What can you do?

Note: This post in its entirety is an excerpt from She Did What She Could by Elisa Morgan. The book discusses a phrase from the story in Mark 14:3-9:

Jesus was in Bethany at the home of Simon, a man who had previously had leprosy. While he was eating, a woman came in with a beautiful alabaster jar of expensive perfume made from essence of nard. She broke open the jar and poured the perfume over his head. 

Some of those at the table were indignant. "Why waste such expensive perfume?" they asked. "It could have been sold for a year's wages and the money given to the poor!" So they scolded her harshly. 

But Jesus replied, "Leave her alone. Why criticize her for doing such a good thing to me? You will always have the poor among you, and you can help them whenever you want to. But you will not always have me. She did what she could and has anointed my body for burial ahead of time. I tell you the truth, wherever the Good News is preached throughout the world, this woman's deed will be remembered and discussed."

What if instead of waiting to be invited, I jumped in, took the initiative, volunteered, offered my two widow's mites? 

As I look back on my life, I can trace a pattern of requests proceeding nearly all my involvements: Would you serve on the committee? Would you give your money? Would you help? A call. A question. An invitation. I tended to conclude that initiating action on my own was, well, pushy, bossy, even arrogant. Who did I think I was?

But Mary wasn't "invited." Strictly speaking, Jesus never said, "Hey, Mary, would you please do something especially outstanding for me right now? Something I can hold up as an example for all time to come?"

God gives all of us skills, talents, gifts, possessions, personalities. He creates us to be and to do, and to braid our being into our doing and our doing into our being. I don't wait to be invited to "be." Why would I have to wait to be invited to "do"?

A friend meets my eyes and offers a challenge: "What can you do that no one has ever invited you to do?" I make a list. I am amazed at the variety of very doable tasks I tally. I can put colors together in a room or an outfit. I can use word pictures to describe feelings and situations in ways that communicate clearly. I can see where efforts are headed before they get there. I can identify forces motivating relationships and negotiate through them. Most days, nobody specifically asks me to invest these abilities. Does that mean I shouldn't bring them forward?

Perhaps I need to grab hold of the reality that what God has equipped me to do, he has invited me to do.

Babies, Ducks, and Baby Ducks

Sometimes when all of life's gifts are being passed out, we spy one that is vibrant, tantalizing, and just perfect for us! We want it. We want that bold, patriotic duck. Suddenly, it gets handed to someone else, and because our heavenly language is limited, we don't understand why. That duck would have been perfect for us! We regarded it with awe and affection! We would have loved and cherished and chewed it. We would have named it "Quackers". Alas. We wander, bereft, confused about this rumored heavenly beneficence. Then, wonder of wonders, a voice calls our  name! It hands over a personally inscribed package on which is perched ANOTHER duck! A duck that matches our attire. A duck that speaks to our vivid personality. A duck for us to cradle and slurp and carelessly drop on the ground after the allure dissipates. Our duck. And we respond with joy and wonder and awe and never contemplate: did we really need a duck in the first place? Or does the tall being simply view our smallness, our newness, our simplicity and decide to be lavish once again?

The Bordered State of Being

Good music moves us. It moves our hearts and, hopefully, our minds. A few months ago, I was at the Ensure Justice Conference at Vanguard University when I was introduced to a song that has been ringing through my spirit ever since. Here are the words. (Click here to listen to the song.)

"Oceans (Where Feet May Fail"

You call me out upon the waters
The great unknown where feet may fail
And there I find You in the mystery
In oceans deep
My faith will stand

And I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine

Your grace abounds in deepest waters
Your sovereign hand
Will be my guide
Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me
You've never failed and You won't start now

So I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior

This song ran through me after a day of being challenged yet again to fight the evil of human trafficking. It is a cause and calling so great that it can distract from the One who is doing the calling. The line "Spirit, lead me where my trust is without borders" trumpeted through my Spirit. It reminded me that I have a deep and abiding trust in God that STOPS SHORT in certain areas. This image of a border caught me. It's one thing to pray "God, let me trust you more" and another thing entirely to find yourself at the limit, the border of your trust "where feet may fail and fear surrounds me." Hearing that line immediately changed my perspective on a decision I had been debating for some time. The real problem was not the degree of complication but that I had hit a border of trust. My trust did not need to go deeper; it needed to go FURTHER, extending into the area that I wanted to control myself.

