I Know Less Than Ever

The shadows of evening were growing long outside the window. I was curled up on the couch, my arm draped along the back of it, talking with some friends from church. I don't even remember what the topic of conversation was, but I do remember making this statement, feeling the conviction deep in my bones:

I know less about God than I ever have before in my life. 

But how can that be so? I have spent my entire life filling a church pew nearly every Sunday morning, no matter if there was a dirt floor beneath my feet in Guatemala or pristine chandeliers hanging above my head here in America. My parents drilled it into us as kids - if it's Sunday, your backside had better be warming the pew of a church somewhere. 

Over the years, I accumulated more and more knowledge, learning the Bible verses, stories and doctrines. I went to church camp for years, literally singing Kumbaya around a campfire and feeling the warm fuzzies of it all. (I even won 'Camper of the Year' in 1998.) I went overseas on short-term mission trips on multiple occasions, bouncing between Guatemala, Kenya, Russia, New Caledonia. I can't tell you the number of Bible studies I've completed over the years, pages and pages of notes stacking up, taking up space in my filing cabinet and computer hard drive. I've read various commentaries, debated doctrines, been to conferences, read countless theology books, led small groups, facilitated women's times, and taught in the children's ministry. Heck, I've even published articles about God, writing as if I might actually know what I'm talking about.

I am like the apostle Paul (although simultaneously very aware I am nothing like Paul on countless levels) as he rattles off his resume in Philippians 3:4-6:

If someone else thinks they have reasons to put confidence in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; in regard to the law, a Pharisee; as for zeal, persecuting the church; as for righteousness based on the law, faultless (NIV).

And yet, despite the spiritual resume, the stockpiles of knowledge and the passing of time, still I'm convinced I know less about God than when I first came to know him decades ago.

What really lies at the heart of that statement is not merely an intellectual recognition of how much literal knowledge I possesses (or don't) about God - but rather a recognition rooted in marvel and wonder, a sheer sense of disbelief. Like David in Psalm 8:3-4, I ask with a hint of mystification in my thoughts and in my prayers to God,

When I consider your heavens, 

the work of your fingers,

the moon and the stars,

which you have set in place,

what is man that you are mindful of him, 

the son of man that you care for him?

C.S. Lewis writes in his famed children's series, The Chronicles of Narnia, of four siblings - Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy - who discover an enchanted and mysterious land through the doors of a seemingly common wardrobe. Through this wardrobe, the children are magically transported to the land of Narnia and encounter the schemes of the White Witch, an evil sorceress who has placed the land under a spell. Along with Aslan the lion, a good (but not tame!) and powerful king, the children wage war in order to restore peace to Narnia, which they achieve. The children eventually return from the wardrobe and back to their ordinary lives, but there does come a day in the fourth book, Prince Caspian, when they journey back to Narnia. 

It is here that Lucy, the youngest of the siblings, searches for Aslan. She discovers him in the wood, rushing to him:

And the next thing she knew was that she was kissing him and putting her arms as far round his neck as she could and burying her face in the beautiful rich silkiness of his mane.

"Aslan, Aslan. Dear Aslan," sobbed Lucy. "At last."

The great beast rolled over on his side so that Lucy fell, half sitting and half lying between his front paws. He bent forward and just touched her nose with his tongue. His warm breath came all round her. She gazed up into the large wise face.

"Welcome, child," he said.

"Aslan," said Lucy, "you're bigger."

"That is because you are older, little one," answered he.

"Not because you are?"

"I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger."

Like Lucy, I am older and I am finding God bigger.

This is how I can say I know less about God than ever. 

He hasn't changed one iota, not in my lifetime and not in all the lifetimes before me. He has not literally grown bigger, just like Aslan had not grown bigger. But just as Lucy's view of Aslan had changed, my view of God has changed. 

The passing of time has sharpened my awareness of my limitations, my shortcomings, my sinful tendencies, and I've discovered that maybe - just maybe - I don't know it all after all. Likewise, the passing of time has sharpened my awareness of the vastness, the greatness, the magnitude of the God who does know it all.

Age has a way of humbling us and teaching us that God is far bigger than we dared to dream, and we as humans are infinitely smaller than our egos are willing to admit. I see who I am - and who I am not - with greater clarity relative to who he is. 

