago?
And yet, I do love him. I think I love him for the part of me that he is- he remains convinced that he is not capable of better things because he has proved himself and he knows better. What could have proved his lack of worth to this wasted man? How is he aware, beyond the smallest shadow of doubt, that he cannot improve his state in life? But still, he is sure and continues in the shadows, happy only in his lack of harm to those he loves. I know that I love him for the figure that he is- let's face it, I'm a sucker for tragic heroes. I love him because he is not Darnay, who left France to her troubles, who never attempted to right his family wrongs, who won Lucie so easily and who is saved by a much worthier man. I love him because Dickens lets him have the place in the hearts of Charles and Lucie, the two good and kind and flat and useless characters, that Eponine deserved in the hearts of Marius and Cosette. I love him because he acts in a time of no hope, deus ex machina, and triumphs.
My friends, to Sydney Carton. Because he brings salvation where hope for salvation is not looked for, because he willingly denied himself what he most desired because it was another's, because he stubbornly limits God in the same ways we all do, until need and love bring him forward to act as he was called to his whole life, and because he is doomed to shine only at the end of his life, while we realize that the best part of our lives, through that inexplicable grace of God, still may be and may be daily, from that realization on.
If Mr. Dickens would have been so kind as to develop his character a little more, I would understand him better and perhaps love him the more for it. Though maybe not. Maybe I don't want to understand the reasoning behind his determination to remain less noble than he can be and maybe I don't want to see the source of his unselfish heart that leads him to trade his life for another's. He troubles me as much as he delights me. My heart breaks for this fictional advocate but I am not entirely sure I could tell you why.
Perhaps it's knowing what he's going to, long before he ever reaches the steps of the guillotine. I saw the Wishbone version when I was little and all I remember is 'It's a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done before;' I have this vague idea of a parlor scene in which one man agrees to die for another, but even now, I'm really not sure that that's right, because the kind Wikipedia tells me that Wishbone was Darnay and I'm not sure that they had a mimic Wishbone hop up and take that slow trot to death. Come to think of it, it's a bit too violent for a kid's show, n'est-ce pas? In any event, it ruined it a bit for me, because from the second Carton is introduced in the court room, I know he's a dead man and part of me kinda wonders whether he knows it too.
Perhaps it's learning that he goes to his death for the love of a woman, not because he's such good friends with Charles Evremonde, called Darnay that causes such a break in my heart for the man. He confused me immensely, from the moment that he drunkenly admitted to Darnay that he didn't really like him (and why should he, when Darnay is simply a cleaner, more socially acceptable version of the poor man?) to the moment that he took the hand of the condemned french girl on their last ride. Why does he not struggle for redemption and look to improve his lot when he meets Lucie, so that she'll fall for him, the previously troubled but determined and devoted Englishman rather than the cleaner cut, but otherwise lamer Frenchman? Why does he allow himself the heartache of visiting Lucie and her happy family, even if only a few times a year? What brought him to Paris in the first place? How long had he contemplated exchanging his life for Darnay's? Why on earth would he do such a thing, when the man who had taken the love of his life from him stood condemned, opening up a road for him, Carton, into her life? He never professes to be noble; quite the contrary. Did it never occur to him that Lucie would survive her husband, if only to watch over her father, and after the grief of losing Charles, she might find in him an adequate substitute? Why, then, does he throw his life into the hands of a group of (fictional) revolutionaries who only want to see death and left justice behind long ago?
And yet, I do love him. I think I love him for the part of me that he is- he remains convinced that he is not capable of better things because he has proved himself and he knows better. What could have proved his lack of worth to this wasted man? How is he aware, beyond the smallest shadow of doubt, that he cannot improve his state in life? But still, he is sure and continues in the shadows, happy only in his lack of harm to those he loves. I know that I love him for the figure that he is- let's face it, I'm a sucker for tragic heroes. I love him because he is not Darnay, who left France to her troubles, who never attempted to right his family wrongs, who won Lucie so easily and who is saved by a much worthier man. I love him because Dickens lets him have the place in the hearts of Charles and Lucie, the two good and kind and flat and useless characters, that Eponine deserved in the hearts of Marius and Cosette. I love him because he acts in a time of no hope, deus ex machina, and triumphs.
My friends, to Sydney Carton. Because he brings salvation where hope for salvation is not looked for, because he willingly denied himself what he most desired because it was another's, because he stubbornly limits God in the same ways we all do, until need and love bring him forward to act as he was called to his whole life, and because he is doomed to shine only at the end of his life, while we realize that the best part of our lives, through that inexplicable grace of God, still may be and may be daily, from that realization on.
Monday, July 20, 2009
A Day in the Courts
Camp is like a clear night sky: I'm sure I could stand forever just drinking it in and it would never be enough.
Of course, I say that now when I'm not drained in a billion different ways after a month and a week of waking recalcitrant preteens and teenagers up at 8 and supervising their days until I fall down on my bed around 12:30 and hope that I didn't fall loud enough to wake the campers I sung to sleep two hours ago and who just fell asleep after wonderful conversations in the safe darkness of the cabins. At the same time, I don't think there's many places I'd rather be than Camp Joy. My mother got mad at me- she came into my room this morning and said, 'If you had cell phone service up there, I would have called you to make you come home. Did you come back just to go to camp?' And of course it's not true that I came back just for camp (though I would have) but it's not true that it was never on my mind as I tried planning to head back to Hickory this weekend. It was on my mind quite a bit actually.
I wish I had a thousand years to tell you about all my wonderful campers that I've had over the years. I wish I had an equal amount of time to tell you about the staff members, the group leaders and camp director and his wife and children. I wish I had the words to accurately describe the camp ground, but the remarkable thing is not the cabins or the Shepherd Shed or the pool or the meeting room, but it's the feeling you get there. That place, my friends, is holy ground and I hate it when I have to wear my shoes around the gravel roads.
I showed up yesterday in the middle of the staff meeting and was greeted by smiles and gasps and waves and immediately granted a seat on a couch. I made up beds in the cabins, played time-filling icebreakers, ate dinner (and did not have to eat sloppy joes against my will again!), played games out on the field (and watched the funniest human wheelbarrow ever, by the name of Kayla Bowles) and went to a glorious worship time. From the first quiet moments when everyone's waiting on their groups to arrive to the last chaotic seconds of the dismissal from Chapel, I felt like I was back where I belonged, like finally finding that perfect place on your bed before you start dreaming. I kept wanting to call for my cabin and I definitely kept answering camper's questions and calling them down like a group leader. Oh no. This post wasn't supposed to be a reminiscence about the wonderful afternoon I spent pretending to be who I used to be. This post is about Shakiera.
Shakiera, first night last year, first chapel session, broke down at Coach's testimony. I took her into the meeting room and prayed with her. 'And prayed with her.' How flat that sounds! Have you ever felt the Spirit move when someone prayed? Have you ever stood in a huddle, with a secret desire to leave the huddle because this is not 'how you pray', and felt like Amening with the rest of the group because there is a brother praying right beside you and you know, you know he is being heard? Have you ever just spoken straight up to your Heavenly Father, to your Lord who now sits at His right hand, and felt that that prayer changed the world because it was heard and it was acknowledged and it was answered, all in one outpouring of every bit of your broken and maimed and healed and redeemed and wonderfully whole soul? Because if you haven't had that, then yeah, to say that I prayed with Shakiera sounds flat.
