Being sick has afforded her me the opportunity to watch The Bible series. Which I'm glad of as I've been intending to watch it for some time.
It's been an interesting watch, and I'm not finished yet, they've got many things wrong, but there are also things they have gotten very right.
Things which have been very eye opening.
Things which I've seen before, know, but for some reason manage to overlook.
Jesus touches the leper.
All around him people are scurrying to avoid the leper. His own disciples draw back, one is even shown as covering his face in order to protect himself.
And Jesus does the incredible.
He. Reaches. Out. And. Touches. The. Leper.
And the act which would have made any other human unclean, makes the leper clean.
And it's been pointed out to me before that Jesus' touch cleans. But in some ways I've missed this one obvious point:
In order to touch, Jesus has to reach out.
Reach out to the leper.
Reach out to the tax collector.
Reach out to the prostitute.
Reach out to the outcast.
Our Messiah, our Christ, our Annointed One of God came with arms reaching out.
Not with swords, shields, bows, arrows, knives, guns. Just hands.
Hands stretched out.
Hands reaching.
Reaching to touch the untouchable.
Reaching to touch us.
And that's the kind of God we have.
A God with arms stretched out to us.
To those who mock Him.
To those who reject Him.
To those who ignore Him.
He is a God with out reached arms.
Will we go to them?
And will we, in turn, stretch out our arms to touch the untouchable.
Sunday, 16 March 2014
Saturday, 15 March 2014
A Beautiful Mess
There's a pool of egg white on the stovetop, a sprinkling of icing sugar covering the bench top, Friand mixture splatters pretty much everywhere, chocolate stains on my apron, cheesecake mixture on a shopping bag, a stack of dishes in the sink and my hands are stained raspberry red.
You could say it is a bit of a mess.
But for some reason, I don't seem to mind.
It isn't bothering me that there is a mess there for me to clean up.
In fact, the mess seems almost beautiful.
Perhaps because it seems worth it when I think of the Raspberry Cheesecake Brownies cooling on the bench and the Mini Raspberry Friands due to go into the oven.
And of the friends coming over tonight and how much they are going to enjoy eating the foods I've made 3 hours, 2 trips to the shop and 1 messy kitchen later (and at least 1 load of dishes already done, courtesy of Dad).
And it occurs to me that there have been times when the kitchen has been less messy and I've been more stressed about it. For a second I wonder why.
Then I realize:
those times when a small splatter of egg stressed me out, or a dash of flour has me rushing for the cloth, or the sizzling of water hitting a hot ring has me rubbing my forehead anxiously, have been the times when I've been so focused on the process of cooking, on the process of cleaning that I've lost sight of just what it is I'm cooking, and just why it is I'm cooking it.
When I've forgotten the big picture and been caught up in the minute, that's when I've gotten the most stressed.
And suddenly I realize that I'm not just thinking about the cooking, I'm thinking about all of my life.
When I've forgotten what God has done for me, when I've taken my eyes off of God's promises, when I've overlooked God's glory those are the times when my pain has overwhelmed me. When I've stressed the most. When I've hated myself the most.
Because I've forgotten the big picture and been caught up in the minute.
And the minute only matters if you see God in it.
If you see His Greatness and His Grace.
And they say it's not the destination that matters, but the journey.
But I don't think that's true.
It's the destination that makes the journey worth while.
What does it matter what lessons we learn, what mistakes we make, what things we see, what we experience, if we never arrive anywhere?
If it doesn't actually go towards anything?
And just focusing on the journey, well, it bogs you down and stresses you out and you can forget why you ever started on it and give up, and then never reach the destination.
And you miss out.
You miss out big time.
Because when you journey with God, it's not about the journey. It's about who He makes you, where He's taking you, and who He is.
And contrary to the "it's the journey, not the destination" mentality, Paul urges us to fix our eyes on the prize, to run the race, to fight the good fight and to never give up. And Peter and John, well, they urge us to keep growing, keep moving, because where we're moving too, who we're moving to is worth all the pain, all the agony, all the mess.
It's not the journey that matters, it's the destination. Because the destination gives the journey meaning, and the journey leads to the destination.
And the mess is beautiful not because of any beauty it inherently has, but because the mess is part of something bigger. Something better.
You could say it is a bit of a mess.
But for some reason, I don't seem to mind.
It isn't bothering me that there is a mess there for me to clean up.
In fact, the mess seems almost beautiful.
Perhaps because it seems worth it when I think of the Raspberry Cheesecake Brownies cooling on the bench and the Mini Raspberry Friands due to go into the oven.
And of the friends coming over tonight and how much they are going to enjoy eating the foods I've made 3 hours, 2 trips to the shop and 1 messy kitchen later (and at least 1 load of dishes already done, courtesy of Dad).
And it occurs to me that there have been times when the kitchen has been less messy and I've been more stressed about it. For a second I wonder why.