It is this realization that humbles me, that leaves me feeling mystified and positively stumped that God should ever bend down to make himself known to me. I read his Word and I think, "How is that I'm still learning things afresh, things I've read dozens of times before, but as if I've never read them before?" I pray and think, "How is it that he still bothers to listen to me, still chooses to bestow his grace upon me?"

It's because I am growing and I am finding him bigger. 

When I get to heaven, I want to wrap my arms as far round God's neck as I can, gaze into his large wise face and say, "You're bigger." 

And then spend all eternity finding out just how big he really is. 

"For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known" (1 Corinthians 13:12).

"What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord..." (Phillipians 3:8).

New Favorite Hobby

I think my new favorite hobby may be embossing things.  I have had this painting in my head for months now (probably since last November) and when I tried to hand-write the quote on it, it just didn't look right.  I had never embossed anything before, but I knew in order to get the look right, I would need to figure out how to do it. So I bought some slow-drying ink and embossing powder, thinking I could get away with just using a blow dryer to apply the heat.  Nope.  Needed to find a legit heat gun.  So I've been on the hunt to find a cheap one.  Thank you, JoAnn Fabrics, for having an awesome sale today because I finally found one on sale.  Cost me a whopping $10.  Watched a few how-to videos on YouTube and we are good to go.

I came home and pulled the painting out.  I had already painted the background and the gold lines, it just needed the quote added. I hand-stamped the letters, dumped some embossing powder on it, shook off the excess and applied heat. Voilà.  Okay, so some of my letters and lines are crooked, but in this instance I don't care because I am so jazzed about the final product and the fact that I didn't do something crazy like burn a hole through the canvas on my first attempt.   

This stuff is magic.  And I might be obsessed.  

  

One of my very favorite quotes from The Lord of the Rings. Tolkien originally wrote it in
Return of the King, but when Peter Jackson made the movies, he put it in
The Two Towers.  But who cares.  I love the line either way.

You Never Have Another Best Friend...

"It was amazing. I do not at all understand the mystery of grace - only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us. It can be received gladly or grudgingly, in big gulps or in tiny tastes, like a deer at the salt. I gobbled it, licked it, held it down..." - Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies

I was like deer at the salt on Monday night at our church's monthly house of prayer.  Huddled between two of the godliest women I know, we drank deeply of that grace and received it gladly.  

I have the awesome privilege of being surrounded by a lot of amazing women and have had that privilege for a long while.  One of those mysteries of grace that I'll receive gladly, in big gulps. I get a little stunned when I look back over my life, especially from college until now, and I tick off on my fingers all of the women that I hold so dear.  Mentors, confidants, partners-in-crime, comforters, co-sojourners.  I can't even begin to write a list out of all the women I think are so priceless.  I wish that all could be surrounded by such a gathering of wise, wise friends.  

But tonight I especially want to esteem two of my dearest friends in this season of life - Jill and Alex.  I'm sure if you know me very well, you hear me talk about these two women a lot (and some of you probably even get tired of hearing me talk about them.  My apologies!).  But it's because they have played/are playing such an integral role in who I am as a Christ-follower.  Alex's fiancé Jed, now (affectionately?) refers to us as The Tribe.  "I'll just call you The Tribe." "Oh, The Tribe is meeting again." "You just saw each other less than twelve hours ago, what else could you possibly have to talk about??"  Lots, Jed, lots.  We're women.  There is always something to be said.  

As I sat at the house of prayer quietly praying over so many things the Lord kept bringing to my mind, sweet Jill walks over and, with tears in her eyes, asks if she can pray for me.  So her and I begin praying.  I'm sure we've got eye make-up streaming down our faces by the time she's done.  Then Alex walks over and sits down.  Also crying.  So then we begin sharing some Scripture and just hashing out some things that had been happening recently, things we were praying for.  Then I start praying for Alex.  Then I pray for Jill.  And by the time that all got done, we really were messes.  Runny noses, not enough tissues and too many tears.  

It's moments like that when I think, "This is what this looks like - to intercede, to come alongside, to draw nearer to one another and to Jesus, and to embrace the tears and runny noses."  Life is messy and complicated as it is.  We each are facing series of circumstances, which certainly are not unique to mankind, but to us they seem to leave us with gaping holes in our hearts - relationships from our past that haunt us in ways we didn't see coming, ones that threaten to knock us over, battles with insecurities and worthlessness, thoughts of some-day and not-yet marriages, confusion over next steps.  

