Tuesday, December 15, 2015

The Love That Wasn't Asked For

    Hovered around a beaten up couch with my Micah family, I gently held little Daniel's hand and scratched wide-eyed Noe's back as we watched our newest brother screaming with every shred of life he had left.  Though our latest Micah member had only come into the home two days prior, twelve-year-old Jose Luisito had already been strong on our leader Michael's heart for months after seeing his frail little body living and dying on the streets. Yes, I am convinced that God chose Jose Luisito to be adopted into our family far before he ever came to us, and even before Michael had been awoken night after night with little Luisito's face etched into his thoughts and prayers.  Jose Luis was chosen to be rescued.
     But that rescue was not chosen by Jose Luis.  So malnourished that he should be dead, why wouldn't Jose Luis want someone to save him from the destruction of the streets?  Why wouldn't he want the food he needs instead of the crack he craves?  Jose Luis didn't want to be rescued.  He still doesn't.  He wants the streets.  He wants what is killing him.
     Unlike typical Micah policy, we didn't give Jose Luis a choice.  We took him in, and we've kept him. This may seem unfair to you, against his free will, but he is a dying child.  It doesn't take more than one look at his small skeleton blanketed only by a thin layer flesh of flesh to see that he's nearing his last breath.  Something had to be done.
    There have been many moments of play--futbol, video games, bike-riding--but afterwards always come the crisis.  He screams, he curses, he bites, he kicks, he cries... To keep him from fleeing to his doom, men and boys gather around and pin him down on that rugged couch.  The staff and Micah boys pray as they speak words of love over him--"We are for you.  We are doing this because we love you.  This is for your good..."--yet Jose Luisito always responds with words of hate.  Cursing Michael, who has done nothing but love him.  Threatening to kill those who are standing in his way, who are the only obstacle keeping him from fleeing to his own bitter death. Spitting at those who are holding his head to keep him from choking himself. Proclaiming Satan while we speak over him the truth of Jesus as the one who has conquered him.  
     Jose Luisito has his demons.  The effects of crack cocaine and the demons inside him are evident to us all.  The battle is real.
    But the battle is not only real for Jose Luisito, it is real for us all.
    No, I have never been a cocaine addict.  No, I have never encountered demons in the way this child has.  But I have been dead.  Dead in my sin.  Unaware of the life and love of my Father.  I have spit at Jesus, rejecting the one who came to save me.  I have tried to run away from him, believing I know better than he.  I have rejected his provision and instead have chosen to care for myself.  I too am a recovering addict--an addict to sin.
     But God chose me.  And he never let me go.  Struggling to run away from his love only makes me tired, because there's nowhere that I can flee from his presence.  The discipline he's shown me has always been for my good.  My Daddy loves me.  He sent his Son to die for me even when I considered him my enemy.  He showed his love for me when I didn't even want it.
     When I see the Micah family, all filled with their own hurts, struggles, bruises, and baggage, huddled around this boy that they are determined to love, I see the Gospel.  I see Jesus, my Savior, and my loving Father who sent him.  Oh, I long for the day that Jose Luisito rests in the freedom that he has been brought into.  I long to see the drugs leave his system and for the demons to flee.  I long to see him playing with joy--laughing and smiling, free from fear.  I long to see him overwhelmed with gratitude that Michael decided to take him in, and trusting that he really does love him.  But even more than that, I long for the day that his eyes are opened to the love of the Lord.
     I have tasted and I have seen: The Lord is good. He is our loving Father. He hates the sin in us just like we hate the crack in Luisito--he hates it because it's killing us.  The sin is not us; the sin is our drug. Evidence that we have rejected the Father.  We sin because we don't love our Father.  We don't love our Father, because we don't believe that he loves us.  But, oh, how he does love us.  He showed us his love when he died for that sin, so that we may live with him forever.  He wants us to live with him forever because he loves us.  So let's believe that the Lord does love us and that he knows what is best for us so that we may begin living in the love, joy, and freedom that he died and rose for.

