A Bouquet of Peace

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit."  Romans 15:13

As I ask God to combat my cynicism, today I am struck by this gift of peace.  I equate peace with comfort and long for that to be the norm of my life.  Sickness, arguing kids, panicked phonecalls, thwarted goals, burning green beans -- these are interruptions that I resent because they seem abnormal.  Comfort is pierced by chaos and disorder.

But today it occurs to me that I've inverted reality.  Perhaps chaos is the norm.  The backdrop for life is more black than white. The hardness of life prevails with occasional interruptions of comfort.

Rather than deepening cycnicism, this reverse perspective fills me with gratitude.  When I expect that each day will be full of stretching and stuggle, I am awed that God offers to fill me with "all joy and peace" and cause me to "overflow with hope".  I am looking and listening for His small gifts that pierce the hard with His joy, His peace, His hope.

Today God dropped moments of peace into my day.  Sitting quietly with a cup of coffee and His Word.  Having my cat sprawled across my lap, purring with contentment.  A gray day that seemed to slow the pace.  Soul connection with a friend.  Listening to my son play cello.  My busy girl, sitting still enough to read with me.  My big girl asleep on her bed, still wearing her boots.  An hour at the library. . . working in front of a fireplace.  Lots of crazy, lots of chaos in between, but periodic infusions of peace that defy the hardness of life and cause gratitude to well up in my heart.

Words for a New Year

     Six days into 2013 and I am still contemplating what my "word" for the year will be.  At the suggestion of a friend, last year was the first time I exchanged a  list of resolutions for a single word.  The word for 2012 was "yieldedness" and I suppose God gave it to me as a life raft for theyear.  At the beginning of the year it was a quality I felt like I was lacking in my relationship with God.  It was something I desired, but did not possess.  And quite  honestly I could not muster up the wisdom and stamina to make it happen.  But God very generously and creatively wove circumstances that gave me repeated practice at yielding. I can't check a box.  I won't say "I've mastered yielding to God".   But I am in process and I loved seeing the artistry of God in carrying this theme throughout the year.
     So far no single word has pierced my heart with utter clarity.  What I keep coming back to, however, is the ugly word "cynicism".  If I could clean the closets of my soul, I would take this dirty word and kick it to the curb (along with its friends "negativity" and "dread").  For me, cynicism is a soul cancer that expects little of people and God, that sets expectations so low, that they can never be disappointed.  Cynicism feels safe, but it is a lens that drains the color out of life and reduces all to grays and beige. 
     As I've thought about what would displace cynicism, I keep thinking of a pair words:  "joy" and "expectancy".  I want to change the lens.  I want to be able to lift my eyes to see the joy moments.  To stop and wallow in them.  To be willing to part with efficiency and laugh more and longer.  To celebrate little victories that are too often eclipsed by looming goals and deadlines.  "Joy in the journey" is cliche, but I was to smile at the process as much as I strain for the accomplishments. . . and maybe more.
     Expectancy feels very risky.  I can remember my broken, 16-year-old heart drinking the koolaid that would numb my heart and relieve pain:  "Lower your expectations" became my mantra.  Anytime people disappointed me, I could take control by lowering my expectations of them.  Thus I kept my heart protected.
     But the containment of pain was bought by the forfeiture of hope.  It is impossible to protect the heart and nurture hope.
     Hope is wild and unpredictable.  It springs at the most unpredictable times and in the most unlikely of places.  Hope is tied to expectation. . . specifically expectation that the God of this universe is really who He says he is.  That He loves me, chooses me, forgives me, redeems me and in all things is advocating for me.  Expectancy is eager, anticipating and optimistic -- believing that God is writing a very good story through my life and the lives of those I love.  I can labor in relationships and endure messy disappointments, because God is the consumate midwive, bringing forth new life from all pain.  I can safely rest all my expectations for myself and those I love on Him. . . and let Him breath hope and joy into my heart.
     Joy and expectancy casting out cynicism and dread.  This is what I would love for God to do in my heart this year.