But it's in those moments that grace shows up.  Sometimes it comes in the form of encouraging notes, unexpected phone calls, bouquets of "just-because" flowers.  But this time it showed up with skin on, in the form of two women who I esteem highly and who are crazy about Jesus.  I love the line from the deleted scenes portion of P.S. I Love You, when John says, “You never have another best friend like the first one you have when you’re old enough to know who you are in life.”  And it's so true.  But in this case, "friend" happens to be plural for me - "friends."  Because I'll never have other best friends like these first ones I've had when I was finally old enough to know who I was in life.  Well, maybe that's not entirely accurate because I'm still figuring out a lot about my life and those first best friends extends well beyond Jill and Alex.  But nevertheless, I'll welcome the grace that God so graciously provides.  I'll keep gobbling it and holding it down as best I can. 

I Can't Fathom

I was trying to corral a dozen or so 5-year olds on Sunday morning at church and in the midst of it, Shade walks over, taps me on the shoulder and says with the kind of grin that only a young child can display, looks me right in the eye and says, "I love you."

I was so caught off guard by his announcement that I stuttered for a moment.  I don't know that he was one of the children that had ever gravitated toward me in the past or me to him, but for whatever reason, he felt compelled to whisper those words to me on that Sunday morning, without prompting, without reason.

And in the ensuing moments, I thought, "How?"

How could someone see a little child like this, like Zachariah, like Ava, like Abby - and so senselessly and needlessly destroy their little lives?  It's inconceivable.  Mind-blowing.

And maybe if I'm really honest, I wondered how God could let this happen.  Because I want to blame somebody, I want to get mad at somebody.  And sometimes it's just easiest to blame God.

Friday afternoon was the first time I found myself in a long, long time opening the doorway to a slightly dark and deep hole of bitterness and resentment. It's a terrifying feeling, especially once you've been there long ago and vowed never to go back there.  I know what that bitterness and resentment is like.  I know what it's like to shake your fist at God and demand answers, demand he tell you "why", demand that he make it all right somehow.  And after making such demands all those years ago, I wound up in a pit so dark and deep that I learned I don't ever want to go back there again.

And I felt those sworn-off sentiments rise up on Friday as I watched the news and read the headlines and heard the radio broadcasts. I felt them bubbling up from deep within, questioning all over again, wondering if I really knew God at all.  

I know everybody is commenting. I know a lot of people are reeling from the pain and the horror.  I am one among many.  So I don't know that I have anything new to say.

All I know is this - at the end of the day, even when I don't understand all that happens around me, even when I don't understand the heinous, heinous evil - I know and believe that God still sits on his throne.  And I know that Satan is on the mission of a lifetime to do everything he can to destroy life.  He came to steal, kill and destroy, make no mistake about it.  But he knows his end is nearing and that makes him all the more desperate.

But if Satan is desperate then God is obsessed.  He's obsessed with his people, the ones he called unto himself, created for himself.  Not one life ends without his knowledge, without his notice.  He is not some calloused God sitting on his throne, unaware of all that is happening here on this little blue marble.

He is here and he is not silent.  And that's what I'm holding on to.



"Sometimes I don't feel like singing to God...I know that my circumstance in this season doesn't change that God is still God.  It doesn't change what God called me to be here or what he has called me to do.  He's still on the throne of heaven and he still rules and he's still bigger than everything I'm facing." 

"Never Say Goodbye..."

This is the part where I'm supposed to figure out how to exit gracefully.  I don't know that there is much that I could say that could fully encompass all that these last two months have meant to me.  The one thought that keeps lingering, here at the end of this particular journey to Kenya, comes from C.S. Lewis in the book A Severe Mercy. It is a quote I have often returned to as I pass through so many seasons of life.  It is appropriate now, as well. 

When it came time to part, [C.S. Lewis] insisted that they keep in touch and then said with a cheerful grin, "We'll certainly meet again here or there." The two friends shook hands and Lewis made his way across the busy highway. Then he turned to [Sheldon] Vanauken, raised his voice above the traffic, grinned and shouted, "Besides, Christians never say goodbye."