Anyway, before that time and even some after, I thought that Shakiera was a loud-mouth, attention-seeking drama inducer. And she is. But goodness knows that child is so much more. In everything she did that week, all the hundreds of little things I can't remember, falling asleep when I showed them constellations on the field, screaming at bugs in the paddle boats, falling out of the paddle boats, comparing me to Anne Hathaway before the make-over in the Princess Diaries, everything, she showed me what kind of loud existence slept underneath my gentle sarcasm and I must have shown her something in return because she hugged me like she would never let me go when I left that day. Shakiera is one of the few people whose name I would yell across a parking lot and proceed to run to hug, which is what I did yesterday. After she jumped on me and hugged me and let me go, I told her I wasn't going to be a counselor this week- it would have been unfair to let her think otherwise for even a second- and she said, 'Why? Don't you know that you're my lifeline?'
Please tell me how that doesn't shine a light into your heart and make you see that what seemed like monsters in the dark are really too tiny to even been seen in the light. All the doubts I had, all the thousand reasons for running away, though one remains valid, all the fears that I had ruined a good thing forever, they were useless when it came to solid evidence for why I picked (I picked) the summer I picked this year. And I think in that second I would have called up to the planetarium and begged them to find someone else, anyone else to cover for me this week because I was needed elsewhere. But then, I have to remember that Shakiera is loud. The kid loves, when she loves, with everything she's got and she wears it like a thousand clanking bracelets or a gorgeous new dress. So I walk with her up to the cabin, sit near her at dinner, cheer for her on the field, make sure she has my address and phone number after chapel and receive two more superbly long hugs before I go. And going was right too, like moving your head one more time before closing your eyes here and opening them in that wonderful world of near near away.
So I stood on the concrete slab outside the meeting room on which I had dumped out flour for showing how craters were formed and vinegar and baking soda for making fun explosions the year before and I pointed out the few constellations I could remember, since most of my stargazing happens in the winter, to another one of the group leaders who wasn't a group leader, though he was preaching in chapel and playing piano and singing at worship the whole week and we talked and I kinda want to hold that in my heart as well, though I'm not sure that the weak part of my heart would stand up to that kind of test right now. I stared up at that sky because it had been a long time since I'd seen one so clear just like I had sung out songs in worship much too loud because it had been a long time since I'd been so near. You forget that God loves you, you know? Oh, I'm sure you always know that God loves you but you forget that He. Loves. You.
The same old question remains for me, though. Coach talked about meeting his wife (he proposed to her three days after meeting her by chance at a gas station and they've been married for nineteen years) and he said something about how God had had that planned all along. God set that out for him and when he found her, it was His way of reminding Coach that He loved him. It had always been there for him, he'd just been over somewhere else. Now, I don't know how much I believe that anymore, that there's a right place for us, that there's a somewhere we're meant to be and if we're not there, we're missing out because I'm a lot more inclined to believe that where we are is where we're meant to be. Right where you are is where you're supposed to be, otherwise, you'd be somewhere else. But I do know that God won't use you like He intended to unless you're willing to let Him and sometimes where you are changes how much you're willing. This fights in my brain and makes its way down to my heart because my heart has made it quite clear who it wants to be with and God has kept where I'm supposed to be out of this whole big mess that has been my thought process.
I apologize for leading you down the crazy road that is my cliche-ridden mind and once again, one day I'll stop with these sappy yet meaningful, if even just to me, posts. Then again, maybe then I'd be healed and how boring would that be? I leave you with the Beatles and some better lifewords.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night.
Take these broken wings and learn to fly.
All your life,
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
Arise from the dead and Christ will shine upon you. Ephesians 5:14
Arise, shine, for you light has come and the glory of the LORD rises on you. Isaiah 60:1
Arise, let us go hence. John 14:31
And the best thing is, my wings aren't broken anymore. I can fly (read live, really live) wherever I am.
Of course, I say that now when I'm not drained in a billion different ways after a month and a week of waking recalcitrant preteens and teenagers up at 8 and supervising their days until I fall down on my bed around 12:30 and hope that I didn't fall loud enough to wake the campers I sung to sleep two hours ago and who just fell asleep after wonderful conversations in the safe darkness of the cabins. At the same time, I don't think there's many places I'd rather be than Camp Joy. My mother got mad at me- she came into my room this morning and said, 'If you had cell phone service up there, I would have called you to make you come home. Did you come back just to go to camp?' And of course it's not true that I came back just for camp (though I would have) but it's not true that it was never on my mind as I tried planning to head back to Hickory this weekend. It was on my mind quite a bit actually.
I wish I had a thousand years to tell you about all my wonderful campers that I've had over the years. I wish I had an equal amount of time to tell you about the staff members, the group leaders and camp director and his wife and children. I wish I had the words to accurately describe the camp ground, but the remarkable thing is not the cabins or the Shepherd Shed or the pool or the meeting room, but it's the feeling you get there. That place, my friends, is holy ground and I hate it when I have to wear my shoes around the gravel roads.
I showed up yesterday in the middle of the staff meeting and was greeted by smiles and gasps and waves and immediately granted a seat on a couch. I made up beds in the cabins, played time-filling icebreakers, ate dinner (and did not have to eat sloppy joes against my will again!), played games out on the field (and watched the funniest human wheelbarrow ever, by the name of Kayla Bowles) and went to a glorious worship time. From the first quiet moments when everyone's waiting on their groups to arrive to the last chaotic seconds of the dismissal from Chapel, I felt like I was back where I belonged, like finally finding that perfect place on your bed before you start dreaming. I kept wanting to call for my cabin and I definitely kept answering camper's questions and calling them down like a group leader. Oh no. This post wasn't supposed to be a reminiscence about the wonderful afternoon I spent pretending to be who I used to be. This post is about Shakiera.
Shakiera, first night last year, first chapel session, broke down at Coach's testimony. I took her into the meeting room and prayed with her. 'And prayed with her.' How flat that sounds! Have you ever felt the Spirit move when someone prayed? Have you ever stood in a huddle, with a secret desire to leave the huddle because this is not 'how you pray', and felt like Amening with the rest of the group because there is a brother praying right beside you and you know, you know he is being heard? Have you ever just spoken straight up to your Heavenly Father, to your Lord who now sits at His right hand, and felt that that prayer changed the world because it was heard and it was acknowledged and it was answered, all in one outpouring of every bit of your broken and maimed and healed and redeemed and wonderfully whole soul? Because if you haven't had that, then yeah, to say that I prayed with Shakiera sounds flat.
Anyway, before that time and even some after, I thought that Shakiera was a loud-mouth, attention-seeking drama inducer. And she is. But goodness knows that child is so much more. In everything she did that week, all the hundreds of little things I can't remember, falling asleep when I showed them constellations on the field, screaming at bugs in the paddle boats, falling out of the paddle boats, comparing me to Anne Hathaway before the make-over in the Princess Diaries, everything, she showed me what kind of loud existence slept underneath my gentle sarcasm and I must have shown her something in return because she hugged me like she would never let me go when I left that day. Shakiera is one of the few people whose name I would yell across a parking lot and proceed to run to hug, which is what I did yesterday. After she jumped on me and hugged me and let me go, I told her I wasn't going to be a counselor this week- it would have been unfair to let her think otherwise for even a second- and she said, 'Why? Don't you know that you're my lifeline?'