Facing the Mountain

     It is never a good sign when, after drinking two cups of coffee, I am dozing off as I pray.  This morning I read two chapters in Tim Keller's Reason for God, closed my eyes to pray and woke up 45 minutes later under a quilt on the couch!  (This is no indictment of Tim Keller -- his book is excellent!)  Sadly, this happened has happened before. . . in my recent past. 
    Right now I am facing a mountain and rather than feeling exhilarated by the climb ahead, I am flat exhausted.  Tired before I even start, looking for a chairlift, wondering if I could find a coffeehouse and just enjoy the mountain from a distance, hot drink in hand.  I have had people tell me I don't need to climb this mountain.  There is an easier way to the same destination.  There are other people more skilled and conditioned to do the climbing for me.  I agree with all of their words and have explored every escape option.  But it is clear and unavoidable:  God wants me to climb this mountain. . . and I don't have the skill or strength.  This is where God steps in and provides the supplies I need.  As usual God is not conventional, so instead of physical strength and a detailed mental map, He is giving me rations of courage (I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength), hope (all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to His purposes) and unquenchable love (greater love has no man than he lay down his life for his friends -- or kids or husband).
     My mountain has many names, but I am calling it "Fool's Peak" or "The Mountain of Teenage Angst".  Lots of other people have climbed it and lots of others are climbing it now.  But this is my teenager and so this mountain is very personal for me.  To climb it means to engage with a teenager who seems to want nothing to do with engagement.  The destination is his God-given potential, so to climb the mountain is to believe every day that God is working in him.  He is in process and every day is a new page, not the end of the story.  To climb means to speak words that affirm his worth.  To extend respect when he does nothing to deserve it.  To respond with kindness when he is surly and belligerent.  To hold him accountable with words of hope, not condemnation.  But most of all, to climb this mountain means to stay in relationship with him when my natural impulse is to run, distract and distance until he's "come through" these turbulent years (translation:  don't sit in the coffee house!).
    My energy bar is God's word.  God loves my teenager more than I do.  His life is a miracle that God orchestrated.  God is a master at working out stories of redemption.  No one is too foolish or messed up for his redemptive work.  I need to be reminded every day that there is more in play than I can see with my eyes.  I see the steep climb; God sees the beauty.  I see the rocks; God sees the destination.  I see foolishness; God sees His image.     
     God also sees me.  He equips me.  He travels with me.  He gives me what I need.  I am climbing a mountain, but I'm not alone.  And God knows when I need to rest under a quilt.

   "The LORD is the everlasting god, the Creator of the ends of the earth.  He will not grow tired or
     weary and his understanding no one can fathom.  He gives strength to the weary and increases the
     power of the weak.  Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall;
     but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength.   They will soar on wings like eagles;
     they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."  Isaiah 40:28-31
   

25 Days of Mercy

     I am always looking for a means of breaking away from the frenetic, consumer-oriented pace of the Christmas holidays!  If it is possible to love and hate a holiday, that describes my annual angst with Christmas.  So I was readily captivated this week when one of my friends casually mentioned doing 25 days of kindness.  It was no more than a passing comment, but it made a quick inroad into my heart.  The idea took shape the next day as I talked about it with some of the kids in the car.  "Let's think of some people we could encourage with kindness this Christmas.  We can plan some acts of kindness, but let's pray that God would show us a spontaneous act of kindness that we can do each day."  We had a "soft start" on Thursday when we went to bake cookies and play checkers with one set of grandparents.  Friday we  had some friends over.  But sad to say, the kindness train derailed today on the FIRST DAY OF DECEMBER!!  What do you do when your act of kindness (towards unnamed children) is rejected and their response is complaint?  This is "advanced kindness" and I don't have the syllabus! 
       Or do I?  Paul writes, ". . . that God's kindness leads you to repentance." (Romans 2:4)  I've read enough of the Bible to know that God's kindness has not always been well-received.  When God rescued the Jewish people from slavery in Egypt, the Jews returned God's lavish provisions with complaint and unbelief.  To read Exodus, it is almost embarassing how much God's people whine and complain.  It's the same words, different verse throughout the entire Old Testament.  It seems that human beings are bound by a common desire for "more" and inclination to complain and rebel against God.  And how does God respond?  He disciplines His people in a variety of ways, ultimately letting them lose their country's independence, all in an effort to turn their hearts back to Him. 
      But God's consumate kindness takes the form of a baby.  He sends a personal representative, His only son, to come into a terminally broken world and show God's love to a chronically stubborn and rebellious people.  But we don't usually call this breathtaking act an "act of kindness".  We call it an act of mercy -- God not punishing mankind for their rebellion against Him. . . even though they deserve it.  Instead God gave a gift, which cost Him greatly.  He withheld punishment and provided a means of redemption. 
     This is advanced kindness -- withholding judgment when judgment is deserved.  Mercy is a challenge to my justice-minded nature.  I trip over the unfairness of life far too often.  It is much easier to be kind to people whom I deem deserving.  Mercy is showing kindness to those who don't deserve it, again and gain and again, leaving the response and the outcome to God.
    Today began 25 Days of Mercy -- I just didn't know it until my act of kindness was thwarted!

A Gift

The best book I have read this year is called Seven by Jen Hatmaker.  If it is possible to be both deep and hilarious while talking about the Christian's response to poverty, Jen manages to hit the mark.  Jen journals about what it is like to give up the excess in seven areas of her life and how she presses into God's heart for the poor and broken by intentionally becoming poor in these areas.    This book stirred me to my core and made me laugh out loud.  It also fueled in me the desire to  better live out God's heart of love for those who are marginalized and impoverished in the world.  And frankly, it contributed to the growing tension in my heart that I wrote about in the last blog!