Then I realize:
those times when a small splatter of egg stressed me out, or a dash of flour has me rushing for the cloth, or the sizzling of water hitting a hot ring has me rubbing my forehead anxiously, have been the times when I've been so focused on the process of cooking, on the process of cleaning that I've lost sight of just what it is I'm cooking, and just why it is I'm cooking it.
When I've forgotten the big picture and been caught up in the minute, that's when I've gotten the most stressed.
And suddenly I realize that I'm not just thinking about the cooking, I'm thinking about all of my life.
When I've forgotten what God has done for me, when I've taken my eyes off of God's promises, when I've overlooked God's glory those are the times when my pain has overwhelmed me. When I've stressed the most. When I've hated myself the most.
Because I've forgotten the big picture and been caught up in the minute.
And the minute only matters if you see God in it.
If you see His Greatness and His Grace.
And they say it's not the destination that matters, but the journey.
But I don't think that's true.
It's the destination that makes the journey worth while.
What does it matter what lessons we learn, what mistakes we make, what things we see, what we experience, if we never arrive anywhere?
If it doesn't actually go towards anything?
And just focusing on the journey, well, it bogs you down and stresses you out and you can forget why you ever started on it and give up, and then never reach the destination.
And you miss out.
You miss out big time.
Because when you journey with God, it's not about the journey. It's about who He makes you, where He's taking you, and who He is.
And contrary to the "it's the journey, not the destination" mentality, Paul urges us to fix our eyes on the prize, to run the race, to fight the good fight and to never give up. And Peter and John, well, they urge us to keep growing, keep moving, because where we're moving too, who we're moving to is worth all the pain, all the agony, all the mess.
It's not the journey that matters, it's the destination. Because the destination gives the journey meaning, and the journey leads to the destination.
And the mess is beautiful not because of any beauty it inherently has, but because the mess is part of something bigger. Something better.
Friday, 14 March 2014
What Does it Really Mean to Be Broken?
I was just scrolling down Facebook when a picture caught my eye. It was of a passage in a book. I'm glad I stopped to read it. I have no idea what the book is or who wrote it, but this is what it said:
Because I've done it before.
I've talked about my brokenness, but my focus has been on the wounds I've received and the way that has broken me.
And I'm not going to try saying that those wounds aren't a brokenness. That those wounds aren't part of my brokenness.
Because they are.
They are a break in my heart. A break in me.
But perhaps, and I think this what they are getting at, they are not a brokenness in and of themselves.
Perhaps our wounds, the brokenness we often talk about, is actually a sign of a deeper brokenness.
And perhaps in our rush, well, my rush, to heal the surface brokenness, I've overlooked the deeper brokenness.
The brokenness that halts the fixing of the surface brokenness.
The brokenness that inflicts wounds on other people.
The brokenness that means that the brokenness of this world is self-perpetuating.
The brokenness that means that the whole world is ugly, blackened, striving.
The brokenness that started, not with the cutting word of a friend, or the blow of a fist, or the isolation of life, but with a woman, in a garden, thousands of years ago.
A woman who ate a fruit she'd been told not to eat.
The only fruit that she was told not to eat.
Because we see it, don't we? As we read that Genesis 3 passage. We see where our brokenness really started, and we see what our brokenness really is.
Our brokenness started with a choice.
A choice to break God's command.
God's one command. His single command. His only command. How many more times do I want to repeat it for effect?
Because everything was perfect.
Absolutely everything.
There was only one single, solitary command. God's no killjoy.
And yet the woman chose to break it.
She chose to eat the forgiven fruit.
And in so doing she broke everything.
She broke our relationship with God.
She broke our relationship with each other.
She broke our relationship with the world.
She broke our relationship with ourselves.
She broke all other relationships in the world
Because rebellion - nay, treason - is a brokenness.
It is the brokenness of trust.
The brokenness of faith.
The brokenness of relationship.
The brokenness of order.
The brokenness of purpose.
And inside each and every one of us is that same brokenness.
Around each and every one of us is that same brokenness.
And inside all of us is that same desire to rebel, to commit treason.
Our brokenness doesn't come from anyone or anything other than our own decision to keep on living our own way. Ignoring the One who created everything. Pointedly rebelling against the Rightful King.
Yeah, we've got no one to blame but ourselves.
Sure, it started with the woman (Eve), but it continues with us.
Each and every one of us.
Because our wounds, yeah, they are a brokenness. But they are only the surface brokenness. They are the result, the pointer to, the expression of a far deeper and far deadlier brokenness.
And there is a word for that brokenness.
That word is sin.
Sin.
Such a small little word.
But it has so much meaning.
It means our rebellion against the King. Our rejection of our Creator. Our single-minded determination to run our own lives coupled with our complete and utter blindness.
We've got no clue.
We are broken.
At our core we are broken.
You could say that when Eve and Adam ate that stupid piece of fruit, they broke the blueprint.
And all the rest of us since have been broken.
And then we've continued our brokenness.
Brokenness perpetuating brokenness.
Well, not all of us.
One Man was born who was not broken.
One Man was born who was not, at His core, rebellious, self-serving, single-minded and blind.
