Getting Out of the Self-Absorption Closet

I've been pretty self-absorbed lately. Ironic, as I sit here writing a blogpost about...well, me. I'm usually very introspective, which can be both extremely healthy and extremely detrimental to my mental state. I like to keep it on the healthy, centering side of things as much as possible. No, lately I've been less concerned about contemplating who I am and how I live my life and much more concerned with stressing over the little things (my apologies to the universe for the amount of frustration I have recently expressed needlessly). Self-reflective versus self-absorbed. See the difference?

I realized it last week when John Ray and I sat down with the book of Common Prayer (specifically the one by Shane Claiborne prescribed for "ordinary radicals"). We were going through the liturgy and came to three bolded words that threw me for a loop: "Prayer for Others." Jesus Christ, there are others?! I thought, giving John Ray a look of bewilderment. He shrugged his shoulders and, realizing I was not going to say my prayer for others out loud, bowed his head to silently pray. In defense of myself, I honestly have felt very removed from any world outside our apartment. I (in my biased opinion) did a good job keeping the whole wedding season from being one big Elizabeth-fest because I wanted it to be about both of us and all of our family/friends. Now, though, we're in a new city where we've met few people and don't truly know anyone. So in terms of "others" here in Louisville, I didn't think I had anyone to pray for. Perhaps I could pray that others would be sent my way? I suggested to the dumbfounded silence in me. I have "others," though, who live in Charleston...Rock Hill...other places. Yet, I have felt so distant from them while trying to establish a new life here that I didn't have anything to meditate on for them. My life has been centered on creating a house and home, cooking and eating, looking for jobs, and watching Netflix when my introverted brain can take no more. Please, God, not another seven pages of job listings that are just barely interesting...but just interesting enough to make me read through all of them.

This started the thinking process...and a week later, here I sit: in my closet at midnight with all the lights off. Mostly because I kept John Ray up with abstract questions ("Do you think any person is ever completely powerless?") until I felt so guilty that I let him fall asleep only to have the questions continue floating around in my head--moving from self-absorption to self-reflection, stretching those forgotten muscles in anticipation. Just an example: I know that if I was truer to myself and read Huffington Post articles about interfaith prayer strengthening communities instead of brain-melting as I scroll through Facebook, unfollowing people who post too much, I would feel more energized and more connected with the world. I would probably view our neighbors, who seem just as shy as I seem severely allergic to small talk, as people to get to know and not people to check out the blinds for to decide if I should delay getting the mail or not...But I hyperbolize.

I am working on a post about "prayer" (to be defined and reimagined in various ways, I promise) because it's something I have spent a lot of time deconstructing and exploring. Also, my little sister and I just had an awesome conversation about it that was everything I needed and more. So that's coming. But first, I needed to sit in my closet and work through the blurriness of self-reflection and self-absorption. It's for me, but hey, you've joined in now and why not let it be for you, too? Self-absorption is insecure while self-reflection demonstrates how secure the mind really can be. Self-absorption disguises itself as a need so often (i.e. I need to figure out how I fit in this job description so I can get a job) while self-reflection allows honesty and vulnerability to be remarkably powerful. I volunteered during college as a direct defense to the self-absorbed thought processes that leave me depressed and anxious, while self-reflection was a powerful tool to take my service to a lifestyle of questioning injustice and pursuing peace. That shouldn't change now.

There are others. I just need to change my perspective and approach. Right now, they might come in the form of abstracts and possibilities, news articles and hypothetical community members; they might be people I need to get back in touch with in an attempt to continue living life alongside them...even states away. I'm hoping that they also come in the form of real, honest community here in Louisville.

Preaching to the Powers

Recently, my lovely roommate, who is in a public speaking class, gave a speech on human trafficking. It's an issue near to both of our hearts, especially in light of the fast-approaching holidays and the excessive amount of buying and consuming that accompanies them. Because of her five minute time limit, she chose to focus specifically on labor trafficking, and much to her annoyance, someone's iPhone went off several times during her speech. Apparently someone in the class before had left it sitting on a desk. No one could figure out how to unlock it and turn the alert sounds off. Courtney persisted in spite of the interruptions, but was really disheartened because she felt her speech wasn't as good/powerful/impacting as it could have been under ideal circumstances.