I am a woman of many ideas, many passions and limited energies.  But while reading Seven, God whispered an idea into my heart. . . and He actually birthed this dream into a reality!!  This last weekend, our 16-month old church, had a clothing giveaway for the poor.  We called it Dare2Share.  About 350 people showed up to receive free clothes, free food and free prayer.  The people in this group were our guests and they each had a face and a story.  They were refugees from Liberia, Uganda, Bhutan, Burma and Vietnam.  They were men and women who have found themselves without a permanent place to call home.  They were people who were unemployed.  They were recovering drug addicts.  They were children, representing their parents' best hope.  Side by side with these guests were members of our church and members of other churches.  They were serving food, helping people shop, holding babies, reading books to children, carrying bags and praying with and for people.   It was beautiful.   A picture of God's family doing what they should do best -- generously sharing the love of Christ that has been lavished on us, extending our hands toward reconciliation, displaying God's compassion toward the poor.

For me, however, the miracles began long before October 27th.  After planting the seed this summer, God allowed me to see another church put on a similar event.  He gave me a team of amazing women with many gifts and compassionate hearts.  He gave my husband -- the practical one -- an excitement for the idea.  And even though we only had 10 weeks from the time we received church approval, He opened doors and moved the preparations along at a breath-taking speed.  Repeatedly, we would come up against an obstacle, pray to God for help and then watch Him move.

But we knew that no amount of planning could guarantee that we would have enough clothes, enough volunteers and most importantly, enough recipients.  We were at God's mercy. . . and that, I learned, is a beautiful place to be.  God lavished us with clothes, lavished us with volunteers and lavished us with recipients.  I like control so much, but Dare2Share took that away from me.  Control stymies faith and God not only wanted to bless the poor; He wanted to grow my faith.  It was like standing on a diving board, scared to jump, but landing safely in my dad's arms.  Each answered prayer was God catching me and after awhile I was excited to jump.  On the morning of the giveaway, we still didn't know how many people would show up; but I woke up excited, like it was Christmas morning and I couldn't wait to open my presents.  When I arrived at the church and saw refugee families lining up an hour early to get in and when I saw so many people show up to volunteer, it was better than any Christmas morning gift.   I felt invited, privileged and loved to be a part of God's initiative.  It made me fear dependency less and actually long for more of those helpless situations.  It made me thankful to be a part of a community of believers who also respond to faith adventures.

Pulled

Guatemala seems to have wrecked my life.  It is crazy to come home, surrounded by so many comforts, but miss a place of struggle.  Only ten days in Guatemala and I feel out-of-place in my city, in my life, in my country.  Of course, I love my bed and cooking my own food and having running water available 24/7!  I love the wide streets, orderly driving (well, compared to Guatemala!), classical music in Panera, green yards and lots of space in the grocery store.  I love understanding people and having conversations that use more than the 40-or-so words of Spanish that I know! 

But despite the creature comforts and the familiarity of home, my heart is upheaved.  I have longings that I can scarcely define; and I don't know what to do with them.  I miss the kids; I miss the beauty; I miss living in community; I miss days devoted to living out the love of Jesus.  In short, I feel pulled:  pulled between two worlds that I love, pulled between the needs in front of me and the needs of 42 orphans on a mountain in Guatemala, pulled between the frantic demands of life in front of me and the longings for a more intentional life.

A better word for what I am experiencing is tension.  Tension is created by a pull between two opposing forces.  I picture kids on either end of a rope, pulled against each other or two opposing magnets pushing away from each other.  On a daily basis I feel the tension of my kids pulling against my directives or my husband advancing an agenda different from my own.  Sometimes I have tension in relationships. . . like when someone says something so outrageous I wonder if we live on the same planet. . . or I have such a strong emotional response to a situation  to which others seem indifferent!

But there is a deeper soul tension that is much harder to experience.  In the core of my soul are longings that reflect the image of my Maker.  There is a part of my soul that knows I was made for Garden-living:  perfect, whole, unity with others, creation and God.  That part of my soul KNOWS that God is writing a story of redemption that advances His kingdom. . . and I want to be a part.  I also know that I am living in one of the most privileged, richest countries in the world, while the majority of the world suffers for clean water and regular nutrition.  The amount of stuff I have is soul-numbing.  What I spend at Target alone in a month could sustain a family in Guatemala!  The inequity of life creates a tension in my soul. 

In short, I long to be tied into God's purposes and His story.  This longing creates a strong undertow in my soul that goes against the current of my culture.  I am left struggling, confused and tired.