Where are your borders? What are the relationships on which you've given up, the hopes you've deferred, the callings you've abandoned even though you fully believe that God offers healing, hope, and strength? Maybe your trust does not need to go deeper. Maybe it needs to CROSS OVER the borders in your heart and mind.

May your faith be made stronger in the presence of your Savior, and may you grow in love with the One who calls you.

Better someone else...

I have strange hobbies. One of them is reading extensively about human trafficking and the brokenness of the human condition that contributes to it. This past week I have absorbed several more books as I continue to learn about this human rights crisis. The following except from the conclusion of The Natashas: Inside the New Global Sex Trade by Victor Malarek manages to succinctly describe our inability to "love our neighbor as we love ourself."

Government bureaucrats lament that their nations lack an adequate legal framework to tackle the problem, with the implication that their intentions are thwarted by inadequate laws. Well, let's get one thing straight. Assault is assault. Confinement is confinement. Rape is rape. And since the sanctions for dealing with these egregious offences already exist in every law in every nation on the planet, nothing prevents them from prosecuting traffickers under their own criminal codes.

With few exceptions, most governments and police forces view trafficking in human beings as a far less serious crime than trafficking in guns or drugs. Most approach it primarily as an illegal immigration issue, and this may have something to do with unspoken biases. Better someone else's daughters, the thinking goes; at least whoever's frequenting them isn't out raping our own. Such views rear their ugly heads not only in back-room whispers but also in public debates by people who should know better. How can we ever expect to stem this odious trade if we think it is acceptable to buy, sell and rape any human being?

Other social biases also come into play. In the minds of most people, these women are prostitutes who have willingly chosen their route. Why should we give a damn? As heartless as it sounds, this thinking is ingrained in the minds of most cops on the beat. They steadfastly believe that virtually any woman who accepts money for sex must have entered "the world's oldest profession" with eyes wide open. They can't fathom that anyone could be so naive as to fall for the promise of "real jobs" in far-off foreign lands. As a result, the cops on the front lines rarely look beyond the mascara and the stiletto heels, and the authorities seldom investigate whether the women were abducted, tricked, or coerced. First and foremost, trafficking is not an illegal migration issue; it is violation of human rights.

Victor Malarek is one of many voices helping to speak against the lie that people are defined by their circumstances and experiences. Reader, your job and your role are not your identity. I am more than the sum of my actions. For victims of sex trafficking, it is especially devastating when all of society is echoing the lies told to them by their pimps, "clients", and previous abusers: you are a prostitute. A slut. A whore. You are worth only what twenty minutes of abuse can earn. You are unworthy of love or respect. You deserve your suffering. These are evil lies, but what disturbs me even more is that people seem more inclined to clutch or spit these lies when viewing minority groups. Whether it is Cambodian women who are trafficked into Thailand or Moldovian women into Italy or Thai women into America or even foster care children in Los Angeles--it seems that there is always a group of people to whom it is more "acceptable" that fate be cruel and ruthless. 

Our capacity for prejudice is astonishing, but the good news is that the Gospel counters with greater astonishment. We are called to regard those who suffer as people with equal value to us. Even more astonishingly, God tells us to give them preference. To respond to their plight as if it is Christ Himself who suffers. To love that much is incomprehensible, but I am walking in that direction.

If --> Then

These notes from a training on working with survivors of human trafficking are helpful in examining how we approach our faith.

Christians often treat their faith as transaction: if --> then. If God loves me, then He will protect me (and so on and so forth). Present faith as transformational, not transactional. Never make promises on God's behalf. 

Transformation is a disruptive force which seeks to disturb the status quo with the aim of aligning lives and communities to a higher order of love that is shown in the Gospel as God’s rules of love.  Soul Care

We also establish transactional relationships with each other. Attend this Bible study, and we we will give you attention and guidance. We will pray for you but expect you to react in a certain way. (Note that victims are often pleasers who may feel the need to appease your faith.)

The Valley of the Shadow of Death

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 

I will fear no evil, for you are with me."

Psalm 23:4

When I was younger, this verse reassured me that even if things are scary, I can trust God to be by my side. "Valley of the shadow of death" sure sounded creepy, but I (thankfully) had no real context for what that might mean other than darkness and vague fears. Now that I am older and have learned of the Holocaust, mass rape in the Congo, pedophilia within the Catholic church, slaughter of Koreans by Japanese and other horrors, I realize that the world is often a grim and brutal place. "Valley of the shadow of death" is more significant when you know some of the extreme trials inflicted by other people and by nature. Yet, a shadow is not a real object. It is a dark, misshapen representation of something real. So why did the Psalmist use this phrase? Was it just for poetic effect? Let's consider.

