simple

Have I lived enough?

Have I loved enough?

Have I considered Right Action enough, have I come to any conclusion?

Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude?

Have I endured loneliness with grace?

I say this, or perhaps I'm just thinking it.  

Actually I probably think too much.

Then I step out into the garden,

where the gardener, who is said to be a simple man,

is tending his children, the roses.

- Mary Oliver, The Gardener

It can't all be navel-gazing and over-thinking. Just live and make it your ambition to lead a quiet life.

from the land down under

Many, many moons ago, I spent a summer in Australia for an internship with a global missions organization. Australia may seem like a strange place to go for missions. And in a way, it was. It's a developed country not lacking indoor plumbing. They have access to paved roads and central air-conditioning. 

But there is need. Fact is, there's need everywhere. 

[Confession: I went there because I thought it seemed cool. I'm glad it's finally out there. Kangaroos, the accent, exotic beaches, please and thank you.]

I didn't end up doing anything touristy. Nothing exotic. In fact, where I was living, there wasn't even - gasp - a Starbucks! (That does make it sound more worthy of missionaries now that I mention it.)

Other than picking up some Aussie slang (e.g. "no worries", "good on you"), I left with very little of the traditional going-abroad experience. The people I hung around with weren't even native Aussies. They were ESL students from various Asian countries and my host family was from Wales. 

What I lacked in tourist-knowledge and experience, I more than made up for interpersonal steroid-like growth.

I learned from being in a strange country for 2 months was that I could stop being embarrassed. I had the option to let go of my own suffocating pretense and just be myself.

That was a heavy load I'd been carrying for... well, my whole life. You see, when you place yourself in a foreign country with people you have literally just met that day and you're also severely jet-lagged, you act on instinct. There's no time to ponder, "how will people perceive me? is this cool?"  You just do.

And in that process, for me, I began to creep out of my cage of shame. When you live a life of predetermined expectations where the lines of who you are and what you say and how you act are deeply etched, there's very little deviating. I do this because I've always done this. I'm this person because I've always been this person. I can't be anything else. I'll say that again because it's such an insidious, toxic lie - I can't be anything else.

In truth, I was living a life in which I didn't love who I was and who I'd become. But it was too late. I was doomed to exist with the deficiency of wishing I could be that person I wanted to be. 

Days turned into weeks. And months. I was told to become a leader, to speak in front of people who wanted to hear what I said. Me? You want me to share who I am? No more hanging back in the shadows. No more self-loathing and embarrassment, asking others for permission to be myself. I looked into their faces and all I saw was acceptance. 

They embraced me and cared for me. Why? Because I was me. What beauty! What hope! What redemption!

I left those two months, changed. No more hiding. No more shame. No more embarrassment. The message I received from the faces, words, and embraces of strangers, a message that would change my life, was that I was acceptable. I was worthy.

Amen.

broken becomes something

I was chatting with a friend earlier and she said, "I'm grateful for you that this chapter is coming to an end."

A chapter is coming to an end that, at many, many times, seemed eternal. Two years ago, I wore a cap and gown, walked a stage, and accepted a diploma credentialing me for a career. I was hopeful. I was scared. I didn't know what was waiting for me after I climbed down those stairs of the stage.

I look back at e-mails beseeching friends for prayer. Clinging by my weary finger tips for hope, for clarity, for an end to this road that's been rough and unrelenting.

I am brought to weepy tears when I think about it. How hard it was and how hopeless I felt. How misplaced, displaced, and out of place I felt. To have no home, no permanency. Jesus, is that how you felt? I think you knew exactly how badly this felt. You lived it, too. You had no place to lay your head. People lauded you, but at other times, you were cursed by angry, murderous mobs. 

You know the feeling of wanting to belong, to be safe, but knowing that is just not possible. Through it all, your Father was there. He loved you and you knew that. You lived in it. You allowed him to weave his heart-breaking, life-giving story into yours. 

And friends, that's what we weary sojourners do as well. We accept his calling in its varying shapes - the hard, the good, the triumphant, the soul-crushing. It's all life-giving if we let him. We open our broken hands, bloody and bruised, and whisper, "Jesus, please take this life. Allow your story that only gives hope and peace to become something in my life. That person who passes me in the street, talks to me in line, or watches as I live my life, allow them to see you."

I am nothing. But with you, I'm something. Thank you.

something I don't like

Like most young evangelical Christians growing up, I often heard the phrase: "God doesn't give you more than you can handle."

First, I hate this. Second, I hate this. And third, well... you get the point.

Why do I hate it, you may ask? 

After I got over my seething hatred, I realized the reason why I disliked it so much. This saying burrows GUILT into its receiver. We get the message: "you've been given what you can handle by GOD. Who knows you so well.... but wait. You still think it's too much? Are you second-guessing God?"

The young Christian quivers, questioning themselves and feeling oppressed by His sovereignty in knowing how much we can handle. But I don't think I can handle it so...

Also, I think it's COMPLETELY MISSING THE POINT. I think the original writer of this phrase had good intentions. Yes, we are God's creation and He IS sovereign. He knows. And maybe we are a little more equipped than we give ourselves credit. But at the end of the day, with this phrase, it makes me feel so unknown by God. He's like an assembly line chute that dumps a lot on me without any knowledge of my small arms and hands that can barely reach.

I think the better way of putting it is - sometimes, God gives us more than we can handle so that we can learn to rely on him. 

Definitely not as pithy or catchphrase-y. But I think it's a more sound theology AND it allows us to see who we are and who God is in a more accurate way. We were made weak in order to see and need God's strength. 

That is about a 180 degree difference from what I want, from what the culture says, from what is applauded, etc. After all, I'm a grown-ass woman and I want to be able to do EVERYTHING. 

But no. If there's anything I've learned, it's that we need constant rehabilitation. We need to stop trying so dang hard to stop being lonely, to stop feeling bad, to stop feeling less than. 

Let him begin the rehabilitation process today. And just like any rehab...it takes time. It hurts, it's painful, it takes practice, and you'll most likely make mistakes and fall back into old patterns. BUT IT'S OKAY. 

We were made to need him more.