FMF: Race

The doctor taped up my right ankle, pink and green, and I thought somehow he knew that would make me happy and please my preppy aesthetic. Later that day I taped up my left ankle with more pink tape. I continued to prepare for race day despite the agonizing pain in my stomach. Stupid ulcer. I didn't know how I'd complete 13.1 miles of the Portland half marathon in the morning, but to get the goodies I had to finish the race. It was completely foolish; my stubborn pride would not allow me to quit. I refuse to let my body keep me from doing what I want, living my life. I felt fine in the morning, and all during the race. Frequently, internally saying, "Take that you stupid ulcer! You can't keep me down!"
I finished the race.
Improved my time even.
And, I got the goodies - a pretty finishers medal, coin, pendant, and a not so pretty finishers shirt.

But I wonder, where is that same tenacity for my spiritual life? The determination to overcome the obstacles and hurdles? The perseverance to log the long hours training and building the foundation? Is my focus on the finish line, my goal on the best goodies - to hear "well done, my good and faithful servant?"

Which race am I running? Which one really matters?

{This post is part of Lisa-Jo Baker's Five Minute Friday's}

Hard Days Are Fighting Days

Some days are just hard.
It's still dark outside but the bladder will let you sleep no longer. Throwing back the blankets with annoyance, you take care of business without really opening your eyes. Wiggling back under the covers, sleep is just about to fully take hold again... and the alarm goes off. Hitting snooze leads to an arm being flung over the side of the bed - and staying there, until it starts to tingle, go numb, and the cold exposed skin wakes you too much to be ignored. Tucking the stray arm back under the covers, sleep starts to grab hold of you again. While not really awake, you rationalize that if you are this tired, you need the sleep and should maybe skip the gym just this one morning. Resetting the alarm, snuggling in for one more hour of shut-eye, suddenly you are wide awake. With a loud sigh of exasperation you throw the covers back once more, swinging legs over the side; today will not be the day to skip the gym.

It feels good to move the body, get the blood flowing, see the sweat dripping; better than sleeping one more restless hour. But the dalliance with the alarm has put your schedule off and now you are running late. While you make it in time for the train, it required bringing your make-up bag with you to apply it while riding along to work.

Stepping off the train early, choosing to walk the rest of the way to the office, it seems like it may rain making the choice questionable. An odd mix of people are passing by on the sidewalks first thing in the morning in downtown Portland. It's the crazy homeless man that spits loud and profusely on the sidewalk along Powell's Books that grabs your attention, not so much because of his looks, smell, behavior, or spitting - but because you caught yourself walking to the far side of the curb away from him. "What ugly, unloving behavior! He isn't so different than the residents at the hotel you minister at." you chide yourself with such remonstrations. And out of the blue you hear, "He's crazy, he'd probably ask you out too since it's only crazy people that have an interest in you. Well, the crazy, and the social awkward, or the scoundrel who absconded with more of you than he should have." Suddenly you are judging every man that crosses your path, many who can be 'interesting' in Old Town. But there are those few who are dressed for work, who took some care about their appearance, and don't seem to be crazy in the least; and as you check those things off, the whiny voice asks, "Why can't someone like that ask me out? What's wrong with me that only creepy Chris is interested in me?" With the tailspin starting, the ache of loneliness scourges out your insides leaving you achingly hollow. Is it the wind or the pit on the inside causing your eyes to water? No matter, they both sting. The mind wanders, back to memories with the scoundrel, and longing stirs into the mix. Not so much for the scoundrel himself, but for the connection, the togetherness and sharing of life. Walking down memory lane leads nowhere good, so you put a halt to the amble with a road sign that reads, "He REJECTED you!" Painful, but effective. Also effective at creating an opening for evil to lob their familiar arsenal:
You are unwanted!
You are unlovable!
You are defective!
You are utterly alone!
You have been forgotten by God!

Under this heavy unrelenting barrage, you buzz yourself through the front door of the office, but walls and structure provide no protection from this kind of attack. The ride in the elevator to the 7th floor is agonizing, as you want to seek refuge under the covers that were so comforting only four hours ago, you just want to hide and wallow.

Starting everything up, while programs boot, you start to get caught up on the blogosphere.
And you read this post:
The King is Enthralled By Your Beauty

Those bombs that have been exploding in your heart start to fizzle as truth starts to break through the smoke and ash.
You are loved!
You are delighted in!
You are thought beautiful!

And if you were still doubting, this blog post shows up:
beautiful you
Another cleansing sweep of Truth washes over the battlefield of your heart, reminding you that you are indeed loved, seen, known, and thought beautiful by the almighty King of kings who is always with you. He cares so much that He orchestrated two posts, using the same verse, to send His message.