The Psalmist was a shepherd, renowned warrior, actively hunted fugitive, and king. He was often specifically targeted for death yet ended up living a long life, filled with valor and accomplishments but also dismal failures and griefs. In first Samuel, he tells King Saul that he wrestled with a lion and a bear in order to protect his father's flocks of sheep! He traversed the valleys of what is now modern-day Israel, a land with similar topography and weather to my own home of Southern California. This was a man who was intimate with life in the outdoors and with the immediacy and often unexpectedness of death. So, again, why the metaphor of shadows?

The context of Psalm 23 is that of a Good Shepherd caring for his sheep. The imagery likens the shepherd to God and the psalmist to the sheep. As a shepherd, David probably had experience herding his sheep down steep ravines into the lush grass of valleys and out again into new pastures. Doesn't life feel that way sometimes? Many of us use the modern metaphor of a "roller coaster" to describe this journey. What a relief that God leads us through the valley of the shadow of death--in but out again. At dusk and evening, the valley is much darker than the flatlands because the hills block out the light. Rocks and trees project shadows. Danger is imminent for the sheep in the form of thieves, wild animals, cliffs, and gullies. Yes, there is legitimate danger! 

And that, I think, is the point of the phrase "the valley of the shadow of death". Death is real. It is inevitable. It comes to us and to those close to us. And it comes not only to our bodies but also to our relationships and aspirations and dreams. It is often cruel, but sometimes it is a mercy. We spend much time contemplating if and when it will come. Think you don't? Replace the word "death" with "failure". How many of us live in fear and anxiety and hopelessness about our circumstances or the future even if we know we are in no danger of physical death? Sometimes we dread the end of a relationship so much that we can't enjoy the process of building it. Or we bemoan our physical decay to the point of ingratitude for our health. Or we fear a confrontation with a friend so much that we never have an important conversation. We're starting at shadows. We're spooked like sheep. See, it's one thing to know that death is out there and that it might affect us, and it's another thing to know what it looks like. We're not going to know what it looks like or what it feels like until it comes. 

Life is often scary. Sometimes our circumstances are dark and we can't see what is real behind the grotesque, shifting shadows around us. Often, I think we are not supposed to know. It's God's grace that hides it from us so that we will trust Him more and perhaps grow into being able to face it. Sometimes the hideous monster is really an overgrown shrub. Other times it really is a hideous monster. Either way, God is our Good Shepherd, leading us shifting, startled sheep through the valley of the shadow of death into green pastures. Even when death finally comes for us, if we are His children, we will arrive with Him into the greenest pasture of all. "And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." Amen.

Who do you see?

Regarding a studly man...

But the Lord said to Samuel, "Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as a man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart." 1 Samuel 16:7

Add to the Beauty

Sara Groves' song "Add to the Beauty" has been scrolling through my mind of late. When I saw the video below, I thought they made an excellent pairing. Enjoy.

We come with beautiful secrets.
We come with purposes written on our hearts, written on our souls.
We come to every new morning
With possibilities only we can hold -- that only we can hold.

Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are.

And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story.
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside.

It comes in small inspirations.
It brings redemption to life and work -- to our lives and work.
It comes in loving community. 
It comes in helping a soul find its worth.

This is grace, an invitation to be beautiful.
This is grace, an invitation.

"Add to the Beauty" by Sara Groves and Matt Bronlewee

Building Houses

And where does a wise man build his house?

When choosing our crafts for a recent Haiti trip and purchasing supplies, we estimated at about 50 children in attendance. Surprise! We had closer to 150 and soon scrambled for replacement craft ideas. One morning I partially revised our lesson to talk about the parable of the wise man and foolish man who respectively built their houses on rock and sand. We taught the children and translators the song (falling over at the end was a huge hit) and used one of our few remaining craft supplies to construct popsicle stick houses. Well, the children couldn't quite grasp that glue is not instantaneously adhesive, and the popsicle sticks were too large to fit on the curved plates. Plus, we only had a couple of bottles of glue and a handful of glue sticks, so we had to individually glue every child's house. There was confusion and consternation in the ranks! As I was dashing about spurting five dabs of glue onto strange geometric configurations, I doubted the wisdom of this particular theme. Maybe I should have spent more time and come up with a better idea? The craft seemed more frustrating than fun. Then a sweet boy walked over to me beaming and handed me his house. His roof was perfectly angled. He had drawn three windows and a door with a handle. Most importantly, he had the patience and wisdom to let his glue dry! He knew he had completed the assignment well and wanted to gift me with his creation. Friends, I left the church with that plate in my clutches, carefully crammed it into my carry-on, and carted it back to my room in Southern California where I took a picture to remind me of this verse:

Unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain who build it. 