I was in our kitchen when she got back from her speech class. She told me what happened with a little half frown hanging on the corner of her mouth. And something occurred to me...

A friend had just a few days prior told me about one of his professors who believed people don't preach to other people but to the powers of the world: powers of oppression, powers of injustice, powers of hope. In this process, people sometimes overhear, but they aren't the intended audience. There are a lot of powers that need to hear people advocating for freedom and justice. And the iPhone going off repeatedly in the middle of Courtney's speech gave me hope that the powers were listening...and responding.

Apple is a huge company that I often feel is quickly taking over the world. I'm writing this on a iPad. There are at least five people I can see in the Starbucks where I'm sitting using iPhones at this very moment. Everyone in America knows the cute little logo. A little over a year ago, I would have told you that Apple is one of my favorite companies: great products, great customer service, great people. Now, though, I'm telling you that Apple is not what I thought. If an iPad were made by workers in the States, fair wage laws would push the price up to nearly $15,000. Instead, we pay a few hundred to add it to our armory of Apple products. It would be cliche if I made some statement about the terrible working conditions for Chinese workers making Apple products. You would probably brush it off and skip down to the next paragraph where I'm sure to start talking about bacon or something less heavy than the human rights issues around cheap labor. I don't even know what it's really like inside a factory where people work long hours in poor conditions for low and unfair wages. I have never lived that life, and, like the majority of Americans, I probably never will. A homeless man in Marion Square Park once told me, "You don't know what it's like. You just don't know." He nailed it. But just because Courtney and I don't know what it is like to be homeless in Charleston or to be an underpaid, unfairly treated factory worker for one of the most successful companies in the world does not mean we cannot be activists and preach to the powers. Here's the thing: the powers of injustice and oppression are even harder at work in Apple factories in China than the Chinese workers are. 

So when Courtney spoke out against the injustice of labor trafficking, the powers responded, using the iPhone as a voice. And as she explained her "defeat" to me, it seemed more and more like a victory, where the powers heard her and responded. I told her this, as she sat at my feet in our little kitchen, next to the sink with too many dishes waiting to be washed and the stove where black beans were cooking patiently. I was just thinking out loud, looking for a bit of meaning in her hours of preparation and in her heart for the issue at hand. The two of us arrived at a beautiful moment of grace, though. And it has given us renewed will to not give in to the great defeat of the world.

Thanks be to God for small miracles,
          for responses to our voices,
          for weapons against defeatism.
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
     Have mercy on us.
May the powers of oppression hear:
     the facts,
     the stories,
     the heartbeats.
May they listen and do what we ask.
Oh, the efficacy of our honest hearts' requests!
Lord, teach us justice,
     teach us the way of being free for freedom's sake,
     teach us wisdom in our consuming,
     and grant us a mind set on your kingdom on earth,
          and your kingdom eternal.
Speak out against those who cheat employees of their wages,
Give them voices to call out for themselves,
Give us the courage to be messengers of truth
     for them.
Do not deprive us of your ear, Lord of mercy,
     God of justice.
     So be it.

"'I will speak against those who cheat employees of their wages, who oppress widows and orphans, or who deprive the foreigners living among you of justice, for these people do not fear me,' says the LORD Almighty." Malachi 3:5

Be What You Should Be

Sometimes I do crazy things. Usually they don't fall into the typical reckless college student category, but I do crazy things nonetheless.

My dad used to tell me that I should ask God the hard questions. He said to do it boldly because God can handle my questions and because I'm likely not the first person asking them. Lately, I've been asking God a lot of questions, pushing at the sealed-up edges of what I "know," of what I've always just "known." The edges have been coming unsealed, and instead of finding answers, I've been finding more questions. One of my favorite authors, Donald Miller, tweeted the other day, "If you want answers, do math. If you want love or beauty or Jesus, dive into mystery." I don't want to do math, and so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by the lack of answers. This is certainly not the first time I've looked to God in my forest of question marks and not discovered the finality of a period.