Some days are hard.
Some days you just need to fight a little harder.
Fight for truth. Fight for love. Fight for healing.
And be generous with mercy and grace.

Learning to be loved by my Creator, allowing myself to be loved by myself and others, accepting that I am loved and lovable is hard work for me. I need constant reminders. On those morning walks from Jeld-Wen field to the office I keep my eye out for hearts, love notes from God to remind me on my way of whose heart I belong to and where I am kept tight.

"Hearts Abound"

Getting Right

It is May, April slipped by with a solitary post that only taunted you with the promise of more to come in the month. A broken promise. When the words wouldn't come, the sentences more fragmented than usual, the desire to write all but entirely absent - that is when I finally knew, I was heart sick. My soul in need of some serious TLC. My heart needing balm to heal.

On the outside I looked fine. I kept "keeping on" out of sheer necessity, projects at work didn't give me an option. If I allowed myself to open up and enter in to the mess, it meant I wouldn't be able to function. So I numbed myself. I buried myself in work. I obsessively read "The Hunger Games" trilogy. I watched TV and movies. I hit the gym with more frequency. I shopped. I ate. I drank (and not just copious amounts of coffee). Feeling and processing wasn't allowed, strictly verboten. Occasionally my heart wandered when the numbing started to wear off, but it only brought tears, incapacitating sorrow, unbridled anger. I didn't know - and still don't - how to delve into the muck while functioning in life. The only thing I knew to do was shut down and ignore my heart. It is awfully hard to write from the heart, about living a life of faith, learning how to live whole-heartedly, if you are silencing it.

But this can only go on for so long. I felt the fissures in my facade creeping, making their way to critical joints, the wall separating my heart from my head was about to crack. It made me nervous. Thankfully, it was also about this time that I finished my part in a major project at work. No one was waiting on me to finish something before they could start their work; I was no longer a roadblock for others. Enough time had passed since March's escapades that some vacation hours had accumulated in my time-off bank again. This meant - I could escape!! A couple weeks ago, I took an afternoon off from work and found the brackish balm that I so sorely needed. Pulling out of my driveway a few minutes after noon, I drove straight to Sleepy Monk Coffee in Cannon Beach. (It really is the best coffee and worth the drive just to pick up a bag of beans.) After stashing my bag of beans in the car, I walked across the street and found the sand and surf and started walking south. And kept walking south. Then went a little further. Finally, I had to stop as I didn't want to go for a swim to get around the bend to Hug Point Park. Most of the way I was alone, not another person in sight up or down the coastline; just me and God, walking and talking. Pouring my heart out, needing Him to show up and care for it, to rescue me, and remind me just who I am.

And God did show up.
As I pronounced myself wretched, sinful, rebellious, and unworthy of love, Jesus said, 'No. You are redeemed, forgiven, and not only worthy of love, but you are loved.'


Presenting the 'evidence' of my single, solitary, lonely aloneness as proof of my unloveableness. God refutes me, and reminds me that I am loved. Deeply. Beyond measure. And I am not alone, not ever, that I am part of a much larger family. A community that loves me, if I would allow them.


Ranting and whining about recent events of the past six months, questioning God's goodness, wanting to know why I am being punished. The Lord, with gentle loving kindness reproofs me, 'I am good. I am the giver of all good things. I lavish you with my goodness. Don't confuse punishment with living in a fallen world.'

I have never, ever found even one whole sand dollar on the beach. I brought home over 20!

Nearing the turn to get back to my car, just when I start to question am I totally crazy for believing God would talk to me, talk to my heart, had I made it all up? He sends one more reminder.


I am understanding the verse in Philippians 2:11 so much more that says "...continue to work out your salvation..."  It's all a process. We are all in process. My afternoon and evening at the beach did a world of good for me. I physically feel lighter, as though burdens were literally taken off my shoulders, words are starting to trickle back in to my mind and are being turned over in my heart, forming into phrases. I'm getting back to right, but it's a new right as God is moving, changing, renewing me. It's a process. I'm a process. I hope to get back to posting regularly soon, and share some of my process with you, but if it seems slow, please be patient and kind - I'm in process... just like you. 

Salty Sea

I want to run away.
Run to the edge of the world,
Where sea and sand meet.
To hear the pounding surf,
taste it's salty wisps.
While salty tears streak down my cheeks,
have it pound out the voices in my head:
*you are forgotten
*you aren't worth the bother
*you are unlovable
*you are too much
*you are totally alone

Sometimes God's voice is like a gentle whispering breeze;
other times like a thunderous roar.
I want to run away, to the place where sea and sand meet,
listen to the mighty thunder of the ocean tumble,
and hear within its tumult God speaking "Not true." over and over again until the voices in my head are pounded out.
Not True.
-You are my beloved
Not True.
-You are worth more than the most costly jewels.
Not True.
-I am always with you.
Not True.
-You are wonderfully created by me.
Not True.
-I moved heaven and earth for you.

