Roses

A pen sketch from a journal entry earlier this month:

For Roses fade 

When cut

Like all of nature

Falling to dust.

But with a root

They die

But bloom again:

Life in death,

Rebirth in decay

A symbol

Of Life Eternal.

Success is in Trying

William took off his bandana Thursday.

You know, the one that we keep tied around his neck because, well, he drools. Like, a lot. All over the front of his shirt. And well, a twenty-year-old guy just won't stay smelling like his nice axe body spray if his shirt is sticky with spit.

Like I said, William is twenty. He's got big blue eyes, and he loves to hold hands. He's never spoken, although he makes some noises occasionally. He's spent his life wheel-chair bound, and his range of motion is severely limited. His mouth is also almost constantly open, hence the drool. Not as much as some kids, but definitely a lot.

What that means is that we have good reason to keep a bandana tied around his neck. It helps him smell better, keeps him cleaner, and it generally make our lives more pleasant, since changing his shirt is one thing we don't have to add to our list of things to do.

But William took off his bandana.

And we all stopped what we were doing and watched him.

Because it was a Triumph. It was something to celebrate.

See, it's hard for William to get his hand up anywhere near his face, much less grab onto something and pull it over his head.

So when William got a hold of it and started tugging on it and trying to pull it over his head, Caitlyn yelled - in the middle of class - "Look! William's taking off his bandana!"

And every one of us held our breath and watched like it was the last race in the olympics and the United States' tie with China hinged on it.

And when it finally came off, all of us cheered and clapped and didn't think once about putting that rag around his neck again because we were so excited that he had worked hard at something he wanted and succeeded against all the odds stacked against him.

As I stood there, it struck me: I was almost in tears with excitement and joy at this seemingly tiny success - that would inevitably cause me more work, because there was a reason that we kept a bandana around William's neck - and if I could feel that joy about another human being, what must my Father in Heaven feel about me?

You know, I've spent a lot of time in my life worried about failing, about making mistakes, about doing something wrong and ruining God's plans for my life - or maybe even the lives of others. I've occasionally found myself so crippled with fear of doing something wrong that I won't even get up and try something that might very well be right. And here I was giddy with joy that William had tried to do something, succeeded - and botched up some of my plans for the day.

And I realized right about then that the Bible is full of stories of a God who works through people and their mistakes, who talks about loving lost sheep and lost children, who weeps in the dirt with a woman whose brother was dead, even when he knew he was going to raise him, a God who dies to save a people that hadn't even asked for His help.

And I realized that a God of that much grace, that Himself gave me a heart to rejoice in grace over what some would call a feeble attempt at action, must Himself rejoice in me, even when I stumble and fall and give Him more work to do by my actions.

It makes me think of the passage in Zephaniah 3, starting in verse 14 that says:

Shout for joy, O daughter of Zion!
            Shout in triumph, O Israel!
            Rejoice and exult with all your heart,
            O daughter of Jerusalem!

The LORD has taken away His judgments against you,

            He has cleared away your enemies.
            The King of Israel, the LORD, is in your midst;
            You will fear disaster no more.

In that day it will be said to Jerusalem:

            “Do not be afraid, O Zion;
            Do not let your hands fall limp.

 “The LORD your God is in your midst,
            A victorious warrior.
            He will exult over you with joy,
            He will be quiet in His love,
            He will rejoice over you with shouts of joy.

Our God rejoices over us - His people. He loves to watch us try and struggle and win. He has removed the judgments against us and the fears we could have because He Himself is in our midst, watching over us. 

I don't know about you, but I think, moving forward, I'm going to be a little less afraid that taking off my bandana is going to make God mad at me. In fact, my taking action may even make Him stop and say, "There! Look at that! She's working hard! She's trying! And I'm so proud of her."

First Day Musings

It's funny - the way you don't notice how you smell until you get home from work.

Right now, I smell like a mixture of sanitizers, soaps, drool, pediasure, sunshine, fresh air, plastic, rubber, curiosity, confusion, cleaners and learning.

I started my new job today!

I'm a special ed assistant at a school for kids with exceptional needs. When I say "exceptional needs" what I really mean is: I got really excited today when I met someone going to school there who was verbal. There are more wheelchair options than there are cars on a used car lot, if you don't have a g-tube (that's a feeding tube for ye uninformed) you are not cool, and you pick your boyfriend based on whether or not he can answer your questions by batting his eyelashes. (Who doesn't swoon for a boy with long lashes?)

I couldn't help asking God, "Why? Why did you make kids like this?" 

There isn't an answer for that question.

You know what?


The kids don't care.

They don't even ask that question.