A couple weeks ago, I decided to petition God. This is where the story of crazy doings begins.

I stumbled over a couple verses in Lamentations I'd never noticed before:

So it is good to wait quietly for salvation from the LORD. And it is good for people to submit at an early age to the yoke of his discipline: Let them sit alone in silence beneath the LORD’s demands. Let them lie face down in the dust, for there may be hope at last. (Lamentations 3:26-29 NLT)

Maybe I took it a little too literally, but I decided to make my requests known to God and then to be silent before Him for an entire day. I waited quietly for the Lord's salvation. I fell into a state of mourning, which was appropriate since I was living out Lamentations. And for an entire day, I protested God for His answers and His salvation.

Did it work? Did I get the answers I sought? Yes and no...I laid down with my face in the dust of the earth both literally and metaphorically. And I waited for hope to begin at last. Indeed, it feels like hope is beginning again for the first time in months. The key word there is "beginning." It began with a day of mourning followed by a bookended day of redemption. My roommate and I woke up for a sunrise run to the Battery and Waterfront Park. We were so early we met only darkness and had to wait patiently on the pier overlooking the water for awhile before the morning began to roll back night's cover, the spangled stars disappearing gradually. From that moment until evening fell and found me at a Gungor concert, I, like the day, became so full of life.

The Gungor concert was too perfect for words. I love that Gungor boldly gives God a voice and that they sing so completely for Him. It was an experience, one that sent me out feeling more saved than when I arrived. And amidst all the familiar riffs, banjo patterns, and vocals that give lift to my heart, Michael Gungor stood on stage alone and sang a song I'd never heard before, "Song For My Family." As he sang, he proceeded to give voice to the storm of chaos in my heart. The song didn't give me answers, but it gave me hope.

This is a song for my family

Outside the walls of Sunday morning 

From some within.

This is a song to confess our sins,

Lay it all out, and try to begin again.

To hope again.

Please forgive our ignorance

In looking down on you

Please forgive our selfishness

For hiding in our pews while the world bleeds

While the world needs us to be what we should be 

This is a song for my family who 

Just can’t believe in the Jesus that you’ve seen 

On Sunday morning.

This is a song for the cynical saints.

The burned out and hopeless.

The ones that we’ve cast away.

I feel your pain.

Please forgive the wastefulness of all that we could be

But don’t forget, there’s more than this

Her beauty still exists

His bride is still alive

This is a song for my family 

Inside the walls of Sunday morning.

Be what you should be.

The Joyful Blogpost

I revel in Isaiah 40:


"Comfort, oh comfort my people," says our God. "Speak softly and tenderly to Jerusalem, but also make it very clear that she has served her sentence, that her sin is taken care of--she is REDEEMED! She's been punished enough and more than enough, and now it's over and done with."

Thunder in the desert! "Prepare for God's arrival! Make the road straight and smooth, a highway fit for our God. Fill in the valleys, level off the hills, smooth out the ruts, clear out the rocks. Then God's bright glory will shine, shine, shine and everyone will see it. The LORD has spoken."
A voice says, "Shout!"
I said, "What shall I shout?"
"PEOPLE ARE NOTHING BUT GRASS, THEIR LOVE AS FRAGILE AS WILDFLOWERS! The grass withers, the wildflowers fade, under the Lord's breath. True, the grass withers and the wildflowers fade, but our God's Word stands firm and forever. I'm sorry, did you not hear me? OUR GOD'S WORD STANDS FOREVER."

Climb a high mountain, Zion. You're the preacher of good news. Raise your voice. Say it good and loud, Jerusalem. Don't be timid! Tell the cities of Judah, "Look! Your God!" Look. At. Him. Look at him! God, the Master, comes in power, ready to go into action. He is going to pay back his enemies and reward those who have loved him. Like a shepherd, he will care for his flock, gathering the lambs in his arms, hugging them as he carries them, leading the nursing ewes to good pasture.