*After being initially rejected for treatment in the hospital, we have finally found a treatment center for Jose Luisito that will help us help him on his journey to healing, to his journey home.  Please pray for Jose Luisito.

Monday, November 16, 2015

Identity Clarification

I am not spectacular.
I am not the star of the show.
I am not sure of the right thing to say nor how to say it.
I am not the savior of Honduras.
I am not the solution to the world's poverty.
I am not the most popular, nor am I the most hated outcast.
I am not the life of the party.
I am not the light in the darkness.
I am not the one who will satisfy your needs, heal your pain, or take away your aching hunger.
I am not who you're looking for.
I am not.

There is one I am, and I am not him.  I am his witness, and I am here to tell you who is the I am: Jesus Christ.

Jesus is the great I AM.  The one who is and is to come.  The one who was before all things, and through whom all was made.  Jesus is the star of the show, the Savior, the solution, the living water, the light in the darkness, the light of men.

Jesus gets the glory, and he has shown me who I really am: I am his--I belong to the true I am. Because of him, I am a child of God.  Forever loving, serving, and praising (with great joy) our great I AM.

Oh, won't you join me?!?

Monday, October 26, 2015

Unveiling Zits on the Road to Glory

     Let me tell you a little not-so-secret secret: I have acne. Not exactly a problem I enjoy having. What girl wants to have puffy red dots all over her face? Not me. Driven by insecurity, I have gone about fixing this all too visible flaw in my vanity through various cleansers, masks, and, as only girls have the luxury of doing, makeup.  But, let me tell you from experience, all the layers of chemicals and skin-colored powder have only made everything worse.  Because, no matter how much I try to cover it up on the outside, the problem is on the inside.
     Let me tell you another bigger not-so secret secret: I have sin--a problem that is far uglier and far, far worse than a couple of zits.  And just as all my pesky pimples are only a symptom of the bacteria trapped inside me, all my icky behaviors that come to the surface--getting impatient with my roommate, boasting about my abilities, using harsh and manipulative words to get my way, arguing with my mother--are just the manifestation of a problem that is within my very nature.  A problem I was born into.  Try as I may to cover up all my pride with some real good spiritual makeup or religious zit-pop by trying to fix all my wrong behaviors on my own, these me-methods simply won't work. I will never get rid of my sin by dealing with it on the surface.  Sure, coverup may appear to be working for a while, but even if other people can't see what's underneath, God sure can.  And it's what he sees that matters to me, anyway.

     Now let me tell you something a little more hopeful in all this: my acne is going away.  I've figured out that certain foods irritate me, so I've started eating right to clear out my system from within.  I've also decided "to heck with the makeup!" If I want to see some true change, I've got to okay with the ugliness that's going to be exposed along the way. And you know what? It really is getting better!
     Let me tell you something way more hopeful than a more even skin tone: Jesus has conquered my sin problem.  He died for my sin--my ugly, horrible sin--by taking it on himself and defeating it.  My sin problem isn't a behavioral issue, those are just the zits that show me there's something that needs to be dealt with.  My sin is a nature problem: a bigger-than-me-I-can't-fix-it-I-need-a-doctor problem. And praise be to Jesus, he has done away with the old and made me new.  The sins that still cling to me?  Those don't define me--Jesus' righteousness is what defines me now.  And the sin that's still in me?  By the grace of God it is being being dealt with and extracted by his firm, loving hands.  Jesus has made me a new woman--that is his free gift, but I also am taking my responsibility seriously to "eat right" (feasting on the word of God!) and stop using spiritual makeup (I don't want to be a hypocrite! authenticity for the win!), so that God can work out in me what he's done within me.  Jesus has already saved me, but it's a process to take off the old nature and put on the new.  To surrender myself daily to the work that Jesus is doing inside me.  Yes, I'm aware that means a lot of ugliness is going to be exposed on the way, but I also know that I am daily getting closer to true healing and wholeness. And, oh, I am excited for the day when I get to stand before Christ with confidence and an unveiled (zitless) face, filled with joy as I gaze upon the absolute beauty of his.

