Wednesday, December 24, 2014

A Christmas Hallelujah

Christmas. 

 

It’s upon us once again and has been so for quite some time.  Normally the very fact the commercialism of Christmas takes over about the same time pencils are being sharpened fresh for back-to-school, embitters me.  By the time Christmas rolls around – I’m ready to be done. 

 

But, this Christmas season?  It’s felt different this year.  I’ve found myself relatively into Christmas...but not in all of the normal or necessarily identifiable ways.  I’m not feeling compelled to make dozens of cookies or decorate a handful of trees or string garland from one end of the world to the other...but Christmas definitely comes with it’s own excitement and appreciation and expectation this year.  Christmas can be hard...and I have had a lot of life happen around Christmas time (for one example: my cancer diagnosis came the day after Christmas) and Christmas just wasn’t the same anymore.  Things little and big year after year and then it just didn’t come with the same sparkle or pizzazz… But, this Christmas season?  This year there is something internal...

 

In such a way that the whole of the Christmas story, when I pause to truly consider it, makes me a little weak in the knees.  Not figuratively either.  I’m truly blown away by the reality of a God who, as Paul tells us in Romans 5, sent a son while we were yet sinners.  The reality and immensity of God with us – Emmanuel. 

 

Emmanuel is one of my favorite names and resulting concepts of the nature of God.  The fact that between Malachi, the last book of the old testament, and Matthew, the first book of the new testament – there are 400 years.  400 years where God was silent.  Where there was no record of prophet or priest with a voice from heaven, no word from God.  400 years and the silence is broken by Emmanuel.  Silence is broken by not just a word from God but the Word which, John tells us in chapter 1, WAS God… And God took on the form of a baby – the most beautiful and most powerless thing in the entire world – born in the lowliest of places though one day his name would be exalted above all names that at it every knee would bow and tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.  If that doesn’t give you chills…

 

There is the somewhat cliché phrase “you can’t have Christmas without Easter and you can’t have Easter without Christmas”.  The two, in my head, should always be celebrated together.  You’ve probably seen the picture of the manager in the shadow of the cross.  And I think of the fact that light came into the darkness but darkness couldn’t understand it.  Part of me pictures Jesus, in a manager, covered in the ring of shekinah glory, with blackness surrounding. But if I were to put a magnifying glass to the blackness, I would see the principalities of darkness, held at bay, unable to touch the one who would one day willing place all of the sin and shame and weight of that darkness on his back and drag it down to Hell in order that we would have opportunity at restored relationship…  I tremble a little when I truly stop to consider the reality of it…

 

And then one word comes to mind.  It shouldn’t be surprising that it is the word my brain chooses…it’s been one of recurring pattern and them in my brain for the last six months or so. It gets screamed at me in songs on the radio and in the smallest snippets of sermons.  But it did surprise me a little because it’s not a typical word associated with Christmas, necessarily.

Peace. 

Joy. 

Glory.

Hope.

Love. 

Those are Christmas words. This was a good word, but not necessarily a Christmas one... But it struck me as the perfect word and perfect Christmas word, especially after listening to my current favorite “Christmas song” – a song which, though quite familiar in origin, had been covered to tell the whole of the Christmas story in a very profound way. (It was the only “Christmas song” I would listen to before Thanksgiving and it is the only song I would willingly play on repeat.)  I encourage you to click on the youTube link and check out Cloverton’s “A Hallelujah Christmas” if you haven’t already.  If you do, really listen to the Christmas story being told through the lyrics of the song and really listen to challenge it gives to offer up a Hallelujah…

 

You see, the song walks through the familiar Christmas story. The story of a baby boy, who was God, who came to earth – the very acknowledgment alone calling to sing out “Hallelujah” with every breath.  A couple went to Bethlehem...but there was no room and so God’s son was born in a barn.  Hallelujah.  Angels came to shepherds...who went and found Emmanuel in the manger and left proclaiming “Hallelujah”.  Wise men from the East traveled long and came with gifts and the cry of “Hallelujah”.  But the story doesn’t end with a baby, because “That rugged cross was my cross too”...and Jesus was nailed to it crying out “Hallelujah”...

 

Hallelujah...

 

After about the 20th time of looping the song, I looked up the word “hallelujah” because I realized it was a word I knew the meaning of – kind of – because it always came with its own context – but I wanted to know to understand.  And I learned, unsurprisingly, that it is a Hebrew word, originally “allelujah”, literally translating “praise ye the Lord!” (which makes that call and response song make SO much more sense!). It is a shout, a proclamation, and an exclamation of joy, praise, gratitude and exaltation – meaning to lift one to the highest level. 

 

What struck me must about “Hallelujah” in the context of the song was the way it was presented as an offering.  And furthermore an offering which HAD to be given.  Not “had” as in when your mom forced you to share with your brother, but the necessity to cry it out as if it were impossible to keep in.  What does it mean to live and to leave that kind of Hallelujah as an offering? 

 

Furthermore, it brought into fore light an otherwise neglected piece of the Christmas story – neglected at least in my mind.  The profound realization of the dichotomy that both prince and pauper came to lay their “hallelujahs” before the Lord:

 

Shepherds, being the lowliest of the low, not well liked, not always well trusted with nothing to give but themselves, left glorifying and praising God and offering up a hallelujah to any who would listen. 

 

Yet, on the same token, were the kings.  People of status and power and wealth (things we can glean without being told because, lets face it, if you’re capable of taking two plus years off work to travel through the desert to hunt down a baby boy and leave physically valuable and impressive gifts…there’s a good chance you’re a “somebody” in the world). But they too came.   When I consider or think about the magi, I think of their gifts.  What I often forget is that before they gave any of their physical gifts to Jesus, they bowed down to worship Him.  Their physical gifts were in addition to the gift of their hallelujah. The stocking stuffers to the gift they came to give.  Though scholars will tell us these gifts had specific significance to the life and ministry of Jesus...they were secondary to a bowed knee and a gift of praise.

 

No one was above or beneath being welcomed to encounter Christ, and all who encountered left with a hallelujah.  A hallelujah which was also offered by Christ himself. He, who humbled himself to the point of death on the cross for the glory of God, was exalted to the right hand of the Father (Philippians 2), but His hallelujah came first – and was evident through his life.