Who else held the oceans in his hands? Who has measured off the heavens with his fingers? Who else knows the weight of the earth or has weighed out the mountains and hills? That's right. NO ONE.
Who is able to advise the Spirit of the LORD? Who knows enough to be his teacher or counselor? If we think we can advise the Holy Spirit, we have inverted our relationship with God.
No, for all the nations of the world are nothing in comparison with him. They are but a drop in the bucket, dust on the scales. We are mere emptiness and froth. That stuff that washes up on beaches, disappearing into nothing.

So who even comes close to being like God? To whom or what can you compare him? Some no-god idol? Ridiculous! Do you want a "god" that can't even stand up on it's own?

Have you not been paying attention? Have you not been listening? Have you listened but not truly heard? Haven't you heard these stories all your life? Don't you understand the foundation of all things? God sits high above the round ball of earth. The people look like mere ants. He stretches out the skies like a canvas-yes, like a tent canvas to live under. He ignores what all the princes say and do. The rulers of the earth count for nothing. Princes and rulers don't amount to much.

"To whom will you compare me? Who is my equal?" asks the Holy One.

Look up to heavens. Who created all the stars? Who brings them out one by one, calling each by name and counting them carefully to be sure none have strayed?

O Israel! O Charleston! O Church, brotherhood of believers! How can you say that the Lord doesn't see your troubles? How can you say God refuses to hear your case? God is rolling his eyes at your ignorance. Haven't you heard? Don't you understand? Don't you know that the LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of all the earth? He doesn't grow faint. He never becomes weary. No one can measure the depth of his understanding.

He gives power to the tired and worn out, the burnt out. He offers his matchless strength to the weakest of men. Even youth and college students become exhausted beyond the assistance of espresso. Even young men give up. But those who wait upon the Lord and delight in him will find new strength. They will fly high on wings like eagles, running and never growing weary. They will walk the narrow path with enduring energy.

So get excited!

White Garments and a Post-It Note Jesus

Blogging feels overrated at times. But then again, so does everything in my life.

I have been a bug. Not a cute ladybug with carefully colored polka dots or a butterfly who has spread her feathered wings to take flight. I have been that bug on the windshield of your car, hanging on for dear, dear life while you repeatedly try to squash me with your windshield wipers. There was literally a hurricane threatening to demolish my life (and her name was Irene), but more importantly, there was also a metaphorical hurricane that was bringing so much rain and high speed winds to my life.

The good news: I am not a bug anymore.

A couple weeks ago, I went on a fall retreat with BCM. I had no expectations of insane experiences, but I should have. I was expecting late night Waffle House excursions and light-hearted conversations on the beach. And I got exactly that. But I also experienced God in insane ways. I was singing loudly Saturday night during our time of worship when I just felt the need to leave. Like get up out of my seat and walk out of the room. You just don’t do that in a Baptist group. People look at you and either think you’re crazy or you have problems controlling your bladder. But I couldn't sit there and let people's perceptions of me become more important than experiencing God. So the first chance I got, I jumped up and darted out the door, walking until found myself sitting in the sand, looking up at the cloudy sky and hoping to see God. And in that moment, it all spilled out. All the angry words I had for God burst from my mouth and exploded in the chill of the salty air. And God was there to take them all and reveal Himself to me in spite of my anger. He showed me the shadows in my life (yeah, it scared the mess out of me), and then allowed me to see the beautiful worship music my fellow BCMers were singing. Suddenly Jesus was sitting on the ground next to me giving me white garments to wear (Revelation 3:18) and I felt whole again. You can't wake up the next morning and be a bug when Jesus himself has clothed you in white the night before. 

The best part about seeing Jesus was His eyes. They were so colorful...but they reflected the faces of all the people He loved. That, my friends, is true beauty.

Pretty bizarre/awesome, right?

It gets better.