Just one Man.
But He was enough.
Because He was more than just a man.
He was the God-Man.
The God who we broke faith with, the God who we break faith with, refused to break faith with us.
And He became a Man.
A whole Man. A perfect Man.
Man as He was always intended to be.
And through His life, through His death and His Resurrection, He made it possible for us to pass all our brokenness to Him and be whole again.
But here's the thing.
First of all, we have to be willing to hand our brokenness to Him.
When was the last time you confessed your sins? And not because it was expected of you, or because you were saying the words by rote in church.
But truly confessed them. The last time you saw your sins, you possessed them and then handed them over to God?
I know it's been a while.
It's something I have to work on.
I have thought, up until tonight, that praise was the aspect of interacting with God that I found the hardest.
But I now know I was wrong.
It's easy to look at God, to really look at Him and to respond with adulation and admiration.
But it is intensely hard to look from God to myself. To look away from His wholeness and perfection in order to see my brokenness and imperfection.
And then to own that brokenness and imperfection and pass it on to God.
But that's what confession is. And it is only when we can see the need for Jesus and accept Him that what Jesus did is of any use to us.
Because what did He do?
He enables us to partake in His wholeness and perfection.
And here's something that needs to be said.
As Christians in the current age, we are walking paradoxes.
We are broken.
And we are whole.
It Christ we are whole. We are fixed. We are perfect.
But of ourselves we are broken. We are imperfect.
And if we focus solely on the first, we forget the second and can start to slide away, forgetting the magnitude of what Christ has done for us.
And if we focus too much on the second, we forget the first and become despairing.
And I guess, here's what I want to say:
We are broken.
And our brokenness is more than just our wounds.
It is our sin.
We are broken.
But not irrevocably.
Because in Christ we can be made whole again.
In Christ, we are made whole again.
But until the New Heaven and the New Earth, our brokenness is waging war on our wholeness and we must never, ever become complacent.
Because the second we do is the second our brokenness wins.
Instead, we must keep seeking God.
Keep seeking His will and acting on it.
Keep seeking His love and treasuring it.
Keep seeking His grace and sharing it.
Keep seeking His relationship with us and placing it above everything else.
Because only that way can our wholeness win. Because it's not really our wholeness.
It's God's.
There is little remorse - or repentance - before God today, even in the Church. Yet only God can deliver us from the evil in our heart, body and soul. It is common to hear Christians talk of their "brokenness". But if you listen closely, you often discover that they are talking about their wounds, about the things they have suffered, not about the evil that is in them.Now this, this really challenged me.
Because I've done it before.
I've talked about my brokenness, but my focus has been on the wounds I've received and the way that has broken me.
And I'm not going to try saying that those wounds aren't a brokenness. That those wounds aren't part of my brokenness.
Because they are.
They are a break in my heart. A break in me.
But perhaps, and I think this what they are getting at, they are not a brokenness in and of themselves.
Perhaps our wounds, the brokenness we often talk about, is actually a sign of a deeper brokenness.
And perhaps in our rush, well, my rush, to heal the surface brokenness, I've overlooked the deeper brokenness.
The brokenness that halts the fixing of the surface brokenness.
The brokenness that inflicts wounds on other people.
The brokenness that means that the brokenness of this world is self-perpetuating.
The brokenness that means that the whole world is ugly, blackened, striving.
The brokenness that started, not with the cutting word of a friend, or the blow of a fist, or the isolation of life, but with a woman, in a garden, thousands of years ago.
A woman who ate a fruit she'd been told not to eat.
The only fruit that she was told not to eat.
Because we see it, don't we? As we read that Genesis 3 passage. We see where our brokenness really started, and we see what our brokenness really is.
Our brokenness started with a choice.
A choice to break God's command.
God's one command. His single command. His only command. How many more times do I want to repeat it for effect?
Because everything was perfect.
Absolutely everything.
There was only one single, solitary command. God's no killjoy.
And yet the woman chose to break it.
She chose to eat the forgiven fruit.
And in so doing she broke everything.
She broke our relationship with God.
She broke our relationship with each other.
She broke our relationship with the world.
She broke our relationship with ourselves.
She broke all other relationships in the world
Because rebellion - nay, treason - is a brokenness.
It is the brokenness of trust.
The brokenness of faith.
The brokenness of relationship.
The brokenness of order.
The brokenness of purpose.
And inside each and every one of us is that same brokenness.
Around each and every one of us is that same brokenness.
And inside all of us is that same desire to rebel, to commit treason.
Our brokenness doesn't come from anyone or anything other than our own decision to keep on living our own way. Ignoring the One who created everything. Pointedly rebelling against the Rightful King.
Yeah, we've got no one to blame but ourselves.
Sure, it started with the woman (Eve), but it continues with us.
Each and every one of us.
Because our wounds, yeah, they are a brokenness. But they are only the surface brokenness. They are the result, the pointer to, the expression of a far deeper and far deadlier brokenness.
And there is a word for that brokenness.
That word is sin.
Sin.
Such a small little word.