Psalm 127:1

The generous builder on the previous day

Your Love is Strong

A beautiful song for the middle of the week. 

His love is strong!

Stronger than the erosion of time

Stronger than our fears

Stronger than poverty

Stronger than storms

Stronger than a kick to the face

Leaning

This comic strip captured a current drifting of thought--do we study and teach history because it gives us the illusion of control? In other words, do we believe that understanding the decisions and forces that directed humanity to its current state in 2013 will allow us to influence the future? Yes, I do recall being taught the phrase: "Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it." Still, I'm not buying it. This motivation for interpreting history seems almost farcical. It is absurd to suppose that humans are 1.) remotely capable of accurately assessing cause and effect on a global or even societal scale and 2.) wise and unselfish enough to use any insights to "fix" our patterns of brutality and prejudice and wastefulness. 

Last week a new acquaintance prayed a familiar verse* over me: "And God, let Katie not lean on her own understanding as she makes decisions, knowing that You direct our paths." Despite memorizing this verse at age seven, there are very few days when I do not lean heavily on my own understanding. I am terrible with any activity requiring physical agility, hand-eye coordination, or mechanical aptitude. Basically, I rely on my own understanding all day long because intuiting and processing information (primarily people-oriented information) is where I am comfortable. It seems like an affront to say that I am supposed to give up the area in which I feel most capable and useful.

The good news for me and for all of us is that this verse is not instructing us to disregard our own mental faculties or gut instincts. Rather, our own understanding is not to be our main support. It is a faulty structure. As we study history, try to understand what makes our loved ones tick, read about current events, decipher training manuals, and so on and so forth, we cannot rely on our understanding. It will fail us every time.

History is incredibly fascinating to me on both an individual and societal level. Humans have the same essential story-line with incredibly diverse circumstances. Every person is born from the physical union of one man and woman, has a sex, has physical needs to eat and sleep and shelter, has emotional needs to learn and connect, interacts with other beings, and finally dies. Many personality psychologists postulate that there are only a few basic personality types that form differently based on our wildly diverse environments. Melding those individual stories into explanations of culture and society is even more complex and elusive. Still, learning about history is indeed valuable. It is useful not because it will help us control the future, but because it confirms the timeless divine instructions for human interaction. Reading about genocides and oppression and tracing their history of prejudice and selfishness may help convince us of man's incredible capacity for evil, but such a perverse lineage is not necessary for instruction. Our Father has already told us how to behave and what to prioritize. We must trust God when He says to care for the poor, welcome the alien in the land, and protect widows and orphans. We must trust Him when He says not to deprive a worker of his rights, to honor the lowly, to universally "love your neighbor as you love yourself." 

History is a corruptible testimony; our understanding is faulty; but God's instructions remain true and trustworthy.

*"Trust in the Lord with all of your heart 

and lean not on your own understanding. 

In all your ways, acknowledge Him, 

and He will direct your paths." 

Proverbs 3:5-6. 

The Jailers

Abolitionists love the story of Paul and Silas's dramatic prison release told in Acts 16. Who wouldn't? It shouts of vibrant praise, a supernatural earthquake, and salvation:

One day, on our way to the place of prayer, a slave girl ran into us. She was a psychic and, with her fortunetelling, made a lot of money for the people who owned her. She started following Paul around, calling everyone's attention to us by yelling out, "These men are working for the Most High God. They're laying out the road of salvation for you!" She did this for a number of days until Paul, finally fed up with her, turned and commanded the spirit that possessed her, "Out! In the name of Jesus Christ, get out of her!" And it was gone, just like that.

When her owners saw that their lucrative little business was suddenly bankrupt, they went after Paul and Silas, roughed them up and dragged them into the market square. Then the police arrested them and pulled them into a court with the accusation, "These men are disturbing the peace-dangerous Jewish agitators subverting our Roman law and order." By this time the crowd had turned into a restless mob out for blood.