Please tell me how that doesn't shine a light into your heart and make you see that what seemed like monsters in the dark are really too tiny to even been seen in the light. All the doubts I had, all the thousand reasons for running away, though one remains valid, all the fears that I had ruined a good thing forever, they were useless when it came to solid evidence for why I picked (I picked) the summer I picked this year. And I think in that second I would have called up to the planetarium and begged them to find someone else, anyone else to cover for me this week because I was needed elsewhere. But then, I have to remember that Shakiera is loud. The kid loves, when she loves, with everything she's got and she wears it like a thousand clanking bracelets or a gorgeous new dress. So I walk with her up to the cabin, sit near her at dinner, cheer for her on the field, make sure she has my address and phone number after chapel and receive two more superbly long hugs before I go. And going was right too, like moving your head one more time before closing your eyes here and opening them in that wonderful world of near near away.
So I stood on the concrete slab outside the meeting room on which I had dumped out flour for showing how craters were formed and vinegar and baking soda for making fun explosions the year before and I pointed out the few constellations I could remember, since most of my stargazing happens in the winter, to another one of the group leaders who wasn't a group leader, though he was preaching in chapel and playing piano and singing at worship the whole week and we talked and I kinda want to hold that in my heart as well, though I'm not sure that the weak part of my heart would stand up to that kind of test right now. I stared up at that sky because it had been a long time since I'd seen one so clear just like I had sung out songs in worship much too loud because it had been a long time since I'd been so near. You forget that God loves you, you know? Oh, I'm sure you always know that God loves you but you forget that He. Loves. You.
The same old question remains for me, though. Coach talked about meeting his wife (he proposed to her three days after meeting her by chance at a gas station and they've been married for nineteen years) and he said something about how God had had that planned all along. God set that out for him and when he found her, it was His way of reminding Coach that He loved him. It had always been there for him, he'd just been over somewhere else. Now, I don't know how much I believe that anymore, that there's a right place for us, that there's a somewhere we're meant to be and if we're not there, we're missing out because I'm a lot more inclined to believe that where we are is where we're meant to be. Right where you are is where you're supposed to be, otherwise, you'd be somewhere else. But I do know that God won't use you like He intended to unless you're willing to let Him and sometimes where you are changes how much you're willing. This fights in my brain and makes its way down to my heart because my heart has made it quite clear who it wants to be with and God has kept where I'm supposed to be out of this whole big mess that has been my thought process.
I apologize for leading you down the crazy road that is my cliche-ridden mind and once again, one day I'll stop with these sappy yet meaningful, if even just to me, posts. Then again, maybe then I'd be healed and how boring would that be? I leave you with the Beatles and some better lifewords.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night.
Take these broken wings and learn to fly.
All your life,
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
Arise from the dead and Christ will shine upon you. Ephesians 5:14
Arise, shine, for you light has come and the glory of the LORD rises on you. Isaiah 60:1
Arise, let us go hence. John 14:31
And the best thing is, my wings aren't broken anymore. I can fly (read live, really live) wherever I am.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Rudolph on a Ice Flow (Or, Independence)
So I got two jobs this week, one of which is my first job that doesn't involve directly working with kids. Hooray Cold Stone. I also have my school year job working in the star theater part of the planetarium, actually working at planetarium shows. I feel quite independent and grown up. When my rent comes due next week, the money I pay will be mine, not some kind alumnus who started a fund and not some federal grant, but money I worked for. I might have been living off of PB&Js for the past month, but I bought that peanut butter and that jelly and that bread and by golly, I'm going to eat it. Now if I could just have a car, I would call myself an adult. And not a moment too soon- I'm only three months, give or take, away from being 21.
But maybe I'm not so excited to be so independent, so grown up. I called home earlier today to tell my parents that I'm coming home for the weekend but nobody picked up. I thought this was odd- my dad's always at home and my mom shouldn't have been too terribly busy today. I left a message, called my mom's cell phone and left a message there, thinking they would call me back soon enough. It got to be 9:30 and I figured I'd try again- they both have to be home by now, I thought. I walked out back, left the trash can keeping the stairwell open because I was too lazy to bring my keys and sat out in the wonderful summer night looking out on a scenery-killing parking lot. I called home, but nobody picked up again. Brain blast: My parents are at the beach for the first time in goodness knows how long, to celebrate my aunt and uncle's birthday. So I call my mom's cell phone, but she doesn't pick up again and I leave a falsely cheery message about staying at 'the house' by myself for the weekend, 'if that's OK,' like I need permission to sleep in the house that I've lived in for 20 years, regardless of my current address. I hang up the phone and I start to cry, tears like raindrops staining the pavement.
I don't even know why. Big alligator tears running down my cheeks because my mom didn't pick up the phone? Maybe it's the thought of them being gone, the house all alone, and I'm not with them. Maybe I felt rejected- Hello, it's your only daughter, you could pick up the phone and talk to her because the one weekend she's going to be home for the rest of the summer is the one weekend you're in a different state. Maybe I cried because that's the beginning of the end of being a kid, the beginning of that step into the world when you're not so-and-so's daughter or so-and-so's sister, but little independent you. I was calling home and they didn't have to answer because I didn't need them to answer right then. I'm fine by myself. One day, they won't be there for me to call home to. This makes me cry and I never call home.
So I cry and wait for my face to look less like a clown mask and more like a person who just stepped outside to make a phone call and I walk back inside. I talk to a couple of friends, listen to my roommates making delicious cupcakes and then my mom calls. We talk about my ride back on Monday and my mom makes the cardinal college kid mistake. You see, when we go away to college, we make the mistake of talking about our dorms like home. When we go back to where we're from on breaks, we talk to other people around our parents and when they ask us how long we're in town, we say, 'I head home at the end of the week,' and our parents sigh and tsk and joke about how grown up we are, but they're really kinda upset on the inside because they think we've gone, moved out in our minds. My mom said, 'And you want to go home Monday morning?' I correct her: 'I need to be in Chapel Hill at 12 because I have to work.' She brushes it off and says she'll see me Sunday afternoon. And I wait a second because I always make my mom say 'I love you.' I never say it. I always wait until she says it and then I mumble, 'Love you, too' and hang up. I get kinda mad when she doesn't say it, but I never say it, I just leave it angrily unsaid like th kid I've been. This time I did. And I know it's just a phrase and maybe I should say it more often, but it seemed momentous to me right then. She said, 'I love you, too' and hung up and I went to go take a shower in the hopes that my eyes would look a little less red when I came out. Does crying in the shower work that way?
I have two jobs. I was veritably excited when Mickey Jo (listen, I was so destined for these jobs- my boss at the planetarium is named Mickey Jo and the owner of Cold Stone says that she had an Addie Jo work for her in Raleigh- spooky) let me into the star theater and let me look at the control panel. There are all these buttons and they're labeled right ascension and declination and meridian and I'm going to know how they all change the fake stars in the planetarium sky and this makes me unspeakably happy. I am going to get a ride back to my house this weekend and sleep in my queen sized bed, steal some food, get another pair of contacts and see friends in Hickory. I am going to blog/write/whatever about this because that's how I deal. I throw my growing pains, my coming of age stories, my stumbles in faith, my God moments with the world in writing because romanticizing them, putting them down and never having to say them makes them so much easier to deal with. These are my faults, or the fruits of my faults, anyway. And these things make me unspeakably sad.