Jesus left my roommate and me post-it notes. We found hers as we strolled down King Street while avoiding a Western Civ study session. We had been talking about things she just felt like she couldn't do, settling back into that bug groove, when we spotted a random yellow post-it note on the wall of one of the buildings. It read: "You can do anything. I have faith in you. <3 J" Yeah. Crazy. It caught us both off guard. We both wandered, shell-shocked, down King Street. Jesus just wrote Courtney a post-it note. He's so real!!! It was really exciting. How do you go from that to studying?

Well, you don't.

I needed to calm my brain down, so I pulled out the book I was reading (Going All the Way by Craig Groeschel) and flipped through the pages. I came across a random blank post-it note stuck to one of the pages. Wait a second. Last time Craig Groeschel and I had a reading session, I wrote down a lie that I had been telling myself on a post-it note and stuck it in the book. And now, in addition to my lie, there was a blank post-it note? Yeah. Say whatever you will about it....what matters here is that in that moment, looking from my lie to the blank note, I realized that God erases lies. That’s what He does! That’s why He sent Jesus (John 3:16, 1 John 1:9): to erase the lies we tell ourselves. He FORGIVES.

So what do I do with that?

Philippians 2:5-13

In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:
 Who, being in very nature God,
  did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;
rather, he made himself nothing
  by taking the very nature of a servant,
  being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
  he humbled himself
  by becoming obedient to death—
     even death on a cross!
Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
  and gave him the name that is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
  in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord,
  to the glory of God the Father.

Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.

(Thanks to my lovely roommate for reading me these verses as I asked, in my bewilderment, “What do I do now??”)

Experiencing God is incredible. It transcends words. (Ironic then that I should be writing about it, right?) Whether He reveals Himself to you in a vision or in a post-it note, the important thing is that something changes as a result. I witnessed God’s unconditional forgiveness in two somewhat crazy and bizarre situations. And as a result, I am called to leave the heaviness behind, to walk around with the joy that can only emanate from Him, and to work out my salvation with fear and trembling.

I am also called to share it with others. Our greatest witness, as Christians, is our stories. We serve a personal God. So here is my story; here is my personal encounter with the Creator of the universe and the Author of my faith.

Acts 4:20
“We cannot stop telling about everything we have seen and heard.”

Guess what. I have seen and heard the living God. I have experienced His forgiveness in an unbelievably real way. And it’s AWESOME.

A Weekend in Siguatepeque

 "Que rica!" That's how the girls at Casa Hogar described Siguatepeque when I told them all the interns were going there for the weekend. Literally translated "rica" means "rich." The girls meant that the city was beautiful and that we were going to have a lot of fun, but it was indeed a rich weekend for us. None of us anticipated how beautiful the YWAM base where we stayed would be; none of us expected to be so filled up physically, emotionally, spiritually; none of us could have imagined the peace we would feel in the beautiful city of Siguatepeque. A missionary family lives next to the base and run it--Carlos, Melissa, and their four boys (plus one girl on the way). In addition, there are three short-term missionaries living in the base that help Carlos and Melissa--Missie from Wisconsin, Ema from Argentina, and Roberto from Tegucigalpa. We arrived on Friday afternoon and just spent some time drinking coffee and talking. That night after dinner, Carlos taught a class on mobilizing the church. It was really interesting because one of the other interns and I had talked a lot about how that's such an issue in the States. Carlos also shared his testimony with us and it was absolutely incredible, so inspirational. We all slept well that night, exhausted from a hot, sickening bus ride through the mountains to Siguatepeque. The next morning we all spent some time alone with God before breakfast. I think several of the other interns are not used to spending time in silence with God, so it was really good for all of us. Then, coffee in hand, we plunged into almost 5 straight hours of classes. Missy taught us about aligning our dreams with God's dream, Roberto taught on the Great Commission, Melissa used the Old Testament to show us that God is and has been a missionary God, and Ema told lots and lots of stories that all related back to the Great Commission and Philippians 4:8. It was like trying to drink out of a water bottle during a monsoon. We spent the afternoon living what we had just learned about. We went to the local dump where several families live, and with the smell of trash twisting our faces into snarls and the hazy smoke burning our eyes, we passed out food and clothes to the people there. Another intern and I talked with a couple of the women--Clementina and Sara--and prayed for them in an English prayer that they couldn't understand. My hope is that Carlos and his YWAM crew will be able to return and build relationships with the people there.  We spent the rest of the afternoon prayer walking around downtown Siguatepeque before returning to the base for supper and a movie, "End of the Spear." I had trouble sleeping that night because I had so much on my mind. In the silence of the night, I had a lot of realizations about what my life should look like and what the life of a missionary looks like. Our last morning was beautiful. We had a time of praise, just singing along with an acoustic guitar. It was such a simple time, our voices seeking only God and our hearts attempting to bring glory to Him alone. We took some time to share what we learned during our time there and the missionaries prayed over us. At that point, it was time to leave. I was sad to leave the peaceful, beautiful, "rica" city behind and begin my last week here. Hopefully all eight of us interns will be able to maintain the spirit of Siguatepeque and take the peace back to Casa Hogar and the children there. 