But it has so much meaning.
It means our rebellion against the King. Our rejection of our Creator. Our single-minded determination to run our own lives coupled with our complete and utter blindness.
We've got no clue.
We are broken.
At our core we are broken.
You could say that when Eve and Adam ate that stupid piece of fruit, they broke the blueprint.
And all the rest of us since have been broken.
And then we've continued our brokenness.
Brokenness perpetuating brokenness.
Well, not all of us.
One Man was born who was not broken.
One Man was born who was not, at His core, rebellious, self-serving, single-minded and blind.
Just one Man.
But He was enough.
Because He was more than just a man.
He was the God-Man.
The God who we broke faith with, the God who we break faith with, refused to break faith with us.
And He became a Man.
A whole Man. A perfect Man.
Man as He was always intended to be.
And through His life, through His death and His Resurrection, He made it possible for us to pass all our brokenness to Him and be whole again.
But here's the thing.
First of all, we have to be willing to hand our brokenness to Him.
When was the last time you confessed your sins? And not because it was expected of you, or because you were saying the words by rote in church.
But truly confessed them. The last time you saw your sins, you possessed them and then handed them over to God?
I know it's been a while.
It's something I have to work on.
I have thought, up until tonight, that praise was the aspect of interacting with God that I found the hardest.
But I now know I was wrong.
It's easy to look at God, to really look at Him and to respond with adulation and admiration.
But it is intensely hard to look from God to myself. To look away from His wholeness and perfection in order to see my brokenness and imperfection.
And then to own that brokenness and imperfection and pass it on to God.
But that's what confession is. And it is only when we can see the need for Jesus and accept Him that what Jesus did is of any use to us.
Because what did He do?
He enables us to partake in His wholeness and perfection.
And here's something that needs to be said.
As Christians in the current age, we are walking paradoxes.
We are broken.
And we are whole.
It Christ we are whole. We are fixed. We are perfect.
But of ourselves we are broken. We are imperfect.
And if we focus solely on the first, we forget the second and can start to slide away, forgetting the magnitude of what Christ has done for us.
And if we focus too much on the second, we forget the first and become despairing.
And I guess, here's what I want to say:
We are broken.
And our brokenness is more than just our wounds.
It is our sin.
We are broken.
But not irrevocably.
Because in Christ we can be made whole again.
In Christ, we are made whole again.
But until the New Heaven and the New Earth, our brokenness is waging war on our wholeness and we must never, ever become complacent.
Because the second we do is the second our brokenness wins.
Instead, we must keep seeking God.
Keep seeking His will and acting on it.
Keep seeking His love and treasuring it.
Keep seeking His grace and sharing it.
Keep seeking His relationship with us and placing it above everything else.
Because only that way can our wholeness win. Because it's not really our wholeness.
It's God's.
Friday, 28 February 2014
Slowly Starving Soul
I got a letter in my box today. In it was a magazine and a prayer guide. The pages were filled with stories of people beaten, outcast, slandered, for no reason other than they refused to keep the truth hidden.
And in my inbox, my electronic mailbox, I got an email. With information about being an advocate for Destiny Rescue. And there was the question. The burning, slamming question.
What can I do?
And my heart, my heart says "give".
But my head, well, my head says "You'll burn out. You don't have the money. You don't have the time. Oh come on, some one else can do it. You can join later. Join next year."
And I'm good at that. I'm good at not giving. Good at stalling. Good at saying I'll make a decision and then never making it.
Good at stuffing myself with stuff and nonsense, while all my neighbours are starving.
Cause my neighbours are more than just across the road or in the house next door.
And the way I see it, there are three kinds of people in this world. The people whose bodies are starving; the people whose souls are starving; and the people who live life content because they, like Paul, know the secret of contentment.
It says it there, bold and true, impossible to miss. Philippians 4: 11 - 13.
Those people who live truly content? Those people who live satisfied? They live content, they live satisfied because they feed their souls on Christ.
They take communion daily - spiritual communion.
They eat of the Bread of Life - they know it was broken for them and accept it eagerly.
They drink of God's Wine - they know it was shed for them.
But they don't just eat and drink. They take it. They share it.
For them, living is truly Christ.
Life is day after day of choosing Christ. Of putting one foot in front of the other, planted firmly in the knowledge of who God is.
And I look at my life and I know:
I'm not living that.
I'm gorging myself on things. I'm growing fat and my muscle is broken down.
And I'm starving.
Starving to live life. Starving to love. Starving to worship God with everything.
Because being comfortable isn't living. It isn't loving. It isn't worshipping. It's staying. Staying still until one day you find you're stuck. Stuck in mud and with no way of escaping.
And still that question burns. What can I do?
What can I do?
It isn't a question that allows for a future answer.
Just planning to work with the abused in the future doesn't change anything now. Just like planning to teach a man cook isn't going to put a meal on the table tonight.
What can I do?
And, invariably, God answers: what have you got?
So, so much.
But I don't know what to do with it.
Here is what I do know I want to do:
What if living means loving?