You know what I love about God? He does not leave us on our knees. Oh, He'll let you sit down there, because you need to see why sometimes, but He doesn't leave you there. He pulls you into the dance. And maybe I'm glad I'm not the flower girl dancing at the eternal wedding of the universe. It's time I learned to lean on someone's shoulders.
But maybe I'm not so excited to be so independent, so grown up. I called home earlier today to tell my parents that I'm coming home for the weekend but nobody picked up. I thought this was odd- my dad's always at home and my mom shouldn't have been too terribly busy today. I left a message, called my mom's cell phone and left a message there, thinking they would call me back soon enough. It got to be 9:30 and I figured I'd try again- they both have to be home by now, I thought. I walked out back, left the trash can keeping the stairwell open because I was too lazy to bring my keys and sat out in the wonderful summer night looking out on a scenery-killing parking lot. I called home, but nobody picked up again. Brain blast: My parents are at the beach for the first time in goodness knows how long, to celebrate my aunt and uncle's birthday. So I call my mom's cell phone, but she doesn't pick up again and I leave a falsely cheery message about staying at 'the house' by myself for the weekend, 'if that's OK,' like I need permission to sleep in the house that I've lived in for 20 years, regardless of my current address. I hang up the phone and I start to cry, tears like raindrops staining the pavement.
I don't even know why. Big alligator tears running down my cheeks because my mom didn't pick up the phone? Maybe it's the thought of them being gone, the house all alone, and I'm not with them. Maybe I felt rejected- Hello, it's your only daughter, you could pick up the phone and talk to her because the one weekend she's going to be home for the rest of the summer is the one weekend you're in a different state. Maybe I cried because that's the beginning of the end of being a kid, the beginning of that step into the world when you're not so-and-so's daughter or so-and-so's sister, but little independent you. I was calling home and they didn't have to answer because I didn't need them to answer right then. I'm fine by myself. One day, they won't be there for me to call home to. This makes me cry and I never call home.
So I cry and wait for my face to look less like a clown mask and more like a person who just stepped outside to make a phone call and I walk back inside. I talk to a couple of friends, listen to my roommates making delicious cupcakes and then my mom calls. We talk about my ride back on Monday and my mom makes the cardinal college kid mistake. You see, when we go away to college, we make the mistake of talking about our dorms like home. When we go back to where we're from on breaks, we talk to other people around our parents and when they ask us how long we're in town, we say, 'I head home at the end of the week,' and our parents sigh and tsk and joke about how grown up we are, but they're really kinda upset on the inside because they think we've gone, moved out in our minds. My mom said, 'And you want to go home Monday morning?' I correct her: 'I need to be in Chapel Hill at 12 because I have to work.' She brushes it off and says she'll see me Sunday afternoon. And I wait a second because I always make my mom say 'I love you.' I never say it. I always wait until she says it and then I mumble, 'Love you, too' and hang up. I get kinda mad when she doesn't say it, but I never say it, I just leave it angrily unsaid like th kid I've been. This time I did. And I know it's just a phrase and maybe I should say it more often, but it seemed momentous to me right then. She said, 'I love you, too' and hung up and I went to go take a shower in the hopes that my eyes would look a little less red when I came out. Does crying in the shower work that way?
I have two jobs. I was veritably excited when Mickey Jo (listen, I was so destined for these jobs- my boss at the planetarium is named Mickey Jo and the owner of Cold Stone says that she had an Addie Jo work for her in Raleigh- spooky) let me into the star theater and let me look at the control panel. There are all these buttons and they're labeled right ascension and declination and meridian and I'm going to know how they all change the fake stars in the planetarium sky and this makes me unspeakably happy. I am going to get a ride back to my house this weekend and sleep in my queen sized bed, steal some food, get another pair of contacts and see friends in Hickory. I am going to blog/write/whatever about this because that's how I deal. I throw my growing pains, my coming of age stories, my stumbles in faith, my God moments with the world in writing because romanticizing them, putting them down and never having to say them makes them so much easier to deal with. These are my faults, or the fruits of my faults, anyway. And these things make me unspeakably sad.
You know what I love about God? He does not leave us on our knees. Oh, He'll let you sit down there, because you need to see why sometimes, but He doesn't leave you there. He pulls you into the dance. And maybe I'm glad I'm not the flower girl dancing at the eternal wedding of the universe. It's time I learned to lean on someone's shoulders.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Waiting
Dead Like Me. Great Show. Though I recommend you turn off your bad language sensor before you watch it on Hulu. It was a lot cleaner on Sci-fi (or SyFy or whatever they call it now). It's currently my guilty pleasure- easier than reading Shakespeare, sadly.
So Daisy, Daisy Adair, a dead grim reaper, stole a cross necklace from the lady she reaped a couple of episodes ago and is talking to a priest. It... helped... me. I think. Anyway, take it as what you will, I just wanted a place to put it before I forgot it.
Daisy: I’m waiting for something. I don’t know, the cross makes me feel closer to it.
The Priest: Whether we’re waiting for someone to say they love us, waiting for a check to clear, waiting for a man of the cloth to say we’re forgiven, grace is passing by us every day.
So Daisy, Daisy Adair, a dead grim reaper, stole a cross necklace from the lady she reaped a couple of episodes ago and is talking to a priest. It... helped... me. I think. Anyway, take it as what you will, I just wanted a place to put it before I forgot it.
Daisy: I’m waiting for something. I don’t know, the cross makes me feel closer to it.
The Priest: Whether we’re waiting for someone to say they love us, waiting for a check to clear, waiting for a man of the cloth to say we’re forgiven, grace is passing by us every day.
Spoiler Alert!
Dumbledore dies. Snape kills him.
Aaaand..... Riddle Answers!
Twelve is the tenth and final one.
It's the last monosyllabic number and it's the tenth because eleven and seven aren't.
A man walks into a seaside restaurant and orders albatross. He takes one bite, pulls out a gun, and shoots himself. Why?
He had been shipwrecked on a deserted island and blinded. Since the captain was the only other survivor, he had depended on him for food. The captain fed him what he called albatross, but, upon being rescued and sampling some real albatross, the man realized he had been eating his crew mates on the island.
A man in solitary confinement is put on an island that is surrounded by shark infested waters and connected to the mainland by one bridge that is watched by a guard in the watch tower.
The man run as far as he can before the guard turns around. When the guard tells him to go back to the island, he does, but when the guard turns his head back, he runs the rest of the way, having made it 3/5 of the way before the guard spotted him. Cheap shot, I know.
There's a cabin in the woods and everyone inside is dead, facing the same direction. What happened?
Plane wreck.
The music stops and she dies.
She's a blind tightrope walker. She depends on the music to know she's reached the other side.
What walks on 4 legs in the morning, 2 in the afternoon and 3 at night?
Humans.
A man lives on the 15th floor of a hotel. He rides the elevator down from his room every morning but every evening, when he comes back, he rides up to the 11th floor and uses the stairs for the remaining 4 flights. Why?
He's a midget and he can only reach the 11th floor button.
A man is running home when he sees a masked man standing there. He turns and runs away. What am I describing? Baseball
Poor people have it, rich people need it, happy people want it and if you eat it, you die.
Nothing.
Aaaand..... Riddle Answers!
Twelve is the tenth and final one.