They accept what they've been given in life - and they grin about it. They are not like me: pots that ask the potter, "Why did you make me this way?"Instead, they accept that they exist the way they exist - and that that's somehow just right.

I saw so many smiles today - from kids that have trachs and feeding tubes and can't sit up on their own - because they're fully confident in the care they're receiving and have no questions about why they are the way they are.

That's a lesson for me.

"I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content [because] I can do all things through Him who strengthens me." - Philippians 4:11&13

On (Me) Skipping Church

I didn't go to church tonight.

Normally, I go to church twice on Sunday's, once on Wednesday's and once on Saturday nights. (The cries of "Overkill!" from you normal people reading this are deafening.)

I went this morning - laziness, a cold, and church the night before are hardly enough to prevent me from worshipping on a Sunday morning - even though I told my boyfriend:

"I don't want to get up and get ready for Meeting. I want to stay in bed and read and sleep all day."

My boyfriend currently lives in a country that is rather hostile to Jesus, God, and religion in general. He moved there about 7 months ago to teach English and has learned a thing or two about how important it is for Christians to find each other and meet together for regular encouragement. That means he responded in his characteristically diplomatic way:

"Darling, get up. You get to spend time with your Family today. That is a wonderful blessing. Soak it in."

Me being me, I had already been up long before I got his text, but tonight - in my churchless state - his words struck me.

See, I'm sated with church. I get my fill of Christian people. I have more opportunities to do ministry than I can accept.

So, tonight, when my nose was dripping, and my skin was hurting from my low-grade fever, and all I wanted to do was curl up and sleep off whatever virus I have, I didn't go to church.

I did exactly what I wanted to: I curled up in bed and slept and then drank hot tea and read half a novel.

But that's when C's words struck me.

"You get to spend time with your Family."

See, I have a choice to go to church 4 times a week, and meet with Christians friends and family for prayer, and wander around a hospital on a Friday night praying with strangers and handing out bottled water and snacks.

But for most of the Christian world, life isn't like that. For many Christians, they're lucky if they get a chance to meet once a week - and may be risking their life to do so.

While I sit at home and make choices about whether a certain denomination is more right than another, and decide whether or not I'm a good Christian by whether or not I made it to my second service on Sunday.

See, in countries like where C is, there aren't denominations because there can't be - and the Christians there haven't heard that you're allowed to define your goodness as a Christian by your regular church attendance. People whisper to one another rumors of like-mindedness and then secretly meet together. They risk their lives to learn more about a God that's offered to save them. They gather together in unity around Jesus' name - many of them having never read the story of Creation, or knowing anything about the people of Israel - God's first chosen people. They don't spend a lot of time arguing over whether people who believe in theistic evolution are going to hell because they aren't adhering closely enough to the literal interpretation of the Bible. They don't decide on where to meet based on a sign on a building. They don't refuse shelter to someone who is "likeminded"because they offer communion differently than they're used to. They cling to one another in love around the common cause of Christ.

So, I didn't go to church tonight - and I didn't go because I was sick - and that's all well and good and healthy.

But I still can't get around this: I didn't go because part of me felt like I'd had my fill. Part of me said, "Enough - you've done your duty."

That's not the part of me that I want to listen to when I'm deciding whether or not to skip church - because Jesus said I should be hungry and thirsty for righteousness (Matthew 5:6), and the Hebrew writer said to "not neglect to meet together"(Hebrews 10:25). And when I listen to the part of me that says, "A novel sounds much better than meeting with other Christians to sing praise songs and hear God's word preached", I'm pretty sure need a reality check.

My life isn't in danger for the sake of Christ. My life is so far from in danger that I can even trick myself into thinking that I have somehow attained "Good Christian Girl" status by church attendance and ministry opportunities.

But it's not about being a "good Christian" - it's about being hungry for the presence and knowledge of the One who died for me while I was yet sinning; it's about being a part of a community of people who are striving together for that Presence and Knowledge.

I'm pretty sure it was a wise choice not to go and infect the small children and the elderly people at church with whatever virus I have - but I'm glad that C reminded me this morning: meeting with the people of God is something I get to do. It's not a chore. It's not a quota that I have to meet. It's not a checkmark on my good-girl list. It's a privilege - and one that's afforded to really very few.

I'm so blessed to have so much Family around me - and tonight I'm prayerful for the many that don't. For all the people who will never know what I mean when I say I've had my fill of church for the week.

And no, I don't think you're a bad Christian if you don't go to church 4 times a week. *wink*

Tasting Grace

This weekend, I got to learn a lot about grace and love through a retreat that I went on. This poem was the result of one of the talks I listened to - and some people that I've shared it with thought that I should share it more freely. So, I am. :)

Grace

I didn't ask,

But still, You offered.