The judges when along with the mob, had Paul and Silas's clothes ripped off and ordered a public beating. After beating them black-and-blue, they threw them into jail, telling the jailkeeper to put them under heavy guard so there would be no chance of escape. He did just that--threw them into the maximum security cell in the jail and clamped leg irons on them.

Along about midnight--Paul and Silas were at prayer and singing a robust hymn to God. The other prisoners couldn't believe their ears. Then, without warning, a huge earthquake! The jailhouse tottered, every door flew open, all the prisoners were loose.

Startled from sleep, the jailer saw all the doors swinging loose on their hinges. Assuming that all the prisoners had escaped, he pulled out his sword and was about to do himself in, figuring he was as good as dead anyway, when Paul stopped him: "Don't do that! We're all still here! Nobody's run away!"

The jailer got a torch and ran inside. Badly shaken, he collapsed in front of Paul and Silas. He led them out of the jail and asked, "Sirs, what do I have to do be be saved, to really live?" They said, "Put your entire trust in Master Jesus. Then you'll live as you were meant to live--and everyone in your house included!"

They went on to spell out in detail the story of the Master--the entire family got in on this part. They never did get to bed that night. The jailer made them feel at home, dressed their wounds, and then--he couldn't wait until morning!--was baptized, he and everyone in his family. There in his home, he had food set out for a festive meal. It was a night to remember. He and his entire family had put their trust in God; everyone in the house was in on the celebration.

At daybreak, the court judges sent officers with the instructions, "Release these men." The jailer gave Paul the message, "The judges sent word that you're free to go on your way. Congratulations! Go in peace!"

But Paul wouldn't budge. He told the officers, "They beat us up in public and threw us in jail, Roman citizens in good standing! And now they want to get us out of the way on the sly without anyone knowing? Nothing doing! If they want us out of here, let them come themselves and lead us out in broad daylight."

When the officers reported this, the judges panicked. They had no idea that Paul and Silas were Roman citizens. They hurried over and apologized, personally escorted them from the jail, and then asked them if they wouldn't please leave the city. Walking out of the jail, Paul and Silas went straight to Lydia's house, saw their friends again, encouraged them in the faith, and only then went on their way.*

Whoosh! Quite a bit to unpack in this story. First there is a demon-possessed slave girl who is compelled to scream out the truth as God's servants pass her: "These men bring the story of salvation!" Through the power of the Holy Spirit, Paul speaks words of freedom to her, resulting in severe beating and imprisonment for himself and his cohort. No interfering with the highly lucrative slave trade! I'm following avidly thus far, as this is paralleling stories I read every week about modern-day abolitionists risking all to answer God's call to justice. Well, next comes the part that we learn in Sunday school: literally chained in prison, black and blue, and without even the pretense of creature comforts, Paul and Silas choose to sing songs of praise to God. 

Last night, a friend referenced this praise part of the story when praying for torture camps in the Sinai. It seems that people are generally most impressed that Paul and Silas would sing after being tortured and wrongfully imprisoned. As Americans, we're transfixed that they would choose to praise God after His apparent failure to protect and provide. Then, bam! An earthquake shows the authorities Who is in control. Take that! As abolitionists, we continually pray for these types of miraculous rescues. We tend to focus on this part of the story, glossing over the ending. But, astonishingly,  Paul and Silas do not walk out freely into the night. They wait for the jailer. Paul and Silas knew that the jailer's life would be forfeit for any prisoners who escaped. That was the law of the time. Despite God's miraculous intervention on their behalf, they voluntarily remained in captivity for the sake of the jailer's soul. This sort of love completely floored the jailer, and it likewise stops me in my tracks. 

Paul was no pansy. He was a fierce advocate of justice, as you can see at the end of the story when he essentially demanded a legal clearing of his name, again remaining in jail for the sake of a greater cause. This man hated evil and preached a fierce abstinence from sin. He was an unabashed radical. Yet, he had been personally transformed by grace to the point that he was willing to forgo freedom for the sake of an unjust captor.