I want to run away to the place where sea and sand meet, to cry salty tears until I melt into a pool, a pool that is swept up into the sea, becoming one.

Twinkle Toes

The black leather bucket chair which had been cool when I first sat down was causing me to sweat as I squirmed. My foot was bouncing up and down nervously; I slap-patted my thigh just like my mother does when she is highly emotional. Tears marked a path down my cheeks as I tried to explain to my counselor how I do not want to make a decision out of fear, that I’m tired of living a life guided by fear. But the fear looms so large and seemingly insurmountable. I want to live a life of faith, of radical, obedient faith, but the fear grips my heart and squeezes tight. I feel paralyzed. Much of my life has been dictated by fear. While God has been gracious to me, I don’t regret the choices and paths I’ve taken, but I do wonder sometimes “what if?” It isn’t helpful, I try to avoid hypothesizing what my life would be like if I had fought through the fear for what seemed like first choice. What if I had applied to Wheaton’s Conservatory of Music? I still doubt whether I would have gotten in, but what if I had? And if I didn’t get stopped by the fear of failing at my dream, of moving far away from home, going to unknown mid-west lands? What if I hadn’t been fearful about moving across the country and quitting the job I had been at for one month and applied to Gordon-Cromwell Seminary? Instead I went to Western, which was good and I don’t regret my time there, but how would life be different if I had gone to Boston? What relationships have I let slip away because I feared to be myself, to be open, to share myself? Fear. Fear of failure. Fear of rejection. Fear of the unknown. Fear of being known. Fear of change. Fear of hurt. So much fear. I am certain that fear is the main weapon Satan uses to intimidate me. It has been a powerful shaping force in my life, and I fear what my life will be like if I allow it to continue influencing me. 

"If you didn't live by fear, Jennifer, what do you want?"

"I want to live life with gusto!"

I heard myself say it as if someone else had proclaimed it. I sat stunned in wondered silence. Where had that come from? It was exactly what was in my heart that I had not found a way to articulate and express. For years I had been trying to find a way to express my heart cry, the true yearning of my heart as it beat against the cage of fear. The front of my fridge is testament to this, a page from my daily calendar is posted reminding me to "Live Out Loud." Next to it is a bright yellow sticker proclaiming "Live Strong." Rosie the Riveter flexes her arm, showing solidarity that, yes, "We can do it!" My favorite part of the movie "Holiday" is when Kate Winslet's character answers that she has "gumption." While all these resonate with me, they are not my own. What do I want instead of the status quo of living by fear? I want to live with gusto! It feels so good to say it!

2 Timothy 1:7 "for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control." (ESV)

To live with gusto, means to live attentive to the Holy Spirit prodding me, nudging me, beckoning me to step out of the shadow of fear into the light of faith, depending on my Holy God to lead - and following. The fear of the unknown, not knowing where the next step might lead keeps me rooted in what feels like safety. I recently read or heard from someplace (I would give credit if I could remember or find it) that the lamp referred to in Psalm 119:105 "Your word is a lamp to my feet, and a light to my path." would have been a small clay pot; something about the size of your palm. Something like this:

http://www.trocadero.com/TheAweidahGallery/items/1073505/item1073505store.html

It would fit into your palm, a flame would come out of the 'spout' from the oil within. Can you imagine the amount of light a lamp like this would produce? I think we can all agree the answer is - "not a whole lot." Yet this is what the Psalmist is comparing to God's Word. While His Word illuminates and shows us the path, it only does so for the next step or two, not the next twenty or hundred and twenty. It shows us our feet, we can know the solid ground on which we stand, we can see the immediate area, but the rest remains shrouded - it isn't for us to know just yet. We must trust the Spirit, step forward in faith, follow His leading, one step at a time, stay close to Him - our shepherd, our guide, our Lord - for He will make our paths straight (Proverbs 3:5-6). There is wisdom in this. I often feel as though I have plopped right down in the middle of the path, stubbornly sitting criss-cross applesauce, refusing to budge until God turns on the high-beams and discloses the path for the next 30 years. Yet if He did that, I know I would see things that scare me more than what my imagination can conjure up where I sit now and I would absolutely refuse to budge. But everything comes in its own season. What may happen in 10 years time, will come with 10 years worth of God preparing me to handle it. All things in their time. And it won't all be hardship and misery, for I honestly believe God takes great joy in us and our delight (Jeremiah 29:11; Zephaniah 3:17; Matthew 7:11).