 

So where does that leave us?  If we have encountered Christ, have we left an offering of hallelujah? Does every breath strive to cry it out?  Do we come full and rich and whole as the magi?  Do we come broken and ostracized as the shepherd?  Does either, regardless, come with the response of hallelujah?

 

I’ve been struck for the last six months especially and again with the idea of a broken hallelujah and how beautiful a hallelujah is when it comes out of brokenness.  Whether it be brokenness like David whose psalms of woes due to the depth of his sin are followed by psalms of praise as he recognizes God’s mercy and grace…or brokenness like Ruth who lost everything outside of her desire and control and still sought the face of God… (“Broken Hallelujah” may in fact be a blog for another time for it has occurred to me that every biblical figure we give merit, endured brokenness and still came to a place of hallelujah.  None were praising from a place of physical wholeness – but of spiritual completion.)  Hallelujahs which are louder and brighter for they come in the middle of life that doesn’t make sense. 

 

Christmas is upon us once again.  But, this Christmas season?  It’s felt different this year. This year there is something internal.  Something internal which has me “into Christmas” in a way which has lacked in years prior.  In such a way that the whole of the Christmas story, when I pause to truly consider it, makes me a little weak in the knees. Makes me wonder.  Makes me tremble.  Takes my breath away.  Something internal which causes my soul to well up, with a Hallelujah. 

 

 

 

 


“In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register.  So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to house and line of David.  He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child.  While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son.  She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.  And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night.  An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.  But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid.  I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people.  Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord.  This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manager.  Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”  When the angel had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”  So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger.  When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.  The shepherds returned glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.”



“After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him...After they had heard the king, they went on their way, and the star they had seen when it rose went ahead of them until it stopped ove3r the place where the child was. When they saw the star, they were overjoyed.  On coming to the house, the saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshipped him.  Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.”

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Stop. Drop. Roll.

I remember the first “drill”. The first “tutorial”.

It remains ingrained in my memory.  In the file reserved for the events of my six-year-old self.   

There we were, standing in a straight line on the “grassy knoll” outside of the front doors of my elementary school.  The flag billowed behind us with a light breeze. 

I stood next to my first grade best friend, Jeff, and we, along with the rest of our class, squinted into the sun as we stared at our teacher and the fireman (who, much to our disappointment, wasn’t dressed in his heavy fire-fighting gear).  There was respectful silence as we listened to more instructions about fire safety but small gasps and anxious murmurs were heard as we were informed of an unbelievable and terrifying reality:

Someday, I could catch on fire.

My active imagination pictured my little body ablaze. 

My classmates must not have been very far behind me because, as I recall, we took the next ten minutes of calisthenics very seriously!  Calisthenics resulting from very specific instructions:

“When you find yourself on fire, you need to do three things: Stop.  Drop.  And then Roll.  And Keep rolling until the fire is out!” 

Freeze.  Down.  Roll in the grass.  Up.  Shake off the dirt.  Do it again.  All with military precision.  I’m sure we looked like a pile of puppies out there in the grass by the front doors of the school, but you had to know – we weren’t about to be found standing doing nothing when we, ourselves were engulfed in flames!

I remember taking my new skill home and explaining quite thoroughly how prepared I was to catch on fire.  I demonstrated my technique and insisted my siblings take part in my fire-preventing exercise!  I also remember waiting, sometimes in the fear of my dark bedroom (I had some pretty awesome anxiety issues and fire safety week often did a number on me in terms of the nightmare department), for the moment I would catch on fire and need to implement the three life saving steps.  I would repeat them over and over again in my head. 

Alright, so granted, my memory probably remembers the situation more dramatic than the reality but the intensity of my memory has insisted I’ve never forgotten. And yet, that memory also serves as the last time I can actively remember stopping and dropping and rolling…at least in that order for that purpose. 

I grew up believing “Stop. Drop. Roll.” was going to be a MUCH bigger deal in my life.  At the very least, I was relatively certain there was going to be higher instance of catching on fire. 

I did sort of catch on fire.  Once. The cuff of my jeans trailed over a still hot coal while at the barn preparing to teach a class.  The team of instructors at the time (and I!) all started to smell smoke.  We went looking for the source.  Each room I walked into, I was convinced the smell was getting stronger, that we must be getting closer.  I was mentally deciding whether to grab a bucket of water now or later in anticipation for rising flames I was surely about to discover.  And then, all of the sudden, we realized it was me.  I was on fire.  My first grade instincts did NOT kick in.  No part of me considered the need to stop, drop, or roll.  Instead we re-enacted a short version of a tribal dance where I stomped, patted, and subsequently squelched the burning denim.  My newly exposed ankle wasn’t even a little a hot.  Truly catching on fire had been avoided once more. 

Turns out, generally speaking, it is always good to be prepared for an emergency; important to know what to do and when to enact it, but emergency preparedness is typically just preparedness. 

Turns out, generally speaking, most adults I know can recite “stop, drop, and roll” and when it should be utilized.  Yet, I rarely see groups of adults in front yards running drills with military precision on the off chance their bodies would burst into flames.  While probably their own first grade memory will enact if the necessity ever arose, turns out, generally speaking, most adults I know are completely unconcerned about the prospect of catching on fire. 

Turns out, generally speaking (in my experience*), most Christians are as well.

A read through the book of Acts and most of the New Testament would make one think Christians could be bursting in flames with a much higher instance.  I can nearly envision Peter and Bartholomew and Paul and John and Timothy standing in front of groups of the curious and confused, the open and the skeptical.  I can hear Paul passionately proving the Old Testament scriptures and how they had been fulfilled in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  I can hear Peter admitting his denial and God’s faithfulness in light of his infidelity; his fervent desire to “feed the sheep”. I can hear John reminding the crowds of the words Christ has spoken, encouraging each to find him or herself connected to the Vine, to see Jesus as the way to the Father and the way to life.  And I can almost hear the gasp and anxious murmurs from the crowd as Followers of The Way convey an unbelievable and terrifying reality:


Perhaps it was never quite communicated in such a way but it was a known result. The disciples themselves had been anointed with fire at Pentecost, were filled with the Holy Spirit, were commissioned to go forward teaching and bringing the Gospel of Jesus Christ to the very ends of the earth.  This fire wasn’t only something they had to prepare for it was undeniable and certain. The Holy Spirit, promised to every believer as a guarantee of our inheritance, set lives ablaze in incredible ways.