***Disclaimer: this post is in not written to trap readers into legalistic dietary and cosmetic rules.  I could care less if you do or do not eat dairy or whether or not you decide to put on some Almay.  I do, however, deeply care about your walk with Christ.  If that's ever something you'd like to talk more about, I'd be more than happy to ;)

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Burnt Pans & Broken Plates

     Let's be real about something real quick: I break things.  A lot of things.  I trip.  I fall.  I lose things.  I forget.  I show up late.  I'm messy.  I'm disorganized.  I'm unobservant.  I'm scattered. Keep these qualities in mind when I tell you what I did last night....
     Last night I cooked dinner.
     The whole endeavor began with good intentions. My desire was to honor my roommates with a special me-made meal in order to return the favor for their many incredible kitchen-creations I have shamelessly indulged in.  Comparing their expertise with my limited abilities of popcorn-making and Snickerdoodle cookies (hit or miss depending on whether I keep count right on all the measurements), I knew I was taking on a weighty task.  But a task I would take on.  And I mean FULL ON.  Go big or go home, right? Let's go salmon dinner extravaganza!
     The slight pangs of anxiety began when I watched the clock tick past my desired start time. Sitting down with little Edward to help him finish his math problems, I knew this was where I most needed to be...and, yet, I didn't want to disappoint my roommates by being further behind than planned. Rushing to the kitchen post-homework, I began my meal-making with some typical Kelsey Oops-Moments. Pulling out a pan I'd recently singed with my attempted tea-making experience (I put too little water in with some pineapple peels that burned to the bottom when I forgot it on the stove...), I started up a batch of green beans.  Some nasty pot burny junk surfaced to the top, quickly revealing my previous pan mishap in sight, smell, and sound.  Putting the must-be-cooked-with-precision-salmon in the oven that I couldn't quite tell whether or not was actually pre-heated, I completely forgot to set the timer.  Guess I'd just have to check it myself!  But, not understanding my roommate's directions about "flaking," I assumed I would have to wait for the pink little bugger to turn into a crusty, fried looking filet (hint: that's not what she meant).  Thankfully, my nearby roommate was able to salvage this mistake pre-disaster. Anyway, with these mistakes and others, by the end of the entire experience I felt the tension and disappointment of my less-than-worthy kitchen skills laid out bare before the eyes of the experts.  I wanted to do something special, but by the end I just felt like a disaster... again.  Fighting back tears of failure, I reached in the cabinet to pull out a plate.  My emotion-masking would have been successful if it weren't for that final action.  I dropped that plate, and it shattered, along with my resistance.  The tears came, and I left.
     Taking a moment to gather myself and cry out to the Lord, a few other things ended up surfacing along with the tears.  Something I'd been holding inside: I'm afraid to cook because I don't think I belong in the kitchen. I'm sure you know me well enough by now to know I don't mean actually cooking in an actual kitchen.  Burnt, raw, or perfectly "flaking", a piece of salmon is going to go in and out the same way no matter how perfectly cooked--not a big deal.  What I'm talking about here is this--do I see God's kitchen as a grace-filled place that allows for burnt pans and broken plates?  Or do I see him as a top-notch food critic letting me know all the little ways I'm not living up to his sophisticated tastes (not to mention having ruined his precious cooking equipment in the process)? Although I don't always allow myself to believe it, the truth is that God is full of grace, mercy, and loving kindness.  Yes, he's "the perfect chef", but he also delights in having me with him in his kitchen! He holds my hand and guides me step by step, and though I may slip up, he won't let me fall completely.  He even takes the "broken plates" of my life and finds ways to not let them go to waste. A funky art project perhaps?  A lesson learned in love?  Who knows how, but he does! The truth is, my God is a God of love, and he wants a relationship with me.  Perfect love drives out fear, and since he loves me, I don't have to be afraid of his perfection.  He's willing to walk with me step by step, tablespoon by tablespoon, on the journey to becoming more like him.
     Sure there are times when I'm tempted to stay out of the kitchen.  I find myself closing off to others for fear of their rejection, keeping myself from digging deeper into conversation for fear of saying something I'll regret, letting creative ideas be left undone for fear of never finishing... But in those moments may I remember whose kitchen I'm in: the Lord's.  And if the Lord is on my side, I have nothing to fear.  My Lord works all things together for the good of those who love him.  In the Lord's hands, our greatest disaster can be worked out into his greatest glory and our greatest good. Want proof?  The cross.  Our most shameful moment in history--when we nailed the God of the universe to that horrible cross--turned out to be the climax of our Lord's great mercy and love for us. Talk about redemption!
     So...would you like to know how my messy kitchen chaos ended?  A hug.  My roommates chased me down and drew me out of myself.  After a long embrace and refreshing words, they brought me back to an already-set table to enjoy the surprisingly delicious meal together.  If that's how my (sorry, ladies) totally imperfect roommates respond to me (mess and all), just imagine how much more love my Father who created me shows me!  And not just to me: to you.  He wants you in his kitchen! And though his capabilities far surpass that of a five star meal, he'll joyfully join you where you're at--even if, for now, that means you're still learning how to make toast.  Go on, join him in the kitchen, and trust that he loves you far more than his pans.