I want to live life with gusto, going after life, living it with passion and fullness, my heart fully engaged. Breaking old habits and patterns to live from my heart is going to take some practice. It starts with Bob like "baby steps." Shortly after my "gusto" revelation I wrote a list of things I want to do in life for a contest.  It seems like a pretty safe list - either far-fetched, or non-threatening, some are maybe a little silly. But there is one item that, for me, will require courage - learning to dance - #26.

When I was 7 years old, I dropped out of ballet class as soon as my mother would let me. I didn't like being the pudgy klutzy kid who didn't get it, and the teacher was mean. The only school dance I went to from 7th grade until 12th was the "50's dance" in junior high that was at the end of the swing dance unit in gym class. In seminary I had a classmate who would host dance lessons in the basement of his church about once a month, teaching us the waltz, foxtrot, swing, and would organize 'outings' to such places as the Norse Lodge for their dances. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Take note - I enjoyed it; that is not the same as being good. I haven't had much opportunity to dance since then. About a year ago I started going to a class at the gym, "Group Groove" (think modern jazzercise). But not before doing several drive-bys, going for a 'regular' workout about the same time as the class so that I could scope it out through the windows, fearful that I would be out of place, make a fool of myself. The first time I went I staked out a spot in the back corner where no one would see all my missteps. The thing is, a year into this class, I have accepted that I do look like a fool, especially when I try (and fail) to do the running man. But also because of my big goofy grin that spreads from ear to ear because I am having so much fun. The joy I experience has overcome the fears and I keep going to class whenever I can.

Yesterday a Groupon showed up in my inbox for ballet lessons. My first impulse was to buy it. I want to learn ballet, I had it on my list. But then I waffled, my seven year old self and all her fears re-emerging; all the insecurities of old bubbling up and splotching out my excitement. What if I was the only adult? What if I have to wear a leotard and tights? (Yikes!) What if I fail, and I'm just as bad now as I was thirty some years ago? What if I'm foolish looking? Fears and obstacles, trapping my heart. Once at work, I looked at the email again. And closed it down. After grabbing my mid-morning coffee I opened the email again and followed the link to the company website. I found a class called "Absolute Beginning Adult Ballet." I might be able to handle this class, I thought. But then I noticed it is only offered on Sunday and a voice told me it was wrong to do something like a ballet class on Sunday, the Sabbath - it is the Lord's day; 'how can you consider doing something like dancing and working out on a holy day?' I closed the email once again. I never deleted the email, just closed it, my heart was yearning to say "yes" to this opportunity. It wasn't long before I opened the email again, looked at the class listing one more time - yup, still only Sunday - but why should that matter in this instance? I would go hiking on a Sunday. I regularly do races on a Sunday. I fill my Sundays with busyness that is anything but holy. If I do believe that God rejoices in our delight, why wouldn't this be a perfectly wonderful thing to do on a Sunday? Here is an opportunity that will give me joy, delight, and in a strange way help to loosen the shackles of fear around my heart; give me practice at stepping out of the worries and bindings of fear and into my heart desires. A baby step. Or, perhaps, a "glissade en avant" (yeah, I looked that up online) towards living a more open, heart driven life - living with gusto.

I opened up the email one more time and clicked "purchase." A moment later I nearly skipped down the hall as I went to refill my water bottle, grinning the whole way. I am going to take ballet lessons! And if I have to wear a leotard and tights, I'm getting a tutu as well!

Wherever I go - even into ballet class! 

Fear of Being Found Out!

I have joined an online book club. I don't understand how it will work just yet, but I know I need to be part of this group. God has been showing me a lot lately about myself, revealing the depths of my fear, the pervasiveness of my fear. But just as I started to get overwhelmed by the distance there is to cover to overcome fear, my mom gave me the book Dangerous Wonder about taking risks to live a faith-filled life, guess what topic the first couple chapters touches on? Yup. Fear. Then one of the blogs I follow, (in)courage, announced their fall book club selection - What Women Fear. Are you noticing a trend? I am. I am looking forward to journeying with a community of women, discussing the role of fear in our lives, and hopefully gleaning ideas of how to walk in faith and overcome unhealthy fear.

Maybe this is a crazy idea, but I thought to kick off my journey with the book club, why not write a post about one of my fears. There is one fear that I am having a knock-down, drag-out fight with lately. It also happens to be the sub-title for chapter 3 - Fear of Being Found Out. I haven't read that far yet. Maybe it would advise me not to post in a public for-the-world-to-see forum my fear of being found out. But like I said, I haven't read that far and here I am about to expose myself.