Christians hear this.  Learn this.  Know this.  And are mostly unburdened and unconcerned with catching on fire…

I recently finished reading the book “Forgotten God” by Francis Chan**.  A book which suggests we’ve forgotten about catching on fire.  More so, we’ve neglected the Holy Spirit.  We neither seek to understand what it means to be anointed with fire or to have lives ablaze by the work of the Holy Spirit.  We are comfortable, complacent, consumers of spirituality and have forgotten the Spirit lives within us and the passion and fire of following should makes us cities on hill, the light of the world, those who shine like stars in a crooked and depraved generation.  And instead, too often, we’ve smelled the smoke, experienced just enough of the flames raising to tribal dance stomp that baby right out…to avoid truly catching on fire.

Confronted with the reality of both our spiritual depravity and what should be the both terrifying and exciting realization of catching on fire, I recognize we are still given the opportunity to stop and drop and roll.  Not to put the spark out but instead to fan it into flames.

Stop.  Where we are. What we are doing.  Find ourselves in the pause; the moment where the spark first takes root.  Not being so quick to disregard, to forget, to carry on without it, but allow it to burn.

Drop.  Everything.  Our whole lives.  Our whole beings.  Our wants.  Our desires.  Our passions. Our fears. It’s hard to faithfully follow when our arms and hearts are full of the life we are supposed to surrender. Throw off what so easily entangles. Cast burdens on Jesus.  Being in tune with the Spirit is about surrender. Being on fire is about throwing off the bushel which would otherwise snuff it out. 

Roll.  Or better yet...  Run.  Run with perseverance the race set out for us. It isn’t enough to stop or drop if we don’t also roll.  If we don’t find ourselves willing to be led to where God would have us at any moment.  Rolling is impossible without stopping and dropping…as it is not a mindless a pursuit but determined act of obedience….and requires a trust which knows no borders and no limits.

And then keep rolling.  Rolling because the more we move, the more we follow, the more licks of fire will touch every person and everything we encounter.  To be ablaze with the Holy Spirit is to be contagious, passionate, moving, active, faithful.  To not be found doing nothing when we realize we’ve caught on fire. 

My eyes are squinty, my brain is racing.  These are unfinished thoughts as I have considerations and ideas and ponderings I haven’t quite explored and am still trying to figure out.  Especially as it relates to my life.  My acts of obedience.  My openness and willingness to put myself aside to be in tune with Father…and what I need to do to really make the act of “Stop. Drop. Roll” a MUCH bigger deal in my life.  To know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that in doing so there would be a much higher instance of catching the world on fire…




*I realize my experience is limited and not a full or completely accurate description of the world as a whole. 


**I would recommend Forgotten God as a read. Thought provoking, compelling, and challenging – it very biblically presented a case for understanding the Holy Spirit and His role in the lives of believers.  Regardless of where you “stand”, I think Chan does a good job of forcing readers to consider how they relate to the Holy Spirit and why having a relationship with the Spirit is essential…

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Unsung Thank You's

Last week, much to my amazement and surprise (and hers as well, I believe!), I ran into a college professor.  Perhaps this wouldn’t have been such a surprising interaction if our run-in hadn’t taken place at the camp where I happen to be currently employed and where she happens to have been coming with a church for the last 25 years.  The surprise, for me, was met with delight.  Though a professor outside of my “field of study”, and my professor for a very specific “class” (namely the class which led into and included a three week stay in Uganda), my memories attest to a fondness.  Not just a fondness built out of an admiration, although such is most definitely present as she was and is a remarkable lady, but a fondness rooted in appreciation. 

I wondered, after connecting for a few minutes, if I had ever expressed as a student, or if there was a good way to express now, such appreciation.  Had I thanked her for meeting with me prior to the class to confide in her the reality of my life and ensure the trip would be plausible?  Did I thank her for the intentionality before she really knew me; insisting my soon to be “team” prayed for me as I returned from a second surgery?  Does she know how much it meant to me that she checked in with me pretty specifically about a couple key things during our trip… that while I couldn’t find a way to confide in her about everything, the fact she noticed meant the world? 

Not unrelated, almost a month ago, I was able to reconnect with the “older” couple who “hosted” me in their home the summer after my freshman year of college.  Shy and awkward and introverted as a way of life and not a personality trait, I’m sure I was an odd addition to their basement that summer.  As I strove to work with their church’s office and children’s ministry and servant evangelism programs as an intern, I learned a great deal about leadership and initiative and impact.  My summer internship was catalyst in changing my entire educational and life trajectory.  While I wouldn’t say we “bonded”, I do still hold them both dear and am terribly grateful for their willingness to invest in me.  To, as a result, invest in who I was and who I was becoming.  I know I thanked them then.  But do they really know?  Do they really have any idea?

Appreciation. Gratitude.  Thanks. 

I grew up instilled with the power of the words “please” and “thank you”.  I know them to be magic words.  And I know that while “please” can often be the magic word to getting what you want; “thank you” is often the set of magic words which give meaning to what was given.  As a “grown up”, I’ve come to see that the most powerful “thank you’s” are in return for gifts the giver didn’t always know he or she had bestowed. 

My life has been full of these gifts.  My unique experiences have given opportunity for people to be in and give into my life in ways, some for but a moment, for which I have attempted to communicate gratitude and yet I know I’ve fallen short.  For some I didn’t always see the gift for what it was until it was too late to thank effectively.  Or I was afraid of it being awkward.  Or, I don’t know.  How do you thank some one for giving you something which had an impact they had no idea about?  I hope I tried, awkward though it may have been.  And yet, I feel the weight of a dozen unsung thank you’s.  So while I can’t possibly cover them all, know that if I don’t cover “our story” specifically, this thank you is for you…

This thank you is for you…for the individual who came out of the woodwork as an intentional connection for but mere moments.  Several scattered throughout a given year over the course of several.  Someone who affirmed postscript the work I had done with camping and who invited me to share in new ways…both publicly in ministry and privately as an individual.  Who, in a very unimportant manner of ways, pointed to “tools with the tags still on” in my toolbox of gifts and graces and handed me some projects with which to use them.  For encouraging me as an individual and as one called to be active in ministry…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the friend to whom my deepest secrets became known.  Who held my confessions carefully as the broken offering they were.  Who listened without judgment.  Who supported without question.  Who bore the weight of my secrecy so I could be strong enough to fight the things which haunted me.  For holding things and me when there was little I could give back, for time and for friendship…thank you. 