It's the last monosyllabic number and it's the tenth because eleven and seven aren't.
A man walks into a seaside restaurant and orders albatross. He takes one bite, pulls out a gun, and shoots himself. Why?
He had been shipwrecked on a deserted island and blinded. Since the captain was the only other survivor, he had depended on him for food. The captain fed him what he called albatross, but, upon being rescued and sampling some real albatross, the man realized he had been eating his crew mates on the island.
A man in solitary confinement is put on an island that is surrounded by shark infested waters and connected to the mainland by one bridge that is watched by a guard in the watch tower.
The man run as far as he can before the guard turns around. When the guard tells him to go back to the island, he does, but when the guard turns his head back, he runs the rest of the way, having made it 3/5 of the way before the guard spotted him. Cheap shot, I know.
There's a cabin in the woods and everyone inside is dead, facing the same direction. What happened?
Plane wreck.
The music stops and she dies.
She's a blind tightrope walker. She depends on the music to know she's reached the other side.
What walks on 4 legs in the morning, 2 in the afternoon and 3 at night?
Humans.
A man lives on the 15th floor of a hotel. He rides the elevator down from his room every morning but every evening, when he comes back, he rides up to the 11th floor and uses the stairs for the remaining 4 flights. Why?
He's a midget and he can only reach the 11th floor button.
A man is running home when he sees a masked man standing there. He turns and runs away. What am I describing? Baseball
Poor people have it, rich people need it, happy people want it and if you eat it, you die.
Nothing.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Riddles
Other than that riddle which is always heavily weighing on my mind, and, I suppose, the minds of many other college students ('What am I supposed to do with my life?!'), I figured I'd post some (read: all I can remember because it's been a long week) of the riddles that we considered this week at camp. David told the first three and then after that it was either me or a kid but I can't remember which. Sigh. Enjoy!
Twelve is the tenth and final one.
A man walks into a seaside restaurant and orders albatross. He takes one bite, pulls out a gun, and shoots himself. Why?
A man in solitary confinement is put on an island that is surrounded by shark infested waters and connected to the mainland by one bridge that is watched by a guard in the watch tower. It takes him five minutes to run across the bridge but the guard looks at the bridge every three minutes and if he sees the prisoner crossing, he'll tell him to return to the island and if the prisoner doesn't cooperate, he shoots him. He never misses and every shot kills. How does the man get off the island? (This one is a big long story for an easy answer.)
There's a cabin in the woods and everyone inside is dead, facing the same direction. What happened? (Apparently, everyone's heard this one.)
The music stops and she dies.
The classic Riddle of the Sphinx: What walks on 4 legs in the morning, 2 in the afternoon and 3 at night?
A man lives on the 15th floor of a hotel. He rides the elevator down from his room every morning but every evening, when he comes back, he rides up to the 11th floor and uses the stairs for the remaining 4 flights. Why?
A man is running home when he sees a masked man standing there. He turns and runs away. What am I describing?
And my favorite: Poor people have it, rich people need it, happy people want it and if you eat it, you die.
Twelve is the tenth and final one.
A man walks into a seaside restaurant and orders albatross. He takes one bite, pulls out a gun, and shoots himself. Why?
A man in solitary confinement is put on an island that is surrounded by shark infested waters and connected to the mainland by one bridge that is watched by a guard in the watch tower. It takes him five minutes to run across the bridge but the guard looks at the bridge every three minutes and if he sees the prisoner crossing, he'll tell him to return to the island and if the prisoner doesn't cooperate, he shoots him. He never misses and every shot kills. How does the man get off the island? (This one is a big long story for an easy answer.)
There's a cabin in the woods and everyone inside is dead, facing the same direction. What happened? (Apparently, everyone's heard this one.)
The music stops and she dies.
The classic Riddle of the Sphinx: What walks on 4 legs in the morning, 2 in the afternoon and 3 at night?
A man lives on the 15th floor of a hotel. He rides the elevator down from his room every morning but every evening, when he comes back, he rides up to the 11th floor and uses the stairs for the remaining 4 flights. Why?
A man is running home when he sees a masked man standing there. He turns and runs away. What am I describing?
And my favorite: Poor people have it, rich people need it, happy people want it and if you eat it, you die.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
6 AM
6 AM. Not 2 AM and she calls me 'cause I'm still awake, not it's 3 AM, I must be lonely. No, 6 AM. Songs aren't written about 6 AM. Know why? Because most good song writers are asleep at 6 AM. Most sane people are asleep at 6 AM. In case you hadn't guessed yet, I've been getting up at this ridiculously early time for two weeks now and am slightly annoyed that my body is used to it and now insists that this is the proper time for awakening.
And yet, maybe this crazy early risers have something right. A smile is a little a lot required when I see upstairs lit up without fluorescent lights and it makes the journey down the stairs a little lighter, being excited to be outside. Have you ever seen campus near dawn? I imagine most college students don't, or if they do, they're not really in the right mental state to enjoy it. Quiet beams of sunlight through trees instead of intense rays in the middle of the day or dying light at its end. Peaceful, easy sounds, not the noises of class change or afternoons in the quad. God's awake then, I'm pretty sure, getting the world ready for the day. I give Him the bike ride over to the planetarium and He gets to wish everyone a good morning through my mouth because goodness knows I would never sound so cheery of my own accord. Maybe I will miss 6 AM. Or 6:45, anyway.
My point is, I wouldn't have said this even a month ago, though maybe a year ago it might would have slipped out. I filled a notebook, finally, full of the prayers and thoughts of more than a year and I looked back at who I was, back in the day. I laugh at her hurts- does she realize how ridiculous she sounds, how small her pain was then? I mourn a little at the death of the optimist and the kid who hopes for justice- if they would have lived, maybe they could have changed the world. I scoff and roll my eyes at her objections- sometimes she just doesn't get it and sometimes she gives away the answer on her own and doesn't realize what she's got in her hands. Then I sit quiet for a minute because she just said something that sailed right past the shield of sarcasm and experience and stabbed my heart a little too much. I angrily whisper at the ceiling because she just prayed in absolute faith and that prayer didn't change a thing- not me, not God, not the circumstances, nothing. I stop in amazement because I see what this person, who claims to be me, said at the time when I would have been I would have been throwing darts at the Divine.
I don't know who to blame what on and in that case, I think it's best that blame gets laid aside. I don't believe everything I read anymore, I don't turn off songs because I can't listen to them and I've stopped thinking that with each new revelation I know everything. Maybe the idealist just slept, though, because hope had been a bit revived of late. Listen, it's a bit of a burden to be miserable, especially when it's self-inflicted. All those songs that I rolled my eyes at, that talk about being free and junk like that just because they have faith, they're making a bit more sense. Geeze, can I make my life a coming-of-age story on Lifetime? One day I'm going to grow out of this walking Hallmark card phase, and so much better for the world and probably you, dear reader. Maybe one day I'll learn to say more with less and then the world will definitely be a better and much less cluttered place.