I am afraid of being found out. Being found out as a sham, a fake, an impostor, a flibberty-jibbit, a cotton-headed-ninny-muggins. Worse yet, I fear being found out as unqualified, incapable, insufficient; and the people who thought better of me being left sorely disappointed. The thing is, I am not enough for what is being asked of me - and that is a good thing. Knowing that I really can't do it in my own strength, I have to lean into Christ all the more. That is, when I remember rightly.

As I work through my Bible study, knowing that it will soon be my turn to lead, I wonder what I have to give to the ladies, whether I have what it takes. I don't know my Bible as well as I should. I'm not as faithful and studious as I ought to be, certainly not enough to be a leader. Will the women's ministry leader come up to me afterward the first time I lead and rescind her offer to be part of the leadership?

Even though I feel as though Jesus is amping up a crowd of angles chanting "Do it! Do it!" I want to shrink from the challenge of starting a new growth group at church. "I am not a charismatic person, I can't start something - it will flop."

My fear of being found out really comes alive as I try to answer a series of questions from Micah.
"Why are you interested in working with street kids in a foreign country?" -Because I fully believe God has called me to this particular ministry. That's all I've got and I know it is insufficient - just like me. My answer is insufficient, because I am insufficient. And if I don't come up with a better reasoned, logical, convincing answer to this question, and especially the next one - "What talents, skills or personality traits do you have that will play a key role in your ministry with homeless teens?" - then the director and board are going to find me out. They'll know what I already know deep in my heart, that I don't have what it takes, and I'll be rejected (That's another fear - being rejected. Two fears for the price of one trigger, lovely.) The truth is I do have talents and skills, some that can be used by the ministry; and I do have a personality, albeit a quirky one, but one that seems to be well suited for life at Micah. I could have a two page list of very convincing proofs for my interest in street kids, but the one that really matters, the one that will get me through the difficult times is knowing that God has called me.

The thing is, if I try to prove how capable, competent, and worthy I am of these roles I am going to fail. I cannot do it in my own power. I truly am not enough. But thankfully, graciously, God is enough. Even though I am full of weaknesses, His power is made perfect in weakness. His grace is sufficient for me (2 Cor. 12:9). And if God has called me to these roles, then he will provide the means and ability as well (2 Tim. 1:12).

Amongst my grandmother's things that I looked through after her passing I found this quote, which I wrote down and put on our fridge, I wish I knew where she picked it up:

"The will of God will never take you where the grace of God cannot keep you."

My Profound Thought for the Year

Apparently I came up with something profound last night, and didn't even know it. I didn't set out to say deep thoughts, I was just rambling the partial thoughts as they came through my mind. I shared the same thought with another friend tonight and she thought it was so good that I was asked to repeat myself over and over until she had copied it down. So I am sharing it here on the off chance you too might think it is profound.

As my girl friend sat on the couch sipping her tea and me my cocoa, she explained how she feels God has withheld a husband from her. She can point to His providential care and provision in various circumstances - except when it comes to a husband. She wandered down the road of "what if..." to the cross-section of "if only..." pausing to ask me if this was familiar territory to me. I admitted to wandering down that way occasionally, but explained I try to steer clear of that neighborhood; unless there are lessons to learn and areas of growth that can be identified, there isn't much point in revisiting the past - what's done, is done. I would drive myself crazy if I dwelt on those two questions. Thankfully my wretched memory doesn't provide much to fuel that kind of reminiscing and recrimination.
We started listing our friends who are also in the same situation, that is, someone in the 35+ age bracket, godly women, no baggage that is too detrimental, single, desire to be married, but single none the less. It was quite the lengthy list. But then I asked how many guys she knows that are in a similar status; is there anyone in your church that you'd want to date? A long pause. "Is that Tim guy still going to your church?" "Yeah, but he has been dating this cute gal for quite awhile now. Plus, if you knew his whole story, I don't think you'd be interested." Another pause. I shared what a friend said several weeks ago: "Men are like parking spots; they are either taken or handicapped." We laughed, and then sighed at the truth of the statement. I then started my soap box rambling of incomplete sentences trying to capture incomplete thoughts. Thoughts about how the modern American church is doing a disservice to men, there is an epidemic shortage of godly men.

But this is what all my ramblings boiled down to:

I don't think God is withholding a husband from my friend, myself, or from any of the names we mentioned. I don't think he is saying "No. Not now, you need to grow in this area first." Instead, I think He is right beside us, grieving with us. He is sad with us that our longings, our dreams and desires have gone unfulfilled. And He is sad for the men that could have been our husbands but have chosen to walk away from Him. He is sad for all his children. For the women who have been faithful and uncompromising, but at the sacrifice of their dreams for family; and for the men, who have given up on Christ himself. I think there is an epidemic of single women in the church, in part because the church has failed to raise up men of character.