Frankly, I'm not that nice. I want the bad guys apprehended swiftly and permanently. I'm selective with forgiveness and think that it is mine to dispense. Yet, the essence of forgiveness is realizing that you never had the authority to accurately judge right and wrong, to dispense rewards and punishments. Forgiveness is trusting that God will work out restitution eternally and relinquishing the idea that someone's transgression makes them less of a person than you. Forgiveness by no means ignores the needs for restitution and restoration, but it does ultimately release those responsibilities to God.

As I type, refugees are being kidnapped from United Nation camps in northeastern Africa and sold to traditionally nomadic tribes who imprison them in the middle of the desert in the Sinai peninsula, torturing them brutally in order to extort as much money as possible from impoverished friends and family. Most do not make it out alive, but some have made their way to Israel, badly wounded and destitute. Last night we prayed for the people still imprisoned in the camps, that they would experience miraculous courage and rescue in the middle of hell on earth. We prayed for figurative and even literal earthquakes of freedom in the camps. We prayed for praise and courage regardless of rescue. And then, we prayed for the traffickers, remembering that Paul had been hell-bent on a campaign to murder Christians prior to his own dramatic conversion. Though no one mentioned it at the time, I think we were all remembering this truth:

For when we were still without strength, 

in due time Christ died for the ungodly. 

For scarcely for a righteous man will one die; 

yet perhaps for a good man someone would even dare to die. 

But God demonstrates His own love toward us,

in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. 

Romans 8:6-8

*Story taken verbatim from "The Message: The Bible in Contemporary English".

Straight Steps

Everglades, Ft. Lauderdale, Florida

Due to the abysmal mismanagement of planes and people cursed colloquially as "Spirit Airlines", our Cause 4 Life team spent two unplanned days in Ft. Lauderdale while we waited for an available flight to Haiti. One of the most beautiful moments from this unintended layover was the above view in the Everglades, the wet quilt of Florida. Flatness usually makes me edgy, constantly glancing suspiciously to see who misplaced the hills. Yet, this levee pathway felt like an invitation. Gazing ahead, we could see the sun streaming through the near clouds and, far in the distance, rain slanting from darker confections. Half of the team was coaxing any alligators within hearing to come out for a peek, and the other half was covertly praying them away. The wind pulsed the grass, and the humidity seemed to buoy the lazy dragonflies. The glades were calm yet vibrant with color, water, and stealthy creatures. The scene reminded me of Proverbs 16:9 --

The heart of a man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.

Even when the road ahead of us seems still, predictable, unvaried, we do not actually know what is ahead or to the side. Danger could spring in an instant; adventure may be waiting a hop and skip down the path. 

My family will readily attest that circumstances appearing as this unbending pathway frustrate me with their predictable banality. I like forcing change. In sharp contrast to my quick impatience, God is faithfully teaching me to trust His direction. Three years ago I dropped my five-year plan down a dark hole and waited. Sometimes I feel like a preppy, comfortable version of Joseph in prison, dwelling in acknowledged favor and divine tutelage but waiting my turn to freely exercise my gifts. "Remember me when it is well with you..." Joseph told a would-be patron. Joseph planned his way, but the Lord directed his steps. His story climaxed with exceptional power and prestige, but God would have been no less faithful had his steps continued day after day after still another day in prison, alligators and dragonflies creeping and sputtering on the side. Every week I ponder this conundrum of faithfulness and conclude: 

Our hearts plan in hope, and our feet walk in grace.

I'm baaaack.

Hi, peeps. I'm back. I know, I know. You were despondent without me. Be of good cheer, my minions. My absence was nothing personal. Rather, my sister and new fiance visited from out of state, and then I took a brief jaunt to Haiti with work. Remember my lovely inspiration Peter from last year? It was a joy to see him again. Enjoy the pics below, and I'll type more soon.

Want to support Peter and other orphans with disabilities like him? Check out House of Hope orphanages, specifically Delmas 31.

Immediately

National Geographic

While walking by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon (who is called Peter) and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea, for they were fisherman. And he said to them, "Follow me, and I will make you fishers of me." Immediately they left their nets and followed him. And going on from there he saw two other brothers, James the son of Zebedee and John his brother, in the boat with Zebedee their father, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him. (Excerpt from Matthew Chapter 4)

Swiftly Surrounded

Swifts at Iguazu Falls

Therefore let everyone who is godly
offer prayer to you at a time when you may be found;
surely in the rush of great waters,
they shall not reach him.
You are a hiding place for me;
you preserve me from trouble;
you surround me with shouts of deliverance.
Selah

Psalm 32:6-7 (ESV)

Choices

Source

How will I know?