But for right now, happily, I'm in the right place. After all, you always are where you're supposed to be. If you weren't supposed to be there, there would be someone else there. And God's going to use you for good no matter where you are, as long as you're trusting Him, as I was recently told. Maybe summer showers walking across campus washing away crazy expectations and extra makeup are reminders of that promise. It's 6 AM in my life and though I'm looking forward to the fireflies, I'm ready, for once, to live the day that passes before they come.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The Call
My favorite question on the Exploration Scholarship Application was: 'Please talk briefly about what your call to ministry is at this point in your life.' It gave you three lines after that. Well, goodness, you're talking to the queen of scholarship application essays here. Three lines, my friends, is simply not enough. So, in my slight annoyance, I ran through several possibilities:
~Wait, you mean I'm supposed to feel 'called'? Well, darn.
~I don't really understand my 'call' at this point in my life. That's why I'm coming.
~To be or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler...
~You know, God really hasn't answered my voicemails in a while...
~It began on a dark, starry night.-- This section of the publication you are reading has been edited due to space constraints.-- So that's why I want to be a pastor.
~I give into peer pressure really easily. People tell me I should do this, so I do. Is that a good enough answer?
~See, this calling thing, I'm not a fan of it. It's rather unclear, isn't it? It doesn't really seem fair, does it? I mean, isn't God calling everyone? This is an excessively personal question. Do I have the right not to answer?
~Have you ever heard the verse 'Many are called, but few are chosen'? I'm one of the chosen ones. Be excited about me.
~I hear the church is hiring. In the present economy, no job outlet should remain unconsidered.
~It's a little complicated between God and me right now. Maybe you'd have better luck asking Him what I'm supposed to be doing? He seems to think I don't listen. I don't see where He gets that from. We talk all the time. He's just not loud enough. I mean, it's only a burning bush- He could do that for me. What makes Moses so special, that he gets all the VIP treatment?
~Would you believe there was an angel involved?
My real answer was a lot less amusing. Just thought I'd throw these out there, in case anyone had any better suggestions.
~Wait, you mean I'm supposed to feel 'called'? Well, darn.
~I don't really understand my 'call' at this point in my life. That's why I'm coming.
~To be or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler...
~You know, God really hasn't answered my voicemails in a while...
~It began on a dark, starry night.-- This section of the publication you are reading has been edited due to space constraints.-- So that's why I want to be a pastor.
~I give into peer pressure really easily. People tell me I should do this, so I do. Is that a good enough answer?
~See, this calling thing, I'm not a fan of it. It's rather unclear, isn't it? It doesn't really seem fair, does it? I mean, isn't God calling everyone? This is an excessively personal question. Do I have the right not to answer?
~Have you ever heard the verse 'Many are called, but few are chosen'? I'm one of the chosen ones. Be excited about me.
~I hear the church is hiring. In the present economy, no job outlet should remain unconsidered.
~It's a little complicated between God and me right now. Maybe you'd have better luck asking Him what I'm supposed to be doing? He seems to think I don't listen. I don't see where He gets that from. We talk all the time. He's just not loud enough. I mean, it's only a burning bush- He could do that for me. What makes Moses so special, that he gets all the VIP treatment?
~Would you believe there was an angel involved?
My real answer was a lot less amusing. Just thought I'd throw these out there, in case anyone had any better suggestions.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Moses and Jonah
The sermon Sunday was about confession. I have a confession to make. I didn't get up this morning in time to have a devotion. I missed out on my coffee and laid in bed until 6:45. I am a slacker. I am also a hypocrite, because I've spent at least the last week praying that people who give their time to others would realize how much a morning devotion helps. It's a spiritual breakfast and as much as I hate to admit it, breakfast is important. My heart and my tongue were not quite prepared for today.
In my camp, I have a David, a Joseph, a John, a James, a Mark (and a Marc), a Matthew (Matt), a Noah and a Micheal. Last week I had a Judah, two Aarons, a Nathan and an Isaiah. I made the comment that we had a lot of biblical names here this week and left it at that. I figured I was in order, even for a science camp, because the Bible is a well-known cultural reference. I'm not preaching Christ to the unbelieving nations here, I'm talking nomenclature.
Well, maybe five minutes into the mid-morning break/ snack time, one of the kids throws out, 'Who here believes in the Bible?' and I raise my hand (almost a little too slowly, though I want to say it's more from shock than anything else). And the kid says, 'Really? The Bible is a load of... well, I can't say it because you're an adult and will probably get mad at me.' He looks down at his lunch while I make some remark about it being a legitimate historical document and he mutters something like, 'It's a bunch of C-R-A-P.' Then he asks who goes to church and I raise my hand and he says, 'Really? Because I don't believe in God.' He talks about how he convinced his parents that they don't need to go to church anymore and I make some noncommittal comment about respecting other people's beliefs. He says he believes that Jesus of Nazareth lived, just that he wasn't God or the Son of God- he doesn't believe there's a God. This kid is going into the seventh grade- that's what, 12? Maybe 13? Twelve, maybe thirteen and from a home in the suburbs- has this kid really seen enough of life to claim that there's no God? The bible reading I didn't get to this morning was the first chapter of Romans (PS-the end of Acts is not Earth-shattering. Just thought you ought to know). Paul talks about Creation being proof enough of God but says that man shut Him out enough not to see Him anymore and that He let us go our own way.
The devotion was about wanting to listen more to God's servants than to God, but it also made the point that we embarrass God. He's like a parent whose kids don't claim Him, certainly don't listen to Him, and only come back to Him when they've done something terribly wrong and/or need something fixed. I'm easily convicted and my shoulders are more than willing to slump when I hear that I've misrepresented God or hurt Him in any way. I am, of course, much more aware of the conviction at 8:30 at night instead of 6:15 in the morning. I'm also easily sidetracked and I miss the big point. We're more willing to listen to God's servants because if we hear Him speak, there's no inaction involved. We must either obey Him (no matter what it is- and we can be sure that if He's talking, the status quo is going to be upset and fast) or say that we're not going to listen and live as rebels.
I am so afraid of action. My friend has had a rough year- her best friend died, it was her first year at college and crazy drama occurred. She's not up for going to church. She just isn't in a position to talk to God or to see Him, even though she's been a Christian her whole life. I supported her but now, I'm not sure that was out of kindness or cowardice. It's been a year and we've been talking about her unwillingness to talk to God for a couple of months now. I think it's time to come to the altar, to come back and let God work in the wonderful ways He's planned but I don't want to step on toes. Where is the line between meek and coward?
If I have a purpose in Chapel Hill, I'm not sure of it. Are Methodists stereotypical prayers? Do we pray more often than normal denominations? Because if I have any problem, I pray about it and I have learned the wisdom of the adage- Be careful what you pray for. First week, I had a kid call me out for being a Christian and another ask me why my phone said, 'Jesus Rocks.' Other than those two instances, where I affirmed that I was, I didn't say a thing about this huge part of me. Last week, I had Judah who said that he doesn't really go to church because his parents think that following a religion makes you close-minded and I respected that. This week, I've got Iain who might be the first person to call me dumb because I believe that a man I've never met was not only a moral teacher or a prophet, but the Son of God. I believe that a man was God and I don't see why I never understood the Jewish leaders' huge objections to this. This is hero-worship to the extreme, this is a crazy idea, a radical idea, a scary idea, this is a sacrilege and idolatry, if it's not true. I believe this man was God and that when He died, He didn't stay in the grave. I believe that someone truly ceased living for a Friday night, a Saturday and into the early hours of Sunday morning and that after that He, through no one else's power, came back to life. Please explain that biologically. This is ridiculous. Really? I mean, really? No wonder the 'enlightened' world thinks we're nuts.