Yes, this may seem awfully harsh on the church and on men. I'm open to counter arguments that can explain why I need two hands to count the single women I know at just one church that I attend, and why I can't even come up with one name of an eligible bachelor between the two churches I regularly attend. But for my gal pals, I would just hope that my perspective would help us to not question ourselves so much. Put away the "If only I was _____ [smarter, funnier, thinner, livelier, prettier, etc.]." and remember that you are a child of the King, you are Daddy's princess, you are enough, and He is enough.

Heads to Keep My Head

I knew going into this trip it was going to be bitter-sweet. I would spend time with people I love that I do not see very often, be in a place I enjoy, but that it was also a time to say 'good-bye' and bring closure to the "European" part of my life. A friend asked where in the world I was, I responded "I'm in my other home from a previous life." And that is the truth of it. Strange as it seems, Brno is in a sense "home." But it wasn't until today that I got that deep pang in the heart; the realization that I really do love Brno, love being with Bethany and Gloria, which filled me with longing to return, but knowing that I am saying "no" to this option in life. And if it weren't for my plastic baggie of heads, I might waver in that decision.

It started as just a silly idea sparked by photos from Becca and John's trip to South Africa. Something that would be fun and hopefully get a few laughs. With Charissa's amazing help I came to Europe armed with 20+ "Micah boys on a stick." The hope was to take photos using the heads, show the boys that even though I am traveling half way around the world - they are still in my thoughts. Plus, it makes some of the photos more interesting, in a quirky kind of way. But who knew that my desire for gag photos would be providential - or as Natasha put it: "So glad you have your heads to KEEP your head." Even though I had no idea I would need a reminder of a greater love than I have for my friends here, quaint buildings, yummy food, castles at every turn, history that goes back multitudes of centuries and cobblestone streets that test my ability to walk, when I packed my Micah heads, they have been providential. Always carrying at least a few with me hoping to find an inspired shot, and the interaction on Facebook after I post the photos, has kept me tied to Micah and my heart on course. Who woulda thunk!? Ahh... the providence of God - what a blessed thing!

Justice Conference - Part 1: : Ken Wytsma : : Why Justice

A couple weekends ago the roommate and I trudged over to Bend for The Justice Conference sponsored by World Relief. It was an inaugural event, so I'll admit that my expectations were fairly low. I recognized a few names on the roster of speakers but not most. The pre-conference breakout sessions were interesting but sitting all day listening to speakers in my sleep deprived state was a challenge. I loaded up on caffeine to make it through the evening; the official start of the conference. But I was so enthralled with the two speakers that evening I think I would have managed to stay awake without any chemical help. The conference as a whole knocked my socks off and sent them to orbit, it was so good. I'm still mulling over what was said, processing the insights gained; as an aide in doing so I want to post the key thoughts I picked up on from each speaker and the video. I would gladly welcome dialoguing and hearing your views on any of the topics.

First up, to kick off the conference, was Ken Wytsma, the pastor of Antioch Church in Bend. His title was "Why Justice." Below is the video of his session.
Here are some of the key thoughts I picked up on during his talk:

• Justice is mercy. 
• We can't fix the world, but we can change the world.
• Choosing to intervene and fight for justice is messy, you lose out on the benefits of a just society and have to pour your life into the mess of injustice.
• There are three reasons for justice:
• Biblical: the sense that we ought to, but guilt holds us back.
• Religious: we should fight for justice because of love, but the cost will often stop us.
• Personal: God has given us a calling, but confusion and/or fear keeps us immobile.
• Empathy comes before action, concern is part of our love.
• Service is love in work clothes - action through which love is manifest
• It is so much better to invest your life for justice, than to spend it improving your golf game. 
•  If we give our life to God and spend it on justice, we gain our life.

Ken Wytsma :: Why Justice? from The Justice Conference on Vimeo

Vanished!!

I just have to share this amazing story. My Bible study leader had not been feeling well but she ignored it. Figuring it was just kidney stones she didn't mention it to her husband; he had enough on his plate preparing to lead a missions trip to India. A day or two after he left for regions half way around the world she went to the doctor. No, it wasn't kidney stones. More tests were run. Tests that revealed a large mass. The dreaded word was spoken: cancer. The husband was finally told and was sent home early from the trip. Plans were made and the surgery explained, although scheduled for several weeks out. She came to Bible study last week and with a choked up voice told us the news and asked us to pray for an earlier surgery date of March 6th. But more than that, that God would use her in this circumstance to reach her neighbors. She is just that kind of person, surrendered. Tonight - a week later - all of the women at Bible study let out a whoop and holler when it was announced that she had had surgery today (there had been a cancellation) and the astonishing part - the doctors couldn't find a trace of cancer or a mass or anything abnormal. The mass and the cancer had vanished!! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! God is great!!!