This thank you is for you…for the trip leader who stayed intentional in the short weeks post the return from Puerto Rico.  The one who heard me nonchalantly explain my weekend plans and who asked me what I was going to do for Anika; if I had time to take care of me in the midst of the insanity before me.  The one who caught me off-guard by being the first to call out the attempt I made to be superhero and to do it all and be it all and challenged it (on the missions trip and after).  For beginning to see past a mask to the core of who I was before I was at a spot in life to let that mask down…thank you.

This thank you is for you...for the college classmate who became an unlikely friend.  The one with whom I had nothing in common (or so I thought). The one with whom I had no thought of our paths ever crossing in any meaningful way outside of a major or a Kono class...but they did.  The one with whom very little life was ever "done with" but who much life was once or twice discussed with... The one with whom false pretenses could be dropped and each of us could be allowed the ability and freedom to be real.  For long chats and personal affirmation and an unlikely friendship...thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the RD who was sort-of-my-boss-but-not my senior year of college.  The one who listened to me talk about where God had been showing up in the midst of the life that hurt.  For asking intentional questions and giving intentional responses.  For allowing me to pour out my soul on the sidewalk between Apartments A and B.  For affirmation and genuineness…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the classmates who picked me up at my apartment and forcefully demanded I get in their car and drove me to the ER when they thought I had appendicitis (but I was "too busy" to get it checked out).  The ones who were willing to put their own commitments aside on the chance I might need some convincing. For making someone outside of your normal circle of friends a priority…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the male classmate who, upon awkwardly hearing my afore-mentioned “appendicitis scare” was actually an ovarian cyst the size of a tennis ball, took it upon himself to check in daily.  For asking sincerely if there was anything he could do to make it better and who, when finding out it simply needed to burst, would greet me across the plaza by mock shooting his own side and aiming his finger gun at mine.  For making me laugh and for caring genuinely about something you couldn’t possibly understand…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the college professor whose 9am class I fell asleep in religiously during my first semester of cancer treatment.  The one to whom I attempted to apologize to but who instead apologized to me for not meeting me to pray over me sooner.  Who told me quick naps or not I was still rightfully earning the “A” I was receiving in his challenging class.  For grace and understanding…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the friend who stopped what he was doing with his core group of friends to check in on me when I first got sick (but I didn’t know what was wrong yet).  The one who lost the race to ask if I had heard anything new and if there was anything he could do.  The one who prayed for me there in the middle of campus.  The one who came to visit me in the hospital while I was still hopped up on pain killers and looking like a champion in bloody bandages and my hospital gown.  For epitomizing “friend” (though our friendship had been an odd one) when I needed friends the most…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the pastor who deaned the camp I volunteered at.  The one who called me a leader when, looking back, I doubt I had displayed much worth noting.  The one who knew I would strive to live up to such a meaningful identity.  The one who gave me tasks I knew nothing of and told me I was capable…in such a way that I would see that I did have what it took.  The one who gave me the spring board for curriculum development and fundamental leadership.  The one who, by example, helped confirm a passion in myself to be about intentional ministry.  For perhaps unknowingly and unintentionally being a coach from the sidelines and as a result empowering me to play in this game called life…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the high school teacher who highlighted my ability to be creative with my writing.  The one who knew I was quiet but saw almost instantly that I used words as an outlet for thoughts louder than I was.  The one who encouraged me to continue to allow words to flow.  For unknowingly giving me the tool I would need to cope and for fanning a spark so it wouldn’t go out before I had a chance to allow it to catch fire…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the mom of the girls I babysat so many times during my high school years.  The one who found unique ways to value me and my personhood far outside the fact she and her husband employed me as an occasional caregiver for her children.  The one who engaged me in conversation about classes and homework and college applications as she drove me home and who gave me a luggage carrier to help tote around my monstrosity of a backpack.  The one whom I was tempted to believe (and wished I would have somehow taken advantage of…), though older and wiser, was also my friend.  For being willing to invest…thank you.   

This thank you is for you…for the counselor at Wesley Woods.  The one every girl camper at camp wished was their counselor.  True when I was but 11 and a camper for the first time and true when I was 16 and counselor in training for the first time.  The one who was bubbly and passionate and fantastic…the person (and eventually counselor) I so desperately wished to be.  The one who quite unknowingly showed me what it looked like to live and serve in such a way that others would see Christ.  The one who listened to me shakily share my story at a firebowl and then came to tell me that through me Christ was shown to you (what a table turner in my brain!).  For being Jesus was skin on and an example this young girl desperately needed…thank you.

This thank you is to you…for the 8th grade teacher at my new school who noticed.  Who saw that life for me somehow wasn’t what it could be.  Who saw I didn’t fit in and was struggling to be a student…let alone the student of excellence I wished to be. Who assigned me work outside of the curriculum for the rest of the class...to challenge me and to keep me engaged.  Who wrote me a letter of recommendation to get into an accelerated academic program in high school which would empower me outside of the school I was in.  For seeing what I was capable of and for freeing me…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the only true youth leader I ever had.  The one who invested herself as well as her time into the straggly teens in her care.  The one who is the first I recall affirming me in such a way as to say “Anika is strange but Anika is okay”.  The one who opened my eyes to the idea that there was more than one way to do life and one of them might be without nylons… For loving me for me – including all the awkwardness a 12 year old could possibly hold in her body – in such a way that I still feel the reverberations of such an impact today…thank you.

And on my list could and should go…

And so this thank you is for you…for the one reading this right now.  For the way(s) you have perhaps unintentionally, perhaps unknowingly, perhaps unwillingly impacted my life.  The ways in which I am shaped because of the experience I have had, even for the briefest moment, with you.  Thank you for the gift given by your presence and existence. Thank you for ordinary interactions which made for extraordinary moments.  I wish this “thank you” could some how be a repayment gift enough to give meaning to the touches you’ve placed into my world.  And though I know it still falls short, for 1000 unsung thank you’s…may this be one which finally is heard sung back to you…


This thank you is for you… 

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Do That Again!

“Again! Again!”  He giggles with a huge toothy grin and thrusts his arms in the air.  I swoop down and clasp my “big hands” underneath of his arms, scoop him up, whirl him in circle with a “whooshing” noise and his precious and consistent giggles and then land him on the floor.