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

In His Light

     As I look out the window I see the green of the trees, the grayish blue of the distant mountains, the reddish brown of our cabins, the faint yellow of a passing butterfly.  I can see so many colors on all sorts of objects as they are illuminated by the light, though I do not see the light itself even as it permeates everything around me.  And though I don't see all the colors inside the light that is everywhere, I know from my elementary education that the full spectrum of colors are wrapped up inside just a beam of sunshine.  Take a prism and watch as the red separates from the green and from the blue to spread distinctly and beautifully in front of your eyes.  Or watch after a storm how a drop of rain separates the newly returned rays of peeking sunshine into a beautiful rainbow.  Completely brilliant and distinct is each individual color in the stripes of a rainbow, and though unseen individually they are no less themselves when joined together to form a stream of white light.  Miraculously impossible though it may seem, as the light shines there are millions of colors all around us.
     I hope I didn't lose your interest with a less than worthy semi-physics lesson, but I don't know how else to introduce what I'm feeling.  The deeper I walk with Christ, the closer I come to his bright light, and the more I can see things for what they are in the harmony of all the colors all around me. Just as light brings out the colors we see in the objects around us, the light of Christ brings out the color in everything around me. The blue hues of sorrow, the yellows of joy, the red shades of anger over injustice, the purple streams of glory given where it is due, the fiery orange of never-distinguishing hope...  The world is becoming more saturated in color by the light of my Lord.
     And just as a beam of white light is almost paradoxically mixed by the spectrum of colors, I too find myself a simultaneous mix joy and sorrow, anger and praise.  Every day here is another battle. Pain from the daily rejection from teens that want nothing to do with God let alone me; joy from the daily laughter I share with a best friend fighting by my side.  Anger at Satan for the lies he's using to convince my Micah brothers that they aren't loved and are worthless; glory as I watch one of my Father's 17 year old sons physically hold back a brother in love to keep him from falling into the temptation of another drunken night.  Hurt as secret sins--drugs, sex, lies--are discovered in those I love; hope as I see those boys beginning to take steps towards healing.
     As I walk forward with my eyes on the Lord, I am beginning to understand more and more what Paul meant by "sorrowful, yet always rejoicing" (2 Cor 6:10).  Jesus took up his cross for the joy set before him, and so will I.   Each blow of suffering around me is carving out an even deeper well that the Lord faithfully fills with refreshing waters of living hope.  And although the hope I have isn't eliminating the suffering in these moments, my hope is stronger than the suffering.  My hope is Jesus: he is risen, he will return, and this hope will not disappoint.  You see, all of the colors in the light of my Savior are magnificently woven into the pure, brilliant, mysterious light of Jesus' great and ever-shining love.  Therefore, I find myself sorrowful yet always rejoicing in the light of His grand love. Love that will never end...