While chopping sweet mini-peppers last Sunday, I found myself humming snippets from showtunes. Somewhere after "My Fair Lady" and a couple bars from "Rent", Glee covers* starting popping. Whitney Houston rose to the surface (a subconscious streak of diva?). 

How will I know if he really loves me? I say a prayer with every heartbeat...something something...how will I knooooooooooow?

And then it hit me right about the time I decided I simply did not possess enough patience to decapitate a single additional pepper: there is no need for insecurity or anxiety with God's love. How could you ever sing this song to Him? How do we know He "really" loves us? He settled the question once and for all:

And this is love: not that we loved Him, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. 1 John 4:10



*Necessary disclaimer: the show is beyond insipid, but they sure can sing, right? I only watch the covers. 

(Email subscribers click here for the video below.)

Advice from my yoga teacher

"Stop for a moment. Breathe. Feel the wonder. Let yourself experience the excitement of not knowing what will happen next."

In table position with my right leg precariously hovering (semi) aligned with my spine, I reflected, Hmm, when is the last time I took time to wonder at what the Lord has done? And when is the last time I actually enjoyed not knowing what will happen next? I like surprises, but I'm wary of His because they can be hard! I used to like His surprises. I used to anticipate good things. I need to trust that even if what He brings is hard, it is good. I need to trust that change will come, even when every day looks and feels suspiciously like innumerable ones before it. Excitement is asking a lot at the moment, but maybe I can start with anticipation.

Praise the LORD!

For it is good to sing praises to our God;

for it is pleasant, and a song of praise is fitting.

The LORD builds up Jerusalem;

he gathers the outcasts of Israel.

He heals the brokenhearted

and binds up their wounds.

He determines the number of the stars;

he gives all of them their names.

Great is our Lord, and abundant in power;

his understanding is beyond measure.

The LORD lifts up the humble;

he casts the wicked to the ground.

Sing to the LORD with thanksgiving;

make melody to our God on the lyre!

He covers the heavens with clouds;

He prepares rain for the earth;

He makes grass grow on the hills.

He gives to the beasts their food

and to the young ravens that cry.

His delight is not in the strength of the horse,

nor his pleasure in the legs of a man

but the Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him,

in those who hope in his steadfast love.

Psalm 147: 1-11

Tuned In

This morning I fumbled with the sequence of knobs on my dad's guitar, tentatively adjusting them as directed by the darting wand of an small, battery powered tuner. Several twangs later, the strings struck more harmoniously, though I can't speak so positively as to my rhythm. Fast forward to the convalescent home service when Sandi and I launched into the first line of my favorite hymn: 

"Come, Thou Fount of every blessing; tune my heart to sing thy grace."

Instantly I was back in front of the music stand, straining to tighten or loosen all six strings according to the authority of the tuner. As we sang out the next few lines, I reflected: Tuning? Yes, this is what the Lord does for us. There is a true, absolute message coming from the throne--music is a poetic description--and He wants to stretch us to join in the pure song. Most days I am discordant--a little off tune. I repeat His message of grace, but bitterness and disappointment and busyness and lies distort my song. He is faithful to readjust me. 

As we continued to sing the next few verses ("Here I raise my Ebenezer; hither by Thy help I've come"), my eyes drifted to Edna and Kathrine, the two stalwart residents who come faithfully to join in praise. It's true that you learn more among the weak and broken. They always thank us so heartily for coming, but I think I learn the most here and from little children. They both help me to see more clearly the truth of how we relate to God. Edna and Kathrine have outlived their husbands and many (if not most) of their closest family and friends. In the past two years, they have both struggled with significant health impairments, including eye failure, cancer, and a stroke. As we sing, I often think about the weight of their words as opposed to mine: "It is well with my soul"; "I surrender all"; "Farther along, we'll know all about it". Today they inspired me to recall this quote from St. Augustine:

"God of our life, there are days when the burdens we carry chafe our shoulders and weigh us down; when the sky's gray and threatening; when our lives have no music in them, and our souls have lost courage. On such days, flood the path with light, we beseech Thee; turn our eyes to where the skies are full of promise; tune our hearts to brave music; give us the sense of comradeship with heroes and saints of every age; and so quicken our spirits that we may be able to encourage the souls of all who journey with us on the road of life, to Thy honor and glory we pray.

Amen.