He staggers for a moment as he finds his center and balance.  Shoots me a mischievous grin and the process repeats itself. “Again! Again!  Do dat again!”

So we spin in circles until Anika is the one too dizzy to keep up the process. 

“Okay.  Last one buddy!”  He reluctantly agrees. He’s only two but seems to understand that adults have limits (and unfortunate centers of gravity!) even if little boys don’t.  I know, however, that if I didn’t tire…he wouldn’t either.

Such an occurrence isn’t uncommon for me these last few weeks (now several as I find myself finishing a before-started thought).  Life with my “small friends” is much of the same – regardless of the activity.  Spinning circles. Singing songs.  Dancing something (while spinning circles and singing songs…) When it comes to doing life, simple joys never get old.  And there is something incredibly precious about the delight of a child running back to you one more time… “Again! Again!  Do dat again!” 

Their giggles and their smiles make me consider Christ’s instructions – to come to Him like a child.  With innocence and trust. To simply be loved and to be known.  To delight in Him and Him in us. 

Children often have no trouble with faith.  It is adults, hardened by life and experience and intelligence, who want answers.  Faith, when rightfully considered, seems foolish.  Faith, when wholly considered, is the power of God…

It brought my mind immediately 1 Corinthians:  “Jews demand miraculous signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block for Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.  For the foolishness of God is wiser than man’s wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man’s strength…But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak thinks of the world to shame the strong.  He chose the lowly things of this wold and the despise things - and the things that are not  to nullify things that are, so that no one may boast before him...” (1 Corinthians 1:22-29)

In part of all of us resides that child. The one who knows simple joys don’t get old.  For some of us its harder to find (so hard I dare say there are some I’ve met who will never “find it back”) and harder still to recognize.  But believers: ones who, like a child (the nobodies and weaklings of society), have grasped onto the foolishness of God and claimed it as power, can’t help but admit the truth.  There is something both incredibly intricate and undeniably important about realizing identity as a child of God…

And part of me believes we connect best to God when we come as a child because part of the heart of God is that of a child as well.  If for no other reason than because He never tires of doing the same things over and over and over again – He seems to delight in it!  He is a God of repetition!  A God who set the world in motion in that seasons come and go and come again; the tide rises and falls; day follows night and night follows day.  A God whose mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22)… Whose faithfulness has never run out.  Whose promises are still true.  Yes, a God who delights in “doing it again”. 

And so do we…

I pause to consider what twitch my body starts to convulse in after I’ve heard the same song on repeat for two hours and I wonder.  I think about how my eyes start to glaze over after working on data entry and copying into multiple files for multiple hours (and days) on the computer and I scoff.  Repetition?  Boring.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about finding meaning in the mundane but everyone has a limit!

And yet…

Very few people look at a night sky as the sun is beginning to set; the scene streaked with purples and pinks and reds and oranges; a hint of blue sky still behind billowy clouds with a golden sun shining as it falls; and think “Mmm.  Boring.  I already saw this one.”  Even if only for a moment, there is a pause to comment on its beauty or majesty; a smile of appreciation and a nod of agreement at nothing in particular noting it is indeed good.  Longer moments come with wide eyes and gaping mouths; a sharp intake of air because breath has been taken and replaced with awe.  And those who really pause to consider watch until the sun finally sets and as a dusky hue of coming night sky replaces the masterpiece they just took in and respond with “Again!  Again! Do it again!” 


Sunset after sunset and sunrise after sunrise.  With every imaginable piece of majesty and splendor in between.  Not just in creation where His presence and hand becomes so physically evident but in people and situations and moments… It baffles me sometimes how many things seem to exist in this world simply for our enjoyment.  Things which seem to serve no other purpose than to make our eyes widen and our smiles broaden.  How blessed we are that God does not grow tired or weary.  His arms don’t give out and His head doesn’t spin in dizzy circles.  God gives again and again that we might respond again and again with the same glee, the same praise, the same adoration.  He delights in us that we might delight in Him.  Almost as if He is at the end of something He has done a million times before...just waiting.  Just waiting with a goofy grin on His face to hear us say “Again! Again!  Do dat again!”  

Monday, June 2, 2014

To Be Found Faithful...

I’ve been around long enough and through enough to see patterns.  Like when God has something for me to learn from and grow in, He doesn’t let me simply drop it.  It’s a thought I can’t quite let go of…I will see it EVERYWHERE and in everything and it will spin until I act on it and do something about it.  Such is this blog.  A post of processing, in process for quite some time.  Words perhaps, again, for me alone, but words that demand a post none-the-less.

So, to begin…Three Vignettes…

First…It was one of those crazy days in the middle of March. (I could look back at some dates and posts to figure it out for sure…) But it was a day that started out almost warm…at least in comparison.  It was definitely above freezing…but barely.  And then it started to rain.  And it rained.  And of course the rain felt cold at 35 degrees.  But it was still just rain…until it froze.  My golf cart…which had its wind shield up for the rain was now frozen.  Not that I saw it right away.  I flew out of the Program Office on a mission…somewhere (really, I was ALWAYS on a mission) and put the golf cart in reverse…only to realize I couldn’t see anything. I got off quickly (I was on a mission after all!) with cold slushy rain falling all over my med bag and tried to break off the ice really fast but it was literally like a solid inch of hard rain slush frozen in a sheet of ice.  And, not only that, but it had also frozen the shield up so I couldn’t get it down without breaking the plastic. So I climbed back in and kept driving.  With my view being what I could see by leaning my head out the side of the cart…and what I could see by looking through the non-plastic covered crack just above the steering wheel (a inch or two, maybe). Either way I could basically only see like two or three feet in front of me.  I had to slow down.  I had to drive a yard at a time to get to my destination and back again…

Second vignette…it was a week later. Week of St. Patrick’s day.  And we had an exceptional camper at camp with us.  Now there have been several students over the last four years, especially those who are more medically “needy”, who have melted my heart and made an impression on me in notable ways.  But none as much as this one.  It was the week we had “Alex” with us at camp.  My coworkers too would remember Alex because Alex is a hard student to forget.  Alex was completely blind.  He was born premature and had multiple health problems – not the least of which was his lack of sight. He was small in stature and walked with a limp among many other things…but talking to him you would never guess.  Not only because he was the most normal student you would ever meet but because his disabilities never came up in conversation.  He never talked about what he couldn’t do.  He never used his lack of sight as an excuse.  He was hungry to have information about the world around him but he would ask for it and never demand it.  I remember being blown away by the question “what does my apple look like?”  How do you describe what something looks like to a child who has never seen the color red?  Has no concept of “shiny?” I had to change the way I saw my world.  And when it came to Alex, he trusted absolutely.  He recognized voices and knew who they belonged to and who he could trust.  And if you said “okay Alex, let’s go,” he would grab a hold of your arm and let you lead him to wherever he needed to be.  Alex had this profound way of embracing the journey and not worrying about the outcome…