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Swapping Sticks For Muddy Shoes

"So the last will be first, and the first last.”
Matthew 20:16

ME:        (attempting to add some sort of conversation to the complaints of our "treacherous" mountain
               adventure)  
What's another hike memory that y'all have?

SIS:        Colorado.

MOM:     Door County.

ME:         So.... how was it?

MOM:      Death.

     And so it began...

     La Tigra, Honduras.  A fairly simple (in my mind) hike through the mountains to a beautiful waterfall.  Great way to spend the day with the family am I right?  Well, maybe a few things should have been taken into account before plans were finalized:
#1. Overall health (balance, strength, endurance... sanity)
#2. General attitudes (when complaints begin before the first step is even taken __________)
#3. Weather forecast (goodbye sunshine, hello crazy downpour)
#4. Goals (ME: let's DO THIS!, Sis: Where can I get a cute pic? Here!... *5 steps later* Here!, Mom: Are we really doing this?)
#5. Pace...

     Okay, let's focus on the pace for a second.  Comparison time.  Me--a hyperactive 25 year old who spends half of her day playing tag and futbol. Sis--super athletic though she may be the only draw "a hike" has on her are all the photo ops (which apparently are every 5 feet).  And then we have Mom--though fit for her age, a 51 year old woman with troubled knees from her ruined running days (a story Lexie and I were reminded of on multiple occasions during our climb).  Oh, and less I fail to mention, our spanish-speaking taxi driver took up my invitation to accompany us on our walk of doom--rather than sit in his car (his self-named "tren del amor"), he'd rather spend hours listening to gringo grumbling (that, thankfully, he couldn't understand).
     So here's me, jetting along brimming with energy, meanwhile internally annoyed by everyone holding me back.  Then you've got the taxi driver who is using the few English words he knows to encourage my mom ("she is champeon!"), and finally my sis who is still stopping and starting for cute camera angles. So what do I do when everyone is at painfully low pace? Kelsey lightbulb: "Here take this!"  I said to my mom, giving her the opposite end of a broken branch.  Pulling her along, I could feel my own pace naturally slowed, while still experiencing the challenge I was hoping for thanks to the added weight, and my mom's pace picked up dramatically.  Perfect!

     Until...

     "No, Kelsey, that's not helping me.  Stop."

     What!?!  It was such a perfect plan!  It seemed to be working just great to me...


     Wait a second.

     To me.

      Did I ever once really stop and consider my mom and her needs?  Or even my sister for wanting to take in the beauty?  I had spent the majority of our trail time mentally patting myself on the back for zipping my lip rather than join in the slew of negative commentary, and yet all the while I was the one needing a slap in the face.  Or rather, a dart to the heart.  Which I got.
     Champeon of the day?  Not me for keeping my complaints to myself.  Because, let's be honest, though unspoken I had just as many if not more.  Champeon of the day?  Not me for getting through the hike the fastest.  What good does that really do--we're all leaving at the same time anyway.  We had to.  The driver was in the back.

     The driver was in the back.