Please pray that this week is as rich and peaceful for us and the children we are working with as our weekend in Siguatepeque was.
Pray that we would pour out everything we have in this last week and that God would change our hearts. 
Pray for Clementina and Sara, that God would protect them and that they would come to know Him personally.

"The Lord makes firm the steps of the one who delights in him...I was young and now I am old, yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken or their children begging bread." Psalm 37:23, 25

Falling Asleep On God's Couch

I was born with a deadly combination of genetics. First, I have a strange love of couches. I realized this after moving into a dorm room with no couch. Aside from my family, the things I truly missed most were all somehow related to the couch in my living room: watching sports with my dad, having a place to sit and read in comfort, taking Sunday afternoon naps. I began at once to seek out friends that possessed couches. Ok, not really...but I did begin spending a lot more time NOT in my room so I could enjoy the couches of others. A solution arrived during spring semester when my parents showed up with the best charcoal gray futon IKEA could offer. I fell immediately in love. Second, I was born with a superpower that is more of a curse than a blessing most times: I can fall asleep anywhere after 9 PM as long as I'm sitting down. I have missed the climaxes and resolutions of countless movies because of my superpower; I have failed to do some of my homework due to droopy eyelids and the inability to stay awake; I have fallen asleep in odd places as a result of the curse my father bestowed upon me.

A love of couches does not mix well with an inability to remain conscious after 9 PM. That's typically when I find time to study or watch movies or hang out with people and just talk. It's a predicament.

It can also put you in a slightly awkward position when you are a freshman in college making new friends while simultaneously lacking a couch. Luckily though, I discovered that I have to reach a certain level of trust with people before I doze off on their couch. Thank goodness my superpower has one Achilles' heel! Along with the realization came a new measurement for how much I trusted the people around me. It was great. And I love my friends who have allowed me to fall soundly asleep while watching movies and episodes of "The Office" with them...and then have promptly woken me up when it was over, sending me back to my own room.

I like to carry on conversations with God as I'm climbing into bed. We talk about all sorts of things because we can. And like many people, I frequently fall asleep while praying. My prayer for that evening just fades out, dangling like a misplaced preposition ("Where is that preposition at???") or an incomplete....... No "Amen." No "In Jesus's name I pray." Not even a "Goodnight, sleep tight." I think a lot of people feel guilty leaving God hanging like this. Maybe they equate it with hanging up on someone or closing the door in someone's face while they are mid-sentence. That would indeed be rude. Especially when done to the King of kings and Lord of lords. It's different for me, though.

For me...

It's like falling asleep on God's couch.

It's trusting that even though I neglected the proper farewell phrases, God will still be there in the morning when both my phone and the quiet sun remind me that there is still life to be lived.

It's knowing that the Almighty is going to protect me as I sleep, vulnerable and helpless.

I mean no disrespect by it. He knows I am human and He created me with this incapability to remain awake. It's just that as I sit on His couch and talk with Him, I cannot help but feel safe and secure, trusting Him with all that I am. And so, I fall asleep.