Loving God.
Worshipping God.
Hearing Jesus say, with every broken child I see, 'let the children come to me'.
Seeing Jesus in every hungry, hurt face.
Seeing God in everything, because nothing has not been touched by Him.
And then responding.
Responding to the call Christ. Working to let the children come to Him.
Responding to the heartbeat of God's love, by moving to it's rhythm. Passing it on, and on.
Letting God's love fill me to overflowing, so that it flows over into the hungry, thirsty hearts around me.
What if living life means loving with abandon?
And contentment comes not through sermons and games and soft beds, but living life with the daily awareness of my need for God and God's presence in my life? Even if it means living with little.
Because something living with little is living with more. And living with much means living with less.
And what's the point of having a well-fed body if your soul is starved?
Your body will die not matter how well fed it is, but the fate of your soul depends on how well-fed it is.
And will we feed our souls on the Body and Blood of Christ knowing that it was broken and shed in order that our souls may be fed on what really matters - the Love and Grace of God?
Will we study our God with the love and perseverance of a boy studying the girl he has a crush on?
And will we then respond to what we learn?
Because knowing isn't enough. Just knowing leaves you bloated.
But knowing and responding... now that is food for the soul.
And in my inbox, my electronic mailbox, I got an email. With information about being an advocate for Destiny Rescue. And there was the question. The burning, slamming question.
What can I do?
And my heart, my heart says "give".
But my head, well, my head says "You'll burn out. You don't have the money. You don't have the time. Oh come on, some one else can do it. You can join later. Join next year."
And I'm good at that. I'm good at not giving. Good at stalling. Good at saying I'll make a decision and then never making it.
Good at stuffing myself with stuff and nonsense, while all my neighbours are starving.
Cause my neighbours are more than just across the road or in the house next door.
And the way I see it, there are three kinds of people in this world. The people whose bodies are starving; the people whose souls are starving; and the people who live life content because they, like Paul, know the secret of contentment.
It says it there, bold and true, impossible to miss. Philippians 4: 11 - 13.
Not that I was ever in need, for I have learnt the secret to be content with whatever I have. I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learnt the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little. For I can do everything through Christ who gives me strength.And yeah. There's the secret.
Those people who live truly content? Those people who live satisfied? They live content, they live satisfied because they feed their souls on Christ.
They take communion daily - spiritual communion.
They eat of the Bread of Life - they know it was broken for them and accept it eagerly.
They drink of God's Wine - they know it was shed for them.
But they don't just eat and drink. They take it. They share it.
For them, living is truly Christ.
Life is day after day of choosing Christ. Of putting one foot in front of the other, planted firmly in the knowledge of who God is.
And I look at my life and I know:
I'm not living that.
I'm gorging myself on things. I'm growing fat and my muscle is broken down.
And I'm starving.
Starving to live life. Starving to love. Starving to worship God with everything.
Because being comfortable isn't living. It isn't loving. It isn't worshipping. It's staying. Staying still until one day you find you're stuck. Stuck in mud and with no way of escaping.
And still that question burns. What can I do?
What can I do?
It isn't a question that allows for a future answer.
Just planning to work with the abused in the future doesn't change anything now. Just like planning to teach a man cook isn't going to put a meal on the table tonight.
What can I do?
And, invariably, God answers: what have you got?
So, so much.
But I don't know what to do with it.
Here is what I do know I want to do:
- to study God
- spend a day at a refugee camp when I'm in Jordan.
- visit with the orphans, the prisoners, the heart broken when I'm in Fiji.
- fundraise for Destiny Rescue this year - perhaps raise enough to rescue 2 children?
- Go on a short term trip with Destiny Rescue next year - and if I have to fundraise for that, I will!
- be an advocate for Destiny Rescue, starting next year.
- be a regular supporter of Destiny Rescue (a sponsor would be best - $45 a month, but a partner will work - $26 a month).
What if living means loving?
Loving God.
Worshipping God.
Hearing Jesus say, with every broken child I see, 'let the children come to me'.
Seeing Jesus in every hungry, hurt face.
Seeing God in everything, because nothing has not been touched by Him.
And then responding.
Responding to the call Christ. Working to let the children come to Him.
Responding to the heartbeat of God's love, by moving to it's rhythm. Passing it on, and on.
Letting God's love fill me to overflowing, so that it flows over into the hungry, thirsty hearts around me.
What if living life means loving with abandon?
And contentment comes not through sermons and games and soft beds, but living life with the daily awareness of my need for God and God's presence in my life? Even if it means living with little.
Because something living with little is living with more. And living with much means living with less.
And what's the point of having a well-fed body if your soul is starved?
Your body will die not matter how well fed it is, but the fate of your soul depends on how well-fed it is.
And will we feed our souls on the Body and Blood of Christ knowing that it was broken and shed in order that our souls may be fed on what really matters - the Love and Grace of God?
Will we study our God with the love and perseverance of a boy studying the girl he has a crush on?
And will we then respond to what we learn?