I didn't seek,

But still I find.

Too weak to knock,

But still You opened

Doors of Grace 

For me, the blind.

Still far from home

When You came running.

Still turned away

When you pulled me in.

Still lost and angry

But still you sought me:

Washed away

My willful sin.

Beautiful Things from Dust

I am a very tactile person.

I walk through clothing stores fingering the fabrics rather than examining their colors.

I once called a hanger "sensuous". (Look it up - it's not as bad as it sounds, and it's a fantastic vocabulary word when you're being home-schooled through high school).

I will probably never sleep without something soft - a blanket, a shirt, a scarf, a something - bunched up under my cheek.

Turns out, I also adore words. There is power and freedom in using words that few other actions have.

So between being tactile and loving words, I spend a good portion of my time writing things down, usually in my swirly, spiky, old-fashioned handwriting that's my journal-standby.

Sometimes though, I just write words with my finger. I leave messages in the dust on the backs of cars as I walk through parking lots; I swirl a line across the foggy mirror after a shower; I write a word or two in the dust on a table or a paint can at the paint store where I work.

I put words everywhere. They are powerful to me.

Today, I didn't have a very good day. Up-and-down-and-around-and-over-and-through-and-repeat seemed to be the way my emotions wanted to roll today; I caught myself moping, cried over a journal entry, didn't clean my room or wash the dishes, and generally spent most of my day being in a bad mood.

I don't like days like that. I want my life to be chock-full all the time with happy things and sunshine and people that don't annoy me.

Still, I've been in a foul mood for most of the day - it's just a fact - and when I sat down in the middle of my closet floor to try to bring some order to the chaos in my room, if not in my head, I found myself doing what I always do: tracing invisible words with my finger on one of the tiles of the floor.

I am Loved.

I am Beautiful.

I am Holy.

I am Chosen.

I am Worthy.

I am Righteous.

All these truths about who I am in Christ, slipping out under my fingertip. As I sat there, tracing phrases in the dust, I sat in the moment. I didn't think about yesterday, or tomorrow, or even earlier in the day: I thought about now.

And all of those things are true right now.

That makes me smile.

Sometimes, the beautiful things that God forms from dust aren't as complicated as a man and a woman that He called good. Sometimes, it's just words of truth, spoken (written?) at the right time.

Be content with what you have, for He has said, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." So we can confidently say, "The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what can man do to me?" ... Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. - Hebrews 13:5, 6 and 8

Begin at the Beginning

When I was nine, I emphatically told my mother that when I grew up,  I was going to be a missionary. In Africa.

She, full of her infinite wisdom and love, told me,

"You can't even get along with your siblings. Until you can learn to love them, you're not going to be any good at loving African Orphans either."

Talk about a shot to the heart of my nine-year-old dreams.

But my mom's point was this:

Being who you're called to be in Christ starts in your daily life; growing up to be a missionary means being a missionary while you're washing the dishes and helping your little brother button his shirt after he spilled his juice all over the drawing you spent your whole afternoon on; living your life as a Christian means doing the hard, daily stuff just as much as going on highly romantic and oh-so-dangerous treks through the African jungles.

She had a point - a very good one. Probably why it was a shot to the heart that made such a long-lasting impression.

Even at nine, I believed she was right. But I also believed that - one day in the distant future when I had attained to this status of "grown up" - I would spend my days on the foreign mission field. So, I took it upon myself to learn to love my siblings, and to try to do my chores with a Christlike attitude.

Turns out, I'm what most people deem an adult: I have a college degree, work a job, pay bills and generally go to bed at a responsible hour, making plans for the day ahead. It also turns out that I do not live in Africa, or anywhere else even close to foreign. I live in a normal, United States city, where people do normal, United States things - and where everyone around me mostly speaks English, much to my chagrin.

But what my mom taught me when I was nine has stuck with me, and every day, I get up and I think about my little mission field called Daily Life - La Vida Cotidiana as we say in Spanish - and realize that God has things that He's teaching me, ways that He's challenging my boxes, calls that He's giving me to step out in faith, and purposes that He's established as ways to bring Himself glory through my life.

One day, I still want to be on the foreign mission field - living my daily life wearing the lenses of another culture and speaking another language.

But until then, I'm here - looking to fulfill the mission that I have right now and learn the lessons that God has for me at this stage of my life.

This blog is my way of sharing my journey - in hopes that maybe you'll see that all of us have a mission, because, well, God puts us exactly where we are for a reason.