     That was my lesson for the day.  Alex, our incredible taxista, stayed behind my mom every step of the way.  Offering his hand when needed, and even an encouraging word (or song) when the time called for it.  Alex, slipping and sliding in the mud, ruining what may have been his only pair of nice shoes to be the support to my mom that I failed to give.  And all the while, he was the one singing.  Alex was the real champion.
     The driver was in the back.  Unfortunately, I didn't take his cue this time around--I liked the view from the front of the pack.  But I realize now that he was far more like Jesus than I was on that hike.  It wasn't wrong or bad of me to be more fit than my family.  That's a great thing!  But I exercise hard in own private time, I didn't need to do that here.  What's the point of getting in shape, anyway?  To outdo someone else?  I don't think so. I think it's so I can slow down and encourage someone who isn't.  Not shoving them ahead, but coming alongside.
     I often find myself impatiently giving sticks and trying to pull people to where I want them to be in their walks.  I'm not just talking physically, I'm talking in all aspects of life.  For example, as the boys' Bible teacher here I have often find myself them to the deep inner workings of theology and pull them too quickly to places that they haven't yet reached.  If I could, I'd probably teleport them to levels of deeper understanding and faith, but that's not how God set it up.  Jesus humbled himself, and walked with us.  Walked.  He didn't put us in rocket ships and ship us off.  He walked, even though he could run.  Heck, Jesus could fly if he wanted to!  But he walked.  And you know what?  At the end of the day, he's the one singing.  It's about time I learn from him.

Okay, God, let's get these shoes muddy today.  I want to hang back with the driver.

Saturday, June 27, 2015

Swords Aren't For Cutting Off Ears

And one of them struck the servant of the high priest and cut off his right ear. But Jesus said, “No more of this!” And he touched his ear and healed him.
--Luke 22:50-51

Working with teenage street boys has taught me a lot about trust. Their hearts have been broken in countless ways by the very people who should be guarding them. Sexual abuse, neglect, beatings, spiteful words, no words at all... My heart aches for the brokenness and pain that they've experienced. But, let's be honest, we all live in that same world. We've "learned" in some way or another that people just can't be trusted haven't we? Open up to someone too fast and they'll just use you, right? At least that's what we think at times.

I have a confession... I have added to the pain. I have broken hearts. I have cut off people's ears. Allow me a minute or two to explain, because chances are if you're reading this then you're probably one of the people I've hurt at some point or another.

Let me start with a quick catch up on what has initiated this embarrassing yet needed realization... One of the kids I'm working with here stole my heart from my very first visit. I quickly began to chase after his heart, pushing through the punky attitude and relentlessly digging in deep. By the Lord's grace, there were some sweet moments where he allowed me in. But give me an inch and I go a mile--I pressed my love and care upon him with such intensity and rapidity that I drove him away... For a long time, I couldn't figure out why.

In the past few months, God has slowly been revealing to me how love is patient and looks out to others interests above their own. And as I look at my own "love," I am seeing more and more how I have selfishly gone after hearts, opening wounds and leaving them unattended. I have pridefully believed the lie that I am the one that people need, the one that should be allowed in. And one of the greatest weapons I've yielded that has caused such pain in others is my questions. Please forgive me friends, family, and even strangers for using questions, which are meant to have their time and place, to charge my way into tender places which aren't always mine to visit.  At times I also have done the injustice of grasping tightly onto tender hearts that were never mine to hold. I have often shoveled opinions and convictions on top of gently sprouting flowers, burying them in the process. And for that I am so so sorry. Forgive me for my sword swinging.

But I do have good news in all this. There is a time for using the swords. Placed in the hands of a surgeon, a carefully, well-directed knife does great wonders. Tucking the word inside my heart, I know I have a powerful tool for God's kingdom. It's not bad to have a sword! Did you know that just a few verses before the passage I listed above has Jesus telling his disciples to take a sword with them (Luke 22:36)?!? Heart questions are great and needed. BUT they must be guided by him and for him to truly love the recipient of the asking. Even better news? The ears I've cut off are tenderly mended by the love of Jesus. I take comfort in knowing that there's no wound I've inflicted that my God will not mend and use as an opportunity for an intimate touch by his very hand. Friends, family, barely known acquaintances--your hearts are beautiful, and Jesus has been pursuing and wooing them from the beginning. I delight in knowing that by the Lord's grace he sometimes lets me have moments to look in, but even if he never does I believe whole heartedly that he sees you fully. And he loves you. And he is trustworthy to hold your heart and never break it.