Final vignette… My grandparents have been married for 55 years.  They are an incredible couple. A couple with their faults, definitely, but after five decades you see two people who were and are more than two married people.  A deep friendship and absolute partnership.  And when I lived with them for a summer I watched and I was able to also see their insecurities. After all of this time… Grandma still wanted to please Grandpa.  Was still careful to change menus and clothes to whatever Grandpa liked the best.  She wanted his acceptance.  And Grandpa, after all this time Grandpa was afraid of being alone.  One of the reasons I believe he was drawn to marrying my grandmother (via the stories I’ve heard) was for her companionship and friendship.  And Grandpa always wanted Grandma near.  That was two and three years ago.  It is even more so the case now.  My Grandpa – the same man who scared the snot out of me as a child – can be seen with flecks of fear in his own eyes as Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s begin to claim him.  Grandma will tell me how hard it can be.  How much attention Grandpa demands – simply because he doesn’t want Grandma out of his sight.  Always as if he’s afraid if she’s not close, he’ll forget her too or lose her in the recesses of the mind that used to be so incredibly sharp.  And Grandma writes that this has been a challenge but is so thankful that the Good Lord is with her and hasn’t given her more than she can handle and that He is teaching her still...


So where do these three stories come together?  For me they have been spinning in a revolving circle for quite some time.  And they come together in the word “FAITHFULNESS”.  Faithfulness.  The ability to have faith, to be faithful.  And while I’ll probably come back to these three vignettes, I also believe together they provide a picture of what faithfulness is…  With my grandpa and grandma we see dedication, longevity, resilience, and reliance…on each other, in their marriage, and on God.  We see that being faithful is about facing forward “no matter what may come.”  With Alex, we see absolute trust.  And we know that trust comes with surrender.  Faithfulness is almost always connected with the loss of self in the continuous pursuit of where God would call us to be.  And with my frozen window, we notice the need for ongoing trust.  For submission to a path.  The ability to continue with or without answers, with or without knowledge of where or what lies ahead. 

I’ve been kind of obsessed with this idea of what it means to be faithful lately.  The coming of summer always means the coming of transition.  Especially for people like Outdoor Education Instructors…aka: people whose lives change dramatically for just the summer month.  The summer comes with transition for “seasonal employees”.  For some it’s a transition to a new title or position for a few months to transition back to a very similar position and title as now.  For some, for me, that transition is severe.  It’s a series of micro and macro transitions as I change perceptions of what life is supposed to look like. And in anticipating transition of my own and being discouraged by what I have to look towards, the idea of faithfulness has consumed me.  The realization that in and amongst it all, I simply wanted to be found faithful. 

When I start thinking of faithfulness, I immediately start thinking of God’s faithfulness to me as mere mortal and only one of seven billion on the planet.  Great is thy faithfulness!  Oh God my father.  There is no shadow of turning in thee.  Thou changest not.  Thy compassions, they fail not.  Great is thy faithfulness of Lord to me!  “Yet this I call to mind and there fore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘the Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him…’” (Lamentations 2:21-24).  How great God’s faithfulness is to an unfaithful people.  An unfaithful person...  And as I continued to consider God’s faithfulness I was stuck by the reality that, at the very least, we are called to be found in the likeness of Christ, faithfulness is supposed to be true of us as well.  I started scouring my bible for a definition of faithfulness.  What it means to be faithful.  I didn’t have to go far but it was long.  The bible is full of those who demonstrated faithfulness and those who were the definition of unfaithful.  But I looked to those who were…names familiar.  Noah. Abraham.  Moses.  Ruth.  David.  Nehemiah.  Esther.  Job.  Isaiah.  Habakkuk.  Mary.  Paul.  Peter.  John… 

I saw patterns.  The things that defined faithfulness…things I was able to sight earlier in my vignettes .  Trust, rooted in belief and hopeSurrender and loss of self, rooted in the pursuit of a will belonging to God and God’s purposes.  And obedience, rooted in commitment, longevity and perseverance – but not a picture of the end. A long journey in a short direction…

I often want a picture of the end.  I feel like that’s where I struggle the most.  I could be more faithful if I could see the destination.  But that’s not true faithfulness.  It’s not true trust.  Not true surrender.  We’re good at making plans.  James warns us about making plans.  About boasting about tomorrow: “No listen, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.’ Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow! What is your life?  You are a mist that appear for a little while then vanishes.  Instead you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.’...” (James 4:13-15).  The picture of the end isn’t for me to hold.  Instead I’m asked, told, instructed to embrace the journey and surrender the outcome.  Proverbs 3:5-6 tells us to trust in the Lord with all of heart and lean not in our own understanding but in all of our ways to acknowledge him and he will make our paths straight.  Much as Jeremiah 29 tells us that if we seek him, he will be found by us when we seek with all of our hearts.  And we begin to understand that seeking and following is at the core of the fact that God knows the plans he has for us.  At the end of our faithfulness is Him.  And we are to let go of everything else in the pursuit…

“Therefore since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses [those who have been found faithful], let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.  Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God [was found faithful]. Consider him who endure such opposition from sinful men so that you will not grow wear and lose heart [so that you will be found faithful].” (Hebrews 12:1-3 annotation added)

Faithfulness is many things but in the end, it is simply the pursuit of God and the willingness to follow. One should always listen when being called away from something (or to something… although I’m much less familiar with what the latter feels like).  But one should never expect it to be easy.  To be quick or to be painless.  Faithfulness is a long journey in a short direction… walking ever steadily closer to where God’s intentions are waiting.  Though the end be dark and unknown, with the ability to see only feet or inches in front of me, may I grasp hold of the hand belonging to the Voice which calls me to follow and be faithful to trust wherever He may lead…

“May all who come behind us, find us faithful.  May the fire of our devotion light the way.  And may the footprints that we leave, lead them to believe; and the lives we live inspire them to obey.  May all who come behind us, find us faithful…”


Find me faithful…

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Death Is Easy

Jesus’ death on the cross wasn’t His greatest sacrifice.