Because knowing isn't enough. Just knowing leaves you bloated.
But knowing and responding... now that is food for the soul.
Thursday, 27 February 2014
A Year To Look Forward To
We crowded into the corner of the lounge room, to men on the arms of chairs the centre of our group. They sat strumming guitars and tapping their feet as our voice rose in song. For over an hour we sang, song of worship after song of worship.
I looked around and knew that the year ahead of me was going to be a good one. And a hard one. And a journey.
That was last Wednesday.
8 days since then. And I've been tired and energized, happy and sad, proud and broken, revived and drained, excited and what-on-earth-am-I-doing, loved and lonely.
8 days. Just 8 days.
8 days of studying God.
8 days of loving people.
8 days of hard work and down right laziness.
Just 8 days. With a lifetime more to come.
And life's going to be a journey.
The broken ravioli, splashed pumpkin and burnt tomato sauce of Monday night - yeah, it's not going to change. Cause that's life - a mess.
The knock knee fear of new people - that may never change.
And I'm seeing - that doesn't matter.
My knees can knock till I'm white-haired and prune-wrinkled. My life can be broken ravioli messy.
Because here's the thing. Here's the thing I'm learning as I study God. My Bible open on my desk, my pen scratching in my journal, my voice singing soft in the morning air, new friends engaging in talk about ministry and God. Here's what I know:
It's not about my fear.
It's not about my mess.
It's about God's power.
It's about God's order.
Cause life's messy - there's no denying it.
And it's into life's mess the God reaches and whispers His promise.
His promise of peace and blessing. His promise about His truth.
That life's truth is God's glory, God's grace.
The Grace that doesn't just erase the mess - it turns it into beauty.
The Grace that doesn't ignore pain - it works through pain.
The Grace that doesn't deny need - it Gifts people to fill the need.
And Joseph's life - well, you probably don't get too much messier than that. Hated by those who should have loved him, sold into slavery, locked in a prison and forgotten. Yet through him the people of Israel were saved.
What other's intend for evil, God intends for good.
What the Devil intends for destruction, God intends for salvation.
And we are here, now, not for the future, not for the past, but for the now. For the Grace of God in the now. His Grace for us, and His Grace for others.
And this year, and for the rest of my life, I'm studying this God, studying this Grace.
Studying it, and falling in love with it. Falling in love with God. Falling in love with His people and His lost sheep.
And in 42 (or is it 43) days, I'll be standing in Ireland, drinking in the beauty of God's creation. The creeks, the green hills, the grey skies.
And in 49 days (or is it 50), I'll be home in Jordan. And there I know I'll be seeing the need. I'll be seeing the brokenness.
And in 112 days I'll be back in Fiji. Walking the shores and seeing the pain. Seeing the need.
And my prayer is God will not leave me untouched.
That I will not come home and not care.
That even now I'll be making changes.
Cause money can't satisfy. Possessions can't satisfy. Academia can't satisfy. Even relationships can't satisfy.
Only God. Only God's Grace.
Only seeing all the ways I am blessed. Only thanksgiving. Only praise.
Only worship of El-Shaddai, God Almighty, can satisfy the weary soul. Because only He can give life and grace.
Only He can redeem the slave.
Only He can find the lost.
Only He can heal the broken.
Only He can comfort the mourning.
Only He can bless the undeserving.
And this year, this year it's going to be a journey. Will you join me, here, on this journey?
Will you share, as best you can through my words, the lessons God teaches me? The pains? The joys? My life?
Will you pray for me, my friend?
Will you meet me here to listen and to reflect on my Year 13 journey?
I looked around and knew that the year ahead of me was going to be a good one. And a hard one. And a journey.
That was last Wednesday.
8 days since then. And I've been tired and energized, happy and sad, proud and broken, revived and drained, excited and what-on-earth-am-I-doing, loved and lonely.
8 days. Just 8 days.
8 days of studying God.
8 days of loving people.
8 days of hard work and down right laziness.
Just 8 days. With a lifetime more to come.
And life's going to be a journey.
The broken ravioli, splashed pumpkin and burnt tomato sauce of Monday night - yeah, it's not going to change. Cause that's life - a mess.
The knock knee fear of new people - that may never change.
And I'm seeing - that doesn't matter.
My knees can knock till I'm white-haired and prune-wrinkled. My life can be broken ravioli messy.
Because here's the thing. Here's the thing I'm learning as I study God. My Bible open on my desk, my pen scratching in my journal, my voice singing soft in the morning air, new friends engaging in talk about ministry and God. Here's what I know:
It's not about my fear.
It's not about my mess.
It's about God's power.
It's about God's order.
Cause life's messy - there's no denying it.
And it's into life's mess the God reaches and whispers His promise.
His promise of peace and blessing. His promise about His truth.
That life's truth is God's glory, God's grace.
The Grace that doesn't just erase the mess - it turns it into beauty.
The Grace that doesn't ignore pain - it works through pain.
The Grace that doesn't deny need - it Gifts people to fill the need.