Prayer for Sunday

Taken from "scientia et sapientia" - the blog of Western Seminary's Th.M. program, posted by Marc Cortez (click on the title of the post to see the original blog post):

O Lord our God, you wanted to live not only in heaven, but also with us, here on earth; not only to be high and great, but also to be small and lowly, as we are; not only to rule, but also to serve us; not only to be God in eternity, but also to be born as a person, to live, and to die.

In your dear Son, our Savior Jesus Christ, you have given us none other than  yourself, that we may wholly belong to you. This affects all of us, and none of us has deserved this. What remains for us to do but to wonder, to rejoice, to be thankful, and to hold fast to what you have done for us?

We ask you to let this be the case in this hour, among us and in all of us! Let us become a proper Christmas community in honest, open, and willing praying and singing, speaking and hearing, and let us in great hunger be a proper Communion community! Amen.
~Karl Barth (1886-1968)

Love is a Many Splendored Thing

A couple weeks ago the group that went to Honduras did a Micah Team Report after the evening service. We watched the amazing video Jeremy created. After wards there was a 'townhall' style forum where people posed questions to the panel of Micah trip participants who alternated answering. We had a great time sharing about Micah and would have continued for hours more if allowed. The last question of the evening was, 'How has this experience impacted you personally and your faith?' I didn't share my thoughts that evening, but, if you'll indulge me, I will here.

The trip was a culmination of nearly a year of learning about the boys and the ministry. The story of the lives of each boy transformed from a two-dimensional list of factoids into a multi-dimensional spectra-colour person. The stories became alive and real, as if I had walked into my favorite novel and was able to interact with all my favorite characters. Actually, that is exactly what my first night felt like. As we walked into the Micah house and could take in the view, not limited by the border of a photo, and hear the boys talking and joking, I kept thinking - "This is so surreal! It's real, it's all real. The boys are real." The boys are indeed very real, and have made a significantly real impact in my life which can be summed up with one word - love.

Through their friendship my understanding of what it is to love one another has greatly expanded. But it reaches much further than that, my heart knowledge of the Father's love is so much richer for knowing these boys. Somehow in the process of learning to love the Micah boys simply because I am choosing to, I understanding in a new way how God loves me just because He wants to. It's a simple truth that has finally found its way from my head to my heart. And it has been so liberating.

God loves me just because He wants to. It isn't any inherent value of my own, not because of my potential and how I could be used, my accomplishments are not the reason; quite the contrary. If I were to be judged according to my own disposition and actions for my worthiness to be loved by the Sovereign God I would fall horribly short. For on my own I am rebellious and selfish, doing things the Lord despises. That is why God's love is so amazing! That while I was rebellious, He loved me. He loved me to the point of death so that my sins were atoned for and I would no longer be an enemy of God. Because of His love, I have worth. "But Christ did not die for us because we are valuable; we are valuable because Christ died for us. It is not for us to say to one another, "Worthy are you!"—which is the mantra of a great deal of modern psychology. Instead, we turn to God and say, "Worthy are you, O Lord our God!" (Rev. 4:11)."¹ I am not worthy, and never will be, I can set aside all striving and insecurity.

I'm discovering a beautiful cycle, that as I know God's love more, I love Him all the more, and as the love between me and my God grows, my love for Micah grows, and the more I love Micah, the more I love God. Over the past couple months I feel like the Grinch at the end of the story whose heart grew three sizes. My heart is growing and expanding, coming alive. Even on the hard days, when I say "no" to my own wants so that I can say "yes" to things related to the boys. Or when they run away and my heart aches, it grows larger still as I see myself in their rebellion, addictions, and poor choices and know that I love them still, as God loves me when I continue to sin.
I am learning that love is a many splendored thing!

"I have loved until it aches, and found that the love consumes the ache, so there is only love---much more love" Ann Voskamp

¹Love Needs No Reason by Mark Galli

No, Not the Scrooge Kind

When you hear the word "ebenezer" what comes to mind? Ebenezer Scrooge? The famous Charles Dickens' character from A Christmas Carol is the only reference most people would have for that funny word. A character who is remembered more for his miserly ways than his turn of countenance at the end of the story. Those who have been part of a church that sings hymns may remember another use of the word, a line from the song, "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing,"

Here I raise my ebenezer;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;

The word actually shows up in1 Samuel 7:12, the Israelites defeat the Philistines, after Samuel has offered a sacrifice. Samuel puts up a stone in memorial and names it Eben-Ezer - a 'stone of help.' The name Eben-Ezer also means "God has led us thus far" or "Thus far God has helped us."