I work so hard to resolve this ongoing tension.  Strategy #1 is to blame others.  If people around me would change, if they cared more, if they gave more, if they tried. . . the world would be a better place.  God's love wouldn't be so obscured in the lives of His people.  I am frustrated by complacency and resignation in others.  I keep my southern smile in place, but inside I criticize the lack of passion in others.  Strategy #2 is to blame myself.  Why am I so intense?  Why do I have to analyze things to death?  Why can't I be more submissive to the status quo and accepting of others? There is the sharp pain of feeling like I don't fit into the conservative, evangelical people group any  more than I fit into the liberal, psuedo-tolerant people group.  These are feeble, but enticing strategies that make me feel like I can diminish my soul tension.  But, neither leaves me feeling very hopeful or loving.

Into this hot mess, God sent a wise friend several weeks ago, who cut to the crux of my tension when she said, "Maybe this is just how its suppose to be.  Maybe we're suppose to feel pulled.  Longings show us we are made for more."  Without removing the tension, my friend handed me a pair of glasses with which I could see more clearly.  I'm made for another world than the one I live in.  Tension testifies to the fact that there is more than what this world offers.   In a way, tension is divine kiss; a reminder that there is a bigger story.  I'm not suppose to fit here.  A sinful world filled with brokenness, povery, disease and suffering should not lend itself to a comfortable life. 

Another wise man, Brendon Hatmaker, writes in his book, The Barefoot Church:

"Tension always accompanies an opportunity, a challenge or a thing to consider.  When we place our focus on eliminating the tension, our primary focus becomes the tension itself, instead of the thing we should be considering.  This reveals our  nature to eliminate the thing causing the tension instead of dealing with much-needed change."  (pp. 123-134)

So I am trying to learn how to make tension my friend.  How to navigate between the pull of this world and world-to-come?  How do I press into the tension and listen to what God wants me to consider?

Guatemala: Last Day

We're packed and ready to leave early in the morning. . . but I can't sleep.  Maybe it's the Guatemalan coffee I had earlier in the evening, but I know that it's partially this feeling that when I go to sleep and wake up this experience will be over. 

Today has been a FULL day of ministry:  doing devotions at the school this morning, helping in the 3-year-old class again (having the kids for an hour and a half without their teacher --- Ay karumba!), doing pedicures for the mamas in the orphanage and completing our final day of camp.  Even in a foreign culture, my friend, "overcommitment" seems to accompany me!  But I wouldn't have it any other way.  I've taken in this week as deeply and intentionally as I could.  My body is exhausted, but my soul feels alive and deeply satisfied.

My heart, however, is stirred by conflicting emotion.  I am SO happy to have had this experience and so grateful that our entire family could serve together.  I have loved seeing my kids engage and have their hearts captured by Guatemalan children.  I love being here with part of our church community and serving should-to-shoulder with friends.  Yesterday ended with Mark and I lying in bed with  Graciela and Joshua, talking in the dark about our favorite parts of the day.  It was sweet beyond words.  Joshua and Audrey have especially connected with the kids here.  Interestingly, our whole family has overlapped in some of the kids we are drawn to.  Joshua had brought a lunchbox he wanted to give to one boy while he was here.  He chose Rolando, a 9-year-old deaf boy he had bonded with.  Audrey had brought a small stuffed bear she wanted to give to one girl while she was here.  She chose 3-year-old Estella, Rolando's sister who is also deaf.  Together we pooled some goodies for their other sister, Candi.  Last  night my heart was so full of gratitude to see Audrey and Joshua's compassion and to see God's artistry in drawing them to the same family group.

But my heart is also very sad to say good-bye.  This morning at school devotions, I got choked up as I looked at so many beautiful faces and thanked the children for having us.  We are one team of 45 teams who have come in 2012.  These kids will most likely forget us.  But I  hope we will not forget them.  I want to believe that God loves them so much that He brought us here and placed certain kids on each of our hearts so that we will continue to pray for them in the months, maybe years, ahead.  I want to believe those prayers, offered for specific children can really make a difference in their lives.  In my heart, I have a photo gallery of pictures that includes Rudy, Yuma, Marvin, Raul, Gavriel, Daniel, Suceli, Rolando, Candi, Estella, Lupe, Yuli, Marisol, Javier and Arturo.  I want to remember and pray.

But I also fear that I will forget.  There is so much at home that distracts me; so much that occupies my vision and blocks what is truly of eternal importance.  I want to go home different.  I want our family to be different.  But I worry that we will lapse back into what is easy and comfortable. . . i.e. serving ourselves.  Even if our family is not called to full-time missions, I would like for us to do life differently so that we could free up more money to invest in those who are called.  I hope that we carry home with us a passion for caring for "the least of these" both in Guatemala and Greensboro and around the world. 

This one thing I know:  God care more about these children than I do.  He cares more about spiritual and physical redemption that I do.  He is incredibly persistent and creative in bringing us in line with His purposes.  I fear becoming complacent and preoccupied with the wrong things.  But God is generous in both igniting and sustaining passion for His kingdom.