To my sweet Kenyan friends, we never have to worry about saying goodbye, for if it is not in this lifetime that we should ever cross paths again, it will surely be when we meet our Savior.  

His Reflection

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared about returning home in a week and a half.  Don't get me wrong, I am good and ready to come home.  But every day is an act of my discipline to remain fully here - mentally, emotionally, spiritually - because all I think about is being there.  I'm doing my best to not make "to do" lists, writing down all the things I want to do when I get home.  I don't want to miss out on what's here because I'm so busy thinking of home and all that is going on there.

But there are fears nonetheless.

I'm afraid of going back to the routine of who I used to be.

I'm afraid of time having its way with me, forgetting all that I've learned here, of having the memories fade.

I'm afraid of slipping back into old habits, whatever they might be.

I'm afraid of the possible monotony and ordinary.

I'm afraid of people having high expectations of me and then they get disappointed when they realize I'm still the same ol' sinful me.

I'm afraid of not finding a job that doesn't have a strong sense of purpose.

I'm afraid of being silent when I most need to speak up.

I'm afraid of forgetting the value of a dollar and just how much one dollar can change things for someone.

I'm afraid of people asking me questions I don't have answers for.

But do you know what I fear most?

I'm afraid I'll get home and people will still see me instead of seeing Jesus.

A few weeks ago, a man at church here in Nairobi read the following poem and I think it expresses my sentiments better than anything I could ever write to satisfy this moment...

When Jesus looks upon my life,
What picture does He see?
Does He see His own reflection,
Or does He just see me?

Does He see His likeness,
The product of His hand?
Or just another Christian,
Who never took a stand?

Does He see a child of God,
A child that He made free?
Living life to honor Him,
Or does He just see me?

What about the other folks,
I meet along the way?
Do I show them Jesus,
To brighten up their day?

When someone looks into my eyes,
Can they truly see
That calm and gentle peace of God,
That dwells inside of me?

When I reach out and shake a hand,
Is He right there in my grip?
Can they feel that strength from God,
That steadies when I slip?

When folks are in my presence,
Do they know His Spirit's there?
Can they see that He's the one,
Who guides me everywhere?

When other people think of me,
What is on their mind?
Do they think of Jesus Christ,
So gentle and so kind?

I try to be like Jesus
Every single day
Spreading love and kindness,
All along my way.

I'm afraid that I have failed,
I could not pass the test.
Deep inside my heart I know,
I haven't done my best.

I have had to fight my flesh,
Since the day that I was born.
It's always causing trouble,
And being such a thorn.

That's why His Spirit dwells in me,
He's helping me to learn
In every situation
Where I need to turn.

He knew I'd never pass the test,
That's why He took my place.
He gave His life to save my soul,
He suffered my disgrace.

Now I try to be like Him,
I must represent Him well.
So other folks will want His gift,
And turn their backs on hell.

Other folks should see the joy
That Christ has given me.
They should want to have it too,
Especially since it's free.

They should begin to ask me,
What is it they must do,
Just how it is they go about,
Getting Jesus too.

Then I get to tell them,
This wondrous gift is free.
It only takes a humble heart,
A prayer on bended knee.

Someday when I'm face to face,
With the Lord who made me free
Will He see His own reflection,
Or will He just see me?

Time

Somebody said to me shortly after I arrived back in Africa, "Americans have watches...Kenyans have time."  The concept of time seems to chase after me these days, but especially today.  Today was just one of those days, you know?  One of those days when it seemed everything was out of sorts and you just felt like having a good ol' fashioned pity party.  One of those days when somebody can just so much as look at you sideways and you want to cry. (Okay, maybe the vast majority of you do not have such days, but I do!) My return flight on September 16 seems so far away, but it's hard to believe that I've already been here a month.  How is that possible?  How is it that the past month has flown by but looking ahead to another month makes me want to burst into tears sometimes because it just seems like an eternity? How does this dichotomy exist? Indeed, it seems I keep too close an eye on my watch instead of simply embracing time for what it is.

I sure wish I knew the answers to my own questions because I wrestle every day with this balance of being fully here in Kenya, something I don't normally struggle with, and wanting very much to be back home in Columbus.  I don't want to wish my time away here.  I've done that in the past and walked away with deep regrets.  I don't want to repeat those mistakes, but some days it's hard