Genesis 31:52 and 35:14-15 are a couple other examples of building pillars, stacking stones - Ebenezers - as memorials to important events. There is a verse somewhere, I can't find the exact reference (if you know it, tell me where to find it please), that talks about building stone monuments as remembrances of what God has done, a testament to future generations; 'when your children ask why this pillar is here, tell them of the great works of God.' It sounds like Exodus.

Anyhow, I latched on to this idea of "stones of remembrance," collecting my own personal ebenzers several years ago. I pick up stones at the places I travel to whether it be the Oregon coast or the Israeli desert to Picacho Park in Tegucigalpa. Sometimes, if I happen to find an interesting one on a walk around the neighborhood I'll pick it up too. So what do I do with these rocks? I use a Sharpie (you know I always have at least one with me) and write a word or two or a verse to remind me of a time where God's faithfulness, intervention in my life was more palpable. I keep them in a pitcher on my kitchen windowsill so that when I need encouragment, when I need to refocus, when I need a reminder of who is really in charge, I can reach in and grab a stone and remember what God has done in my life in the past and know that He is faithful, He will continue to work in my life.

For almost a year now I have been looking for a specific stone; a heart shaped stone. I have known what I would write on this stone, but have not been successful in finding the stone itself. I started my summer at Cannon Beach and had spent quite some time searching for the elusive heart stone. I even found one that sorta looked heart shaped but I accidentally dropped it in a drive way made out of gravel and it was lost. Labor day holiday weekend found me at Cannon Beach again, it is one of my favorite places after all. This most recent trip I had success. I actually found two. The only issue is that they are not palm size, more like fist size, the fist of Andre the Giant - they won't fit in the pitcher, so they are now sitting in my front yard. But now I have two - do I use only one? Or do I come up with a second word? The word that has been mulling around in my head waiting for a stone is... (drum roll) MICAH! Not surprising, is it?

So help me out peeps - which rock is more heart shaped? Which one should have Micah scrawled on it? what should happen to the other rock? Any suggestions for another word?

What would be written on your ebenezers?

The Phantom Critic

I feel the need, the need for speed. No, that's not it. I feel the need to defend and explain myself. To whom? No one in particular. The phantom critic, the person who has read my post-Honduras update and is bashing me for referring to Hector and Wilmer as "my boy" and questioning my "motherly love." I questioned my word choices as well. I tried to think of another way to describe what I feel towards the Micah boys, because it is not just Hector or Wilmer who are "my boys" - they all are, and that really is the best way to say it. I know, I know, they aren't really mine, truly, they belong to God. The love I have for them is most akin to a maternal love, and wouldn't any mother call her sons "my boys" with the understanding that they are her responsibility, they have been put in her care, entrusted to her by God. And that is not unlike how I feel; that God has imbued me with a deep love for these boys that is motivating me to help carry the responsibility of raising and caring for them. I just can't come up with a better word than "maternal" to describe it.
I have no desire or illusion of being their mom, they have mothers. Some are involved in their lives, some have passed away, some are absent, some are a positive influence, some are not, but they have mothers - and it isn't me (we need an equivalent of the African notion of "Auntie"). What I can be is an adult figure who loves them, just as they are, who will stand beside them through their ups and downs, a stable positive constant, teach them how to navigate life, encourage them to be their best, point them to God, training them up in the way they should go, who will continue to love them even when they throw it back in my face. Why? Because that is what God does for me every single day. It's all about the love of Jesus. Because He loves me, I need to share that love. Because He first loved me, I can love my boys. Because He loves me, and has given me this love for Micah, I will do the hard work of loving. To the boys, I'm just one of many visitors that came down this summer; I'm just the crazy gringa who spoke gibberish that no one understood, who spit water on Hector, kissed Wilmer (and others), and had a camera permanently attached to her hand - that is, if they remember me at all. Before I can be that 'caring adult figure' I have to earn the right, earn their trust and respect, prove myself, before I can speak into their lives. That will take time, years, and it won't be easy. But I am driven to take on this challenge by the love of Jesus. What other source could give me the strength to sell my cute home (and my books, which may be more painful) and move to Honduras? It's all about the love of Jesus, baby!
And there I go again, talking like it's a done deal!

This is my response to that phantom critic who lives in my head, and hopefully only there.

*One more note about Hector, "the son I didn't know I had." If I had ever had a son, I'm certain that the resemblance in personality and temperament to Hector would have been uncanny. That's all I meant.