And Joseph's life - well, you probably don't get too much messier than that. Hated by those who should have loved him, sold into slavery, locked in a prison and forgotten. Yet through him the people of Israel were saved.
What other's intend for evil, God intends for good.
What the Devil intends for destruction, God intends for salvation.
And we are here, now, not for the future, not for the past, but for the now. For the Grace of God in the now. His Grace for us, and His Grace for others.
And this year, and for the rest of my life, I'm studying this God, studying this Grace.
Studying it, and falling in love with it. Falling in love with God. Falling in love with His people and His lost sheep.
And in 42 (or is it 43) days, I'll be standing in Ireland, drinking in the beauty of God's creation. The creeks, the green hills, the grey skies.
And in 49 days (or is it 50), I'll be home in Jordan. And there I know I'll be seeing the need. I'll be seeing the brokenness.
And in 112 days I'll be back in Fiji. Walking the shores and seeing the pain. Seeing the need.
And my prayer is God will not leave me untouched.
That I will not come home and not care.
That even now I'll be making changes.
Cause money can't satisfy. Possessions can't satisfy. Academia can't satisfy. Even relationships can't satisfy.
Only God. Only God's Grace.
Only seeing all the ways I am blessed. Only thanksgiving. Only praise.
Only worship of El-Shaddai, God Almighty, can satisfy the weary soul. Because only He can give life and grace.
Only He can redeem the slave.
Only He can find the lost.
Only He can heal the broken.
Only He can comfort the mourning.
Only He can bless the undeserving.
And this year, this year it's going to be a journey. Will you join me, here, on this journey?
Will you share, as best you can through my words, the lessons God teaches me? The pains? The joys? My life?
Will you pray for me, my friend?
Will you meet me here to listen and to reflect on my Year 13 journey?
Monday, 24 February 2014
Exciting News Reveal
So, ever since I started this blog, I've been hoping to start a blog in conjunction with this one where I can review stories - in any form - authors, characters as well as share my reflections on them.
Now, I've got one started!
So far I've only done an introductory post, but I hope you'll all be willing to check it out and follow along.
I'm so excited to be sharing my favourite stories, authors and characters with you. So much of who I am has been shaped by the people who exist only in print and in the hearts of those who love them, and by the men and women who created them. So many of what I hold dear and value has been shaped by the ideas, themes, truths and lies that I have encountered in stories. By sharing them with you I am sharing a part of myself that doesn't necessarily get touched on with this blog.
But don't worry, I will still be posting here! I love it too much to stop!
Anyway, hope to see you over at The World of Stories! (Yeah, still not sure what it's going to be called... ideas would be greatly appreciated!)
Now, I've got one started!
So far I've only done an introductory post, but I hope you'll all be willing to check it out and follow along.
I'm so excited to be sharing my favourite stories, authors and characters with you. So much of who I am has been shaped by the people who exist only in print and in the hearts of those who love them, and by the men and women who created them. So many of what I hold dear and value has been shaped by the ideas, themes, truths and lies that I have encountered in stories. By sharing them with you I am sharing a part of myself that doesn't necessarily get touched on with this blog.
But don't worry, I will still be posting here! I love it too much to stop!
Anyway, hope to see you over at The World of Stories! (Yeah, still not sure what it's going to be called... ideas would be greatly appreciated!)
Monday, 17 February 2014
Heavenly Father, I Cannot, but You Can (part 4 of 4)
And so, for the conclusion of this not-quite-epic series reflecting back on beach mission. This will be a little bit lighter than the last 3 have been, with some anecdotes and much more general reflections.
To begin with, I know I was extremely blessed by the team. They were all so supportive and encouraging of everyone. Those who came to hug me, encourage me, pray with me, advise me or simply chat with me touched me more deeply than they could ever know. I thank my God and Father for them, because I have no one else like them. No one at all.
I want each and every one of them to know how special they are each and every day of their lives and pray that they run the race before us with perseverance, shedding everything that weighs them down and trusting only in God.
I was so blessed in the form of my visitation partner. His constant concern, encouragement, willingness to listen, chat (both generally and deeply), or advise was a continual source of strength and reassurance for me, and am very grateful that he was willing to let God work through him in that way. I pray that it is a friendship we can maintain even when we're not on mission.
The leaders of the mission were also a source of deep joy, strength and encouragement for me. I think particularly of my high school chaplain and his wife, as well as our two directors. All four were, and are, excellent models of servant leadership. I particularly praise God for our female director who came on mission very heavily pregnant. My dear, I hope you're reading these words, and I hope they are of some encouragement as you step into your new role as mother: I know you often felt frustrated at what you couldn't do, but you were doing so much just by being there. That you were willing to come, despite the discomfort, even pain, and were willing to talk with us, help us out and love is in everyway you could, speaks volumes about the woman you are in God. Thank you for your honesty with me when I was down and for all your smiles and laughs and general good cheer. It spoke to my heart about God and love in a way I have no words for.
To the rest of you: thank you so much. I truly mean that.