I know that sentence comes with the air of many trending articles and blog posts. I’ll write something like “Why I still go on dates even though I’m married!” to lure you with indignation and confusion before telling you why my statement isn’t actually false even though it doesn’t mean what you think it means…

My line means exactly what it means.  It had not luring motives or hidden agendas.  Continue on in your indignation if you wish.  But I maintain what I first stated:

Jesus’ death on the cross wasn’t His greatest sacrifice.

The season of Lent always serves a very intense and profound purpose: to make me reflective.  To leave me in wonder and awe.  To be left utterly amazed by the love of the Father.  The love of God to watch the people He created to love Him, fall and fail.  And to watch the fall of man and to create a plan “he will crush your head and you will strike his heel” (Genesis 3:15)…a plan to bring those created in love and by love and for love…to bring them back to Love.  I’m left baffled by the patience.  The patience of God to wait.  To watch His people ebb and flow back and forth between obedience and insolence.  Knowing that His plan was ready but his people were not.  But, when the time was right, God sent his son, born of a woman…(Galatians 4:4).  God, on earth, with us, Emmanuel!  Those facts alone drop me to my knees…

And then comes Lent, the preparation for Easter, and somehow – despite all we know – there is more.  As is always.  God is always more than the limitations we place on Him.  God is always more than the finite limitations of human understanding…  The immediate “more” comes easily into full focus.  Jesus came to die.  Christmas and Easter are indubitably connected.  Easter cannot exist without Christmas (obvious you might say!) but nor does or can Christmas exist without Easter.  It’s been said by those much wiser, smarter, and closer to Jesus than I am that the manger existed in the shadow of the cross. 

Jesus came to die. 

And He HAD to die.  For a hundred reason which serve separately than the current scope of this post.  Jesus was always part of God’s plan for redemption and reconciliation.  Sin, which entangles and separates humankind from God (spoiler! This is important in a bit!) had to be atoned for.  A lamb without blemish needed to have blood spilled in sacrifice to a perfect God.  Prophesy was fulfilled.  Jesus, Son of God and son of man, was slain as an atonement for sin.  For my sin.  He was obedient, even obedient to death on a cross (Philippians 2). 

Jesus died for me. 

Any strength left in those dropped knees has shattered.

And they should.

But it’s not enough.

Too often those finite limitations of human understanding end there.  Our scientific minds end at the end of our understanding.  And though we are still restricted, we understand death.  We can comprehend the magnitude and finality of death.  There is nothing worse than death.

Jesus, who was without sin, was handed over to sinful men to take on the weight of sin. The weight of the sin of the whole world.  And the penalty for sin is death.  Jesus made the ultimate sacrifice for us in death on the cross. 

But He didn’t.  Jesus’ ultimate sacrifice wasn’t in His death. 

Because death is easy.

“Very rarely will anyone die for a righteousness man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die…”  Paul tells us in Romans 5.  He then proceeds with the same knee jello-ing truth of the reality… Christ not only died for the righteous but the unrighteous. 

And yet…people who can in no way compare to Christ have died for others.  Have sacrificed their lives for another.  It’s not unheard of… In fact, anything newsworthy to hit one right in the feels often has to do with sacrifice.  A soldier who not only died protecting a comrade but committed to service believing his life would mean life for an entire country.  The teacher who protected against an attacker. The mother who stands in the way of a bullet.  The stranger who pushes another out of the way of a moving car.  People willingly put their lives on the line for others. 

For even just one other person, we find people willing to die.

Though their intentions and motives be strewn across any sphere of reasoning and rationale, if you were to announce that one life could be sacrificed to save every other life in the known world (completely disregarding any life to come)…I believe the applications would be endless.  I don’t consider myself noble, sacrificial, or especially good.  But I do believe if I was given that option, I would take it.  I would gladly take on the punishment of death if it meant those I knew and those I didn’t could live.  It would be a sacrifice I would willingly make.  No, it wouldn’t take away the fear or the trepidation or the uncertainty.  But I would go…

And Jesus would greet me as I took my dying breath…

It is in this sentence I find my truest reality.  The love I was created for and to Know would be my eternity of reality.  It’s the story maker, the story shaper, and the story changer.

The reality of Christ frees me from the punishment of sin and death (Romans 6:22-23). See the punishment of sin is death…and the punishment of death is eternity.  An eternity without God.

Sin separates us from God (Isaiah 59:2).  Habakkuk 1:13 tells us God can’t look at evil.  And the rote Romans 3:23 reminds us that all have fallen short of the glory of God.  [Although I’m of personal opinion that while God’s holiness is incompatible with sin, is us that creates the separation, not God.  God came for the ungodly – He bridged the gap.  Our sin, however, pulls us further away from the heart of God and therefore drives a deeper wedge between where we are and where God calls us to be.]  We sin.  So we know separation from God. 

Jesus didn’t.  Jesus, without sin, was handed over to sinful men to bear the consequence of sin.  Death.  Eternal separation from God.  Jesus, who was God and who was with God and who was part of the plan from the beginning only knew the extreme presence and incarnation of the Father within Him.  We see the Holy Spirit rest upon Jesus at His baptism where God’s voice from heaven says “this is My Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased” (Luke 3:22) but God’s presence wasn’t waiting for this moment.  Jesus never had a case of confused identity.  Even as a boy when He stayed behind at the temple He questioned why His parents would come looking for Him “Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?” (Luke 2:49) Jesus knew intimately the presences of the One who called Himself “I AM.”

And Jesus’ dying breath wasn’t going to me met with “I AM”.  It was to be met with a complete absence of God.  When Jesus cries out with His dying breaths “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?”… “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  (Matthew 27:46) Jesus met death with the consequence of death…the absence of God.

In so lies Jesus’ greatest sacrifice.  He was willing to not only sacrifice His earthly life but His relationship with God that we might be in relationship with God. 

He endured Hell that we might never have to experience Hell. 

He bore a separation from God which never was a part of His being that we might never have to know a day, a moment, without His presence. 

And then He conquered it.  He conquered death and He conquered Hell.  And He rose.  And He lives.  He lives that we may know Him. Lives that we be in relationship with Him.  Lives that we may serve Him.  Lives that others may be drawn to know and to serve Him.  Lives so that, as the song says, we can face tomorrow. 