Oh, my Lord, what I wouldn't give to have been there those three years, to have seen You, heard You, understood what You really were, are. I would come back proclaiming the truth in these gospels, the insane facts that force us to see God and to come back to Him, since apparently stars and the entirety of creation aren't enough. Yet, would they hear me? Would I come back emboldened in faith, ready for the task You had laid before me, or would I disobey and remain silent forever?
'I'm starry-eyed and vaguely discontented, like a nightingale without a song to sing.' Miranda introduced me to State Fair today and I latched onto this line. I have a way of twisting what's supposed to be romance into faith, since there's a clear lack of one in my life and a gracious outpouring of the other. Once, I asked God why His message couldn't be a quiet one, since I'm not one to yell from the rooftops. Kids, this is my song and without it, my eyes look to the heavens and see misunderstood glory and my heart beats with a vague discontentment. And, goodness gracious, if I have to shout it from the rooftops to get it out, you best be praying that God shows me some ladders, because it's getting sung.
In my camp, I have a David, a Joseph, a John, a James, a Mark (and a Marc), a Matthew (Matt), a Noah and a Micheal. Last week I had a Judah, two Aarons, a Nathan and an Isaiah. I made the comment that we had a lot of biblical names here this week and left it at that. I figured I was in order, even for a science camp, because the Bible is a well-known cultural reference. I'm not preaching Christ to the unbelieving nations here, I'm talking nomenclature.
Well, maybe five minutes into the mid-morning break/ snack time, one of the kids throws out, 'Who here believes in the Bible?' and I raise my hand (almost a little too slowly, though I want to say it's more from shock than anything else). And the kid says, 'Really? The Bible is a load of... well, I can't say it because you're an adult and will probably get mad at me.' He looks down at his lunch while I make some remark about it being a legitimate historical document and he mutters something like, 'It's a bunch of C-R-A-P.' Then he asks who goes to church and I raise my hand and he says, 'Really? Because I don't believe in God.' He talks about how he convinced his parents that they don't need to go to church anymore and I make some noncommittal comment about respecting other people's beliefs. He says he believes that Jesus of Nazareth lived, just that he wasn't God or the Son of God- he doesn't believe there's a God. This kid is going into the seventh grade- that's what, 12? Maybe 13? Twelve, maybe thirteen and from a home in the suburbs- has this kid really seen enough of life to claim that there's no God? The bible reading I didn't get to this morning was the first chapter of Romans (PS-the end of Acts is not Earth-shattering. Just thought you ought to know). Paul talks about Creation being proof enough of God but says that man shut Him out enough not to see Him anymore and that He let us go our own way.
The devotion was about wanting to listen more to God's servants than to God, but it also made the point that we embarrass God. He's like a parent whose kids don't claim Him, certainly don't listen to Him, and only come back to Him when they've done something terribly wrong and/or need something fixed. I'm easily convicted and my shoulders are more than willing to slump when I hear that I've misrepresented God or hurt Him in any way. I am, of course, much more aware of the conviction at 8:30 at night instead of 6:15 in the morning. I'm also easily sidetracked and I miss the big point. We're more willing to listen to God's servants because if we hear Him speak, there's no inaction involved. We must either obey Him (no matter what it is- and we can be sure that if He's talking, the status quo is going to be upset and fast) or say that we're not going to listen and live as rebels.
I am so afraid of action. My friend has had a rough year- her best friend died, it was her first year at college and crazy drama occurred. She's not up for going to church. She just isn't in a position to talk to God or to see Him, even though she's been a Christian her whole life. I supported her but now, I'm not sure that was out of kindness or cowardice. It's been a year and we've been talking about her unwillingness to talk to God for a couple of months now. I think it's time to come to the altar, to come back and let God work in the wonderful ways He's planned but I don't want to step on toes. Where is the line between meek and coward?
If I have a purpose in Chapel Hill, I'm not sure of it. Are Methodists stereotypical prayers? Do we pray more often than normal denominations? Because if I have any problem, I pray about it and I have learned the wisdom of the adage- Be careful what you pray for. First week, I had a kid call me out for being a Christian and another ask me why my phone said, 'Jesus Rocks.' Other than those two instances, where I affirmed that I was, I didn't say a thing about this huge part of me. Last week, I had Judah who said that he doesn't really go to church because his parents think that following a religion makes you close-minded and I respected that. This week, I've got Iain who might be the first person to call me dumb because I believe that a man I've never met was not only a moral teacher or a prophet, but the Son of God. I believe that a man was God and I don't see why I never understood the Jewish leaders' huge objections to this. This is hero-worship to the extreme, this is a crazy idea, a radical idea, a scary idea, this is a sacrilege and idolatry, if it's not true. I believe this man was God and that when He died, He didn't stay in the grave. I believe that someone truly ceased living for a Friday night, a Saturday and into the early hours of Sunday morning and that after that He, through no one else's power, came back to life. Please explain that biologically. This is ridiculous. Really? I mean, really? No wonder the 'enlightened' world thinks we're nuts.
Oh, my Lord, what I wouldn't give to have been there those three years, to have seen You, heard You, understood what You really were, are. I would come back proclaiming the truth in these gospels, the insane facts that force us to see God and to come back to Him, since apparently stars and the entirety of creation aren't enough. Yet, would they hear me? Would I come back emboldened in faith, ready for the task You had laid before me, or would I disobey and remain silent forever?
'I'm starry-eyed and vaguely discontented, like a nightingale without a song to sing.' Miranda introduced me to State Fair today and I latched onto this line. I have a way of twisting what's supposed to be romance into faith, since there's a clear lack of one in my life and a gracious outpouring of the other. Once, I asked God why His message couldn't be a quiet one, since I'm not one to yell from the rooftops. Kids, this is my song and without it, my eyes look to the heavens and see misunderstood glory and my heart beats with a vague discontentment. And, goodness gracious, if I have to shout it from the rooftops to get it out, you best be praying that God shows me some ladders, because it's getting sung.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Semi-Charmed Life
So much for the ideas that come to you while biking. I've already forgotten what I was going to say. Luckily, the problems are all still around, so whether I state them in a comparatively eloquent manner or whether I just flat out whine, you'll get to hear about them. Well, you and the one other person who reads my blog/notes out of pity, insomnia or procrastination. Actually, I have three followers on the blog, so maybe you and two other peeps. Anyway.
I speak too soon most of the time. I'm more than willing to declare something fine that will really end its days in an inevitable crash into a billion tiny LEGO pieces after the first test of its capabilities, like seed thrown among rocks. Yes, I just combined a LEGO trebuchet with the parable of the sower, because that, my friends, is my life.
Case in point: This summer. I'm all sorts of happy to say that I'm at peace with my decision and that I'm in the right place and that this will be a summer of growing, but as soon as that idea is put to the test, I start wondering if I really am right. That's a bit of a blow to the confidence, actually, because that's all my powers of discernment out the window, if I've been under the wrong impression about this. Not a big surprise, since I'm used to living under happy delusions, but I thought there had been some sincere God-conversation on this one, not just a big lie to myself and the ceiling. I walked across my room the other night to turn off the lights for the first time, because normally I just leave a lamp on and turn the overheads off. I flip off the fluorescent light and forget that the Catholics keep on leaving their alley light on to keep me up all night- I'm quite amazed by the quiet happiness of my fake night sky. And this is now pathetic, because what could have been a moment is now reduced to the realization that I'm just as happy with fake things as I am with real things. And what's better about glow-in-the-dark stars than the real thing? I can change them. But being happy isn't enough- I want joy. Science isn't going to cut it- I want something else.