Sunday, May 3, 2015

Extravagant Offerings

But Jesus said, “Leave her alone. Why do you trouble her? She has done a beautiful thing to me. For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you want, you can do good for them. But you will not always have me."
Mark 14: 6-7

     After pouring an extremely expensive jar of perfume over Jesus, Mary was rebuked by Judas. Coming to her defense, Jesus acknowledged Mary's extravagant (and seemingly wasteful) offering as a beautiful thing. Which got me thinking... how often do I hold back my best from the Lord? Do I rebuke myself and others for "wasting" my time, money, efforts, and talents on the Lord? Am I still striving for the Lord's affection with all my own efforts to serve him rather than be with him?
   This passage struck me a few weeks back, and it hasn't left me since. All too often I find myself wondering, "Am I doing enough?"  I see all the need around me and find myself straying down the guilt-ridden path of lies: you're wasting your time with that book--there are people to serve, you've spent long enough praying--you need to go do somethingyou're missing opportunities right now, people need you, Kelsey... While there is some truth to these thoughts--I often find I can get off balance--and not in the right direction.  By pouring a year's worth of wages over Jesus, I'm sure Mary seemed "off-balance."  But that's not how Jesus saw it. In his eyes Mary did a "beautiful thing."
     I want to be like Mary.  I want to be rebuked for spending too much time with my Lord that he may be the one that comes to my defense.  That I may be written about in his book.  I want the courage to give extravagant offerings to my Lord, even when that makes me seem crazy to the world.
     I have a long way to go to be like Mary.  I find myself striving for the Lord's affections rather than resting in his love.  I find myself trying to prove my significance through my missions, giving, and other human efforts rather than letting my significance be found in the righteousness Jesus has already earned for me.  But, as Jesus reminds us, we will always have the poor.  Yes, I want to serve and give and live a life devoted to loving others.  But, more so than that, I want to radically love my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who loves the poor far better than I ever will be able to, anyway.  He has, after all, loved me--a poor sinner--and has turned my poverty into an abundant inheritance that will never fade.

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

My Manna Jar

And Moses said to Aaron, “Take a jar, and put an omer of manna in it, and place it before the LORD to be kept throughout your generations.”
Exodus 16:33

"What would you say is your 'season' of life currently?" --my dear friend Anna asked me just a few days ago.

At first I wasn't sure how to respond, then moments later the answer came quietly and assuredly: fall. Not as cold and heartwrenching as winter, not as bouncy and idealistic as spring, not as rich and fruitful as summer... Fall.  A more settled and quietly present beauty.  Peaceful, yet at times feeling the cold winds that foretell a coming winter... Fall.

My time with the Lord has led me to believe this, as well.  Reading in Exodus and the Psalms, I have been struck multiple times by the Lord's emphasis on remembering.  During their time in the Wilderness, the Israelites were instructed to observe the Sabbath rest by collecting double portion of manna (their daily, miraculous food) on the 6th day, since none would be provided on the actual Sabbath.  As I pondered that, I couldn't help think of the ant storing up for winter. This is where I find myself right now--storing up for winter--the pending grief I sense is about to sweep in like a cold front.  Not that I am wishing it in, but I do sense the Lord's nudge to make a mark of remembrance.

And so... My Manna Jar.  This morning I began a project the Lord had placed on my heart some time ago: to fill a jar with reminders of the Lord's many blessings.  On slips of paper I wrote meaningful moments with the Lord (such as my quiet time looking out at God's creation a few weeks ago when a hummingbird stopped right in front of me and flew around my legs!), answered prayers (last week I prayed for a pineapple and told my roommate: 'I'm letting you know I'm believing the Lord to answer my prayer for a pineapple so when he does he gets the glory!'... then, wouldn't you know, an hour later she came to find me--the kitchen had cut up a pineapple for that morning's snack!), sweet moments with the boys (being the first to rise with Miguelito on his birthday, allowing us to have a special Bible study together on a cliff overlooking the rapids), things I'm grateful for (all the leaders and mentors in my life: Mom, Grandpa, Steve S., Chief, Anita, etc. etc. etc.), and more... What a beautiful thing to remember what the Lord has done!  He is so good.

And yet, the remembering is a reminder that there will be times when we need to do just that: remember, because there are times where that may feel like those memories are all we have to go off of...

A few hours ago, we received news that a past Micah boy, one of the older brothers of a boy living here now, was shot and died this morning... Grief.  When grief comes, where do we turn?  We remember--the God who rescued us from Egypt is the same God that is with us now.  Julio, I love you, my brother.  The God who you knew loved you in summer is the same God who seems absent during winter.  And, even in winter, I trust you will find joys and blessings that are unique to this season.  I'm so sorry for the pain, but please know it's not forever.  Winter isn't forever.  When the cold comes, remember...

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Free to Feel

Somewhere along the way in this journey most of us refer to as "Life," I started believing it was better not to feel.  Those who have walked closely beside me have often told me with their furrowed looks of concern, "you have built up a lot of walls, Kelsey."  And most of the time I found myself defensively disagreeing or, even worse, taking that as an internal pat on the back.  If I've conquered my feelings, then certainiy I am better able to navigate right/wrong and all the difficult life decisions without those obnoxious little buggers getting in the way!

The parts of us that make us incredibly vulnerable are the parts that are the most human.  And yet I think I've let myself believe that's not okay.  For other people sure, but for me?  Somehow in my own ego, I've  let myself think that I've either mastered my emotions or been able to run far from them.  Maybe even both.  And because of this, I often find myself so far away from my desires, hurts, hopes, and fears that I don't even know what they are anymore.

Of course, this isn't the case entirely.  I know joy and pain as all of us do, but I also have been spared (or, rather, missed out on) a lot because I'm a runner, a people pleaser, and an independent single woman gosh darn it!  I think sometimes because I am a Christian, I've forgotten that I'm also a human.  Trying on my own strength to live up to a life marked by Christ, I often hold myself to an unrealistic standard of superhuman, and in that process I've tossed feelings by the roadside. Who needs them?!  They just get in the way!

But where am I getting that as my example?  Certainly not Jesus! It doesn't take a scholar to see how deeply Jesus felt--anger at the temple, joy with his friends, compassion for the hurting, frustration with the Pharisees, rejection on the cross… I believe Jesus felt more deeply than any of us.  What gives me the audacity to think that I should "do him one better"?  I understand that feelings shouldn't rule us, but that doesn't mean that it's best to obliterate them as I so often do (subconsciously or not).

With that said, I have a confession: I need the Lord's help to be more human.  Even as I write this I don't fully feel my need for his help.  Even more shamefully than that, I don't often feel my need for him.  And, again, I know that's not the point.  If I get shot in the leg and I'm somehow numb to the pain, I'd be an idiot not to get medical attention.  I KNOW I need the Lord, whether I explicitly feel that need or not.  But, oh, to feel it, too!  Lord, I need you!  Help me to know my need for you--in mind, heart, body, and soul!  Because, Lord, I know you will respond.  You always have and you always will!  May we know every day more and more deeply how much we need you--even to be ourselves.


***Disclaimer: The author of this post is writing with the knowledge that she still has a lot of walls that she is helpless to tear down.  She knows, however, that the Lord is faithful to answer every prayer, and she has asked for the Lord to have his way in her.  She believes that as the Lord does his refining work, she will be an even more powerful tool in his hands. "For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it." --Hebrews 12:11

A Cup of Water

For truly, I say to you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you belong to Christ will by no means lose his reward. Mark 9:41 ...