I will treasure the memories of watching Love in a tent late into the night; of brushing the hair of some of the gorgeous young women who were down there on our last night; of spending New Years Eve in warm companionship with some of the older women; of watching the children play games with the older ones; of watching our littlest one's face light up when he was presented with a huge drawing of Superman and Batman to colour in; of sitting on the sand listening to people more musical than I play the guitar and sing while watching others surf; of running into the water and spinning so fast I nearly fell, laughing because I felt safe; of watching the guys challenge each other to fit through a thin gap between two bars (and succeeding); of laughter, tears, tea (lots of it too) and food; but most of all the memories of us singing praise to God together in the mornings before the start of each day.
I know that, like me, the mission was difficult for many of my team members. I know I'm not the only one who cried. But I suspect that, like me, no one would trade the time on mission for anything else. Anything at all.
Because the challenges, the difficulties, the heart-wrenching moments, was what made it special - because that was when we saw God working most clearly.
And reflecting back, I think that I won't change to the cooking team, as I very seriously considered doing. I don't think that's where God wants me.
I think He wants me right where I am, working with the children, interacting with the campers. Because, even though I felt I was drowning, God's grace kept me afloat and going.
And I know God wants me to be right at the centre of His grace.
Finally, beach mission reminded me of something very, very important:
I cannot.
But God can.
I am incapable, unworthy and powerless.
But God is capable, worthy and powerful.
I cannot.
God can.
And He empowers me to keep living my life day by day in service to Him.
And that, my friends, is what I call grace. Sweet grace. Amazing Grace.
For the other parts of this series, see below:
Heavenly Father, I Cannot, but You Can (part 1 of 4)
Heavenly Father, I Cannot, but You Can (part 2 of 4)
Heavenly Father, I Cannot, but You Can (part 3 of 4)
To begin with, I know I was extremely blessed by the team. They were all so supportive and encouraging of everyone. Those who came to hug me, encourage me, pray with me, advise me or simply chat with me touched me more deeply than they could ever know. I thank my God and Father for them, because I have no one else like them. No one at all.
I want each and every one of them to know how special they are each and every day of their lives and pray that they run the race before us with perseverance, shedding everything that weighs them down and trusting only in God.
I was so blessed in the form of my visitation partner. His constant concern, encouragement, willingness to listen, chat (both generally and deeply), or advise was a continual source of strength and reassurance for me, and am very grateful that he was willing to let God work through him in that way. I pray that it is a friendship we can maintain even when we're not on mission.
The leaders of the mission were also a source of deep joy, strength and encouragement for me. I think particularly of my high school chaplain and his wife, as well as our two directors. All four were, and are, excellent models of servant leadership. I particularly praise God for our female director who came on mission very heavily pregnant. My dear, I hope you're reading these words, and I hope they are of some encouragement as you step into your new role as mother: I know you often felt frustrated at what you couldn't do, but you were doing so much just by being there. That you were willing to come, despite the discomfort, even pain, and were willing to talk with us, help us out and love is in everyway you could, speaks volumes about the woman you are in God. Thank you for your honesty with me when I was down and for all your smiles and laughs and general good cheer. It spoke to my heart about God and love in a way I have no words for.
To the rest of you: thank you so much. I truly mean that.
I will treasure the memories of watching Love in a tent late into the night; of brushing the hair of some of the gorgeous young women who were down there on our last night; of spending New Years Eve in warm companionship with some of the older women; of watching the children play games with the older ones; of watching our littlest one's face light up when he was presented with a huge drawing of Superman and Batman to colour in; of sitting on the sand listening to people more musical than I play the guitar and sing while watching others surf; of running into the water and spinning so fast I nearly fell, laughing because I felt safe; of watching the guys challenge each other to fit through a thin gap between two bars (and succeeding); of laughter, tears, tea (lots of it too) and food; but most of all the memories of us singing praise to God together in the mornings before the start of each day.
I know that, like me, the mission was difficult for many of my team members. I know I'm not the only one who cried. But I suspect that, like me, no one would trade the time on mission for anything else. Anything at all.
Because the challenges, the difficulties, the heart-wrenching moments, was what made it special - because that was when we saw God working most clearly.
And reflecting back, I think that I won't change to the cooking team, as I very seriously considered doing. I don't think that's where God wants me.
I think He wants me right where I am, working with the children, interacting with the campers. Because, even though I felt I was drowning, God's grace kept me afloat and going.
And I know God wants me to be right at the centre of His grace.
Finally, beach mission reminded me of something very, very important:
I cannot.
But God can.
I am incapable, unworthy and powerless.
But God is capable, worthy and powerful.
I cannot.
God can.
And He empowers me to keep living my life day by day in service to Him.
And that, my friends, is what I call grace. Sweet grace. Amazing Grace.
For the other parts of this series, see below:
Heavenly Father, I Cannot, but You Can (part 1 of 4)
Heavenly Father, I Cannot, but You Can (part 2 of 4)
Heavenly Father, I Cannot, but You Can (part 3 of 4)
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