Bible study this week: James, chapter 2, faith and works. Well, there's more to chapter 2, but that's the chunk that bothers me a bit a lot. I threw out a question about works without faith because I figured I'd covered faith without works in my brain. I agree, happy Sunday School answer, that if you're not helping the world or at least brother in need at every chance you get, your faith isn't living, isn't growing. But, silly me, I went after the question of good people who aren't of faith, like Rahab (or, less confusingly, Ghandi) who, as we decided, are following a path without knowing why, living out a faith in a Person they don't even really know. I was so focused on addressing a question burning in my brain that I ignored the pull of the good in me that wanted me to see how dead my faith is, if works are the fruit of a healthy faith.
Devotion this morning: Are You Spiritually Exhausted? I don't know how many of you have had this experience, where a new believer or someone who wants to believe or a child who's really more of an adult is asking you questions and trying your patience (wonderful phrase, by the way, putting your patience on trial) and taking all the God out of you for themselves. They can't help it. You are their link to the Lord and they haven't learned to go to Him yet for food. It took me a good while to get to the point where I was getting fed enough to feed others and a little longer to realize that it was my place in life then to open up enough to help people see the light that I hide deep under the bushel. It took me three years of camp to realize that a morning devotion is really worth getting up that much earlier to get something in you before the day takes it all away. Guess what? I'm spiritually over-fed. I don't think I'll feel exhausted this whole summer (pray that I'm wrong) and I'm so sure that I can't be right if I'm not giving all this extra away.
And, just to confuse me, Bible Reading: The Book of Acts. Paul goes through so many trials, like legit, sit before a king, judge, ruler and plead for your life trials. By the time he appeals to Caesar, I'm not wondering anymore why I never read any of this before. It's a bit repetitive. But after listening to Paul, King Aggripa says that he could be freed if he hadn't already appealed to Caesar. I'm a sitting there thinking, Well, Paul, you messed this one up. You could have been free, back out on the streets preaching where you're called to be. Then I look at my little side note. 'Did Paul make a mistake in appealing to Caesar? Paul appealed to Caesar not only for justice as a Roman citizen but also to fulfill his mission of carrying the gospel to Gentile kings. Since Caesar was the most powerful king in the world at the time, the opportunity was golden.' Oh. Well, darn.
You know, there is an ocean of faith out there. Call it what you want- a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, a closer walk with the Lord, a faith in God. There is a depth to this God-Jesus thing that they don't mention in Sunday School. It's a parfait. Just when you've figured out the first layer and start planning your life according to the basic truths you've got covered there, this other layer appears, pulling you deeper, making you understand that the Truth is not a set of rules and that you need daily guidance, not because it's confusing but because you're confused. And under that... well, I'll let you know. It probably has something to do with understanding that what's right is as simple as Love the Lord Your God With All Your Heart and Love Your Neighbor As Yourself and that knowing where you're dared to go has something to do with spending a lot more time with this Word Made Flesh person. We'll see.
I speak too soon most of the time. I'm more than willing to declare something fine that will really end its days in an inevitable crash into a billion tiny LEGO pieces after the first test of its capabilities, like seed thrown among rocks. Yes, I just combined a LEGO trebuchet with the parable of the sower, because that, my friends, is my life.
Case in point: This summer. I'm all sorts of happy to say that I'm at peace with my decision and that I'm in the right place and that this will be a summer of growing, but as soon as that idea is put to the test, I start wondering if I really am right. That's a bit of a blow to the confidence, actually, because that's all my powers of discernment out the window, if I've been under the wrong impression about this. Not a big surprise, since I'm used to living under happy delusions, but I thought there had been some sincere God-conversation on this one, not just a big lie to myself and the ceiling. I walked across my room the other night to turn off the lights for the first time, because normally I just leave a lamp on and turn the overheads off. I flip off the fluorescent light and forget that the Catholics keep on leaving their alley light on to keep me up all night- I'm quite amazed by the quiet happiness of my fake night sky. And this is now pathetic, because what could have been a moment is now reduced to the realization that I'm just as happy with fake things as I am with real things. And what's better about glow-in-the-dark stars than the real thing? I can change them. But being happy isn't enough- I want joy. Science isn't going to cut it- I want something else.
Bible study this week: James, chapter 2, faith and works. Well, there's more to chapter 2, but that's the chunk that bothers me a bit a lot. I threw out a question about works without faith because I figured I'd covered faith without works in my brain. I agree, happy Sunday School answer, that if you're not helping the world or at least brother in need at every chance you get, your faith isn't living, isn't growing. But, silly me, I went after the question of good people who aren't of faith, like Rahab (or, less confusingly, Ghandi) who, as we decided, are following a path without knowing why, living out a faith in a Person they don't even really know. I was so focused on addressing a question burning in my brain that I ignored the pull of the good in me that wanted me to see how dead my faith is, if works are the fruit of a healthy faith.
Devotion this morning: Are You Spiritually Exhausted? I don't know how many of you have had this experience, where a new believer or someone who wants to believe or a child who's really more of an adult is asking you questions and trying your patience (wonderful phrase, by the way, putting your patience on trial) and taking all the God out of you for themselves. They can't help it. You are their link to the Lord and they haven't learned to go to Him yet for food. It took me a good while to get to the point where I was getting fed enough to feed others and a little longer to realize that it was my place in life then to open up enough to help people see the light that I hide deep under the bushel. It took me three years of camp to realize that a morning devotion is really worth getting up that much earlier to get something in you before the day takes it all away. Guess what? I'm spiritually over-fed. I don't think I'll feel exhausted this whole summer (pray that I'm wrong) and I'm so sure that I can't be right if I'm not giving all this extra away.
And, just to confuse me, Bible Reading: The Book of Acts. Paul goes through so many trials, like legit, sit before a king, judge, ruler and plead for your life trials. By the time he appeals to Caesar, I'm not wondering anymore why I never read any of this before. It's a bit repetitive. But after listening to Paul, King Aggripa says that he could be freed if he hadn't already appealed to Caesar. I'm a sitting there thinking, Well, Paul, you messed this one up. You could have been free, back out on the streets preaching where you're called to be. Then I look at my little side note. 'Did Paul make a mistake in appealing to Caesar? Paul appealed to Caesar not only for justice as a Roman citizen but also to fulfill his mission of carrying the gospel to Gentile kings. Since Caesar was the most powerful king in the world at the time, the opportunity was golden.' Oh. Well, darn.
You know, there is an ocean of faith out there. Call it what you want- a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, a closer walk with the Lord, a faith in God. There is a depth to this God-Jesus thing that they don't mention in Sunday School. It's a parfait. Just when you've figured out the first layer and start planning your life according to the basic truths you've got covered there, this other layer appears, pulling you deeper, making you understand that the Truth is not a set of rules and that you need daily guidance, not because it's confusing but because you're confused. And under that... well, I'll let you know. It probably has something to do with understanding that what's right is as simple as Love the Lord Your God With All Your Heart and Love Your Neighbor As Yourself and that knowing where you're dared to go has something to do with spending a lot more time with this Word Made Flesh person. We'll see.
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