He made the greatest sacrifice.


Can I but respond to faithfully give Him my life…

Sunday, March 2, 2014

But I'm Only Human...

It’s that time of year.

The time of year which comes almost as faithfully as my desire for it to leave. 

It’s that time of year where, quite literally, winter will not end.  That time where it feels as if winter has been here forever and though I long for any temperature which will allow me to be without a shiver and without purple fingers and blue lips…inside, spring seems desperately far away.  The cold remains. 

It’s that time of year where my copious amounts of Vitamin C, my obsessive hand washing in conjunction with my hand sanitizer fetish, and my attempts to drink enough water and maintain healthy habits have finally failed me.  The cold has set in and so has a cold.  My nose runs faster than a track star and my sneezing registers on the Richter Scale.  It’s that time of year where “feeling miserable” feels, well, predictable.

It’s that time of year where I’m just…tired.  The sun has been covered for too long.  My Vitamin D3 is feeling the lag.  My body fights harder to stay warm and to be healthy and to walk on slippery cement and I collapse into bed at night and hope the short hours will be enough.

But the hours are always too short.  Both to sleep and to be awake.  I can never get all the sleep I wish for and I can never complete all my to-do list insists upon.  And let’s not even talk about the things I can only dream of…The things I would complete if I had a second and separate life to live…

This is the reality.  The unfortunate truth.  The likely story in which I am not a lone character.

At one point, this reality would have bothered me.  I was just a cape short of a superhero and there was nothing I was incapable of doing if I didn’t try hard enough…

And I wanted to be the superhero.  Pridefully, I think I wanted to be seen as the superhero as well.  My egotistical side (which I am ashamed to admit I have) wanted to be seen as one who could and would do it all…with the help of Jesus and two cups of coffee or less! I liked better to be told to sit down and rest for a second – told to not carry the weight of the whole world on my shoulders – that I was doing too much and needn’t try so hard.  To be told not to be a superhero than to be asked to try…

But right now?  Right now being a superhero sounds freaking exhausting!  Not only can I not do it all, there is not a glimmer in me wanting to. 

And that’s a blow to my pride if there ever was one.  Not much damages it quicker.  It’s almost embarrassing in my Dutch stubbornness to admit I, in fact, am not capable of it all. 

Yet, it seems almost too easy to admit.  I recall looking at a coworker who came to me with a problem late in the week that I was given the impression I was expected to swoop in and fix.  And all I truly recall about the problem is that something inside of me snapped.  “No.”  I said emphatically (I almost never say “no”…).  “I can’t. If I had known about this sooner I could have tried, if indeed it has been an all week problem, but not on Thursday afternoon.  There is too much else to be done.  And I, I’m only human…”

The response wasn’t a pleasant one but it was my reality.  And the response I was given was one of frustration.  The tug-a-war being placed on my psyche to both swoop in and save the day and feeling completely incapable tore at me until I finally crashed that night.  That night when still the words “I’m only human” radiated through my brain like a scrolling marquee…

It was a helpless admittance of defeat.  To claim I was human was to make me no better than every other pathetic chap and worse than most. 

I have been drawn in the days since to my favorite Michael Jackson song (made my favorite by Free Willy.  Don’t Judge).  The song “Will You Be There?”  The song begs for someone to be there.  To fight for him.  To befriend him.  To love him unconditionally. You can hear the weariness of life in the words.  And then comes this set of lines I tend to remember when I only mumble the words before and after… “But they told me…A man should be faithful…And walk when not able…And fight til the end…But I’m only human…” 

But I’m only human…

Many times I’ve tried to walk when not able and be the last one standing, still fighting.  To somehow prove my faithfulness.  My faithfulness to people.  My faithfulness to my job.  And especially, and most importantly, faithfulness to God.  Yet, my voice and my walk riddles with the weariness life gives and my response is a same helpless but emphatic “I’m only human…”

And sometimes I wonder whether or not God celebrates when I wearily admit “But I’m only human…”  As if he is sitting there throwing up His hands declaring “Finally!  Now that she knows she’s human, maybe she will allow me to be God!”  I’m really good at attempting to take life by the horns and into my own hands.  I see it as being faithful but what it’s not is surrender.  Surrender is being faithful to follow and always allowing God to have the control and the first place in my life.  If God is second (or further down on the list), almost assuredly true faithfulness is as well.    

I forget God created and designed me as a human.  He could have made me anything and he made me, me.  And while I, and others in the world, will sometimes ask what He was thinking… this is what and who I am.  He made me Anika.  A mere mortal.  Which means, drum roll please, He doesn’t need me!  I can attempt to complete the longest to-do list my job has ever known and I can stop to take a bow when the last black line has crossed the bulleted list, yet the applause will be only superficial if I did through my own power alone and for my praise alone…to add another badge to my superhero girl scout troop cape.  No, when working for the kingdom, I am but a tool that God chooses to employ.  A mere mortal which allows Christ to be the increase. Paul reminds me in 2 Corinthians that God’s power is made perfect in my weakness.  Admitting I’m human remains proof that any superhero quality I display is that of a mere clay pot… fantastically ordinary holding the Extraordinary, any greatness not of my own.

I’ve discovered and am discovering too that admitting I’m human comes with its own surrender.  Of arrogance and pride.  Of my desire to be God (Which thankfully I am not!) And as long as I’m laying those aside, I’m not only allowed but invited to ask for help.  Human help is nice (as are the days when their arms can hold and carry) but God’s faithfulness and presence is as sure as mine is riddled with infidelity...

The answer to “Will You be there?” is always “I already am.”  Psalm 145:18 says “The Lord is near to all who call on him…” and Jeremiah 29:13 promises that if we seek we will find when we seek with all of our heart.  Furthermore the Psalmist questions in Psalm 139 where we can go to get away from God’s spirit and how far we would have to flee to get away from God’s presence.  1 John 4 tells us that if we know love, God abides in us and Jesus promises in the book of John to send the Holy Spirit as the “comforter” or "advocate" to be with us always. "Will You be there?"  "Always..."

It’s that time of year again…
The one which I wish would simply leave…
I stumble when I walk and want to give up before the end of the fight…
And it turns out I’m only human. 
May God be given the glory in this life I once again surrender to the Arms which have always been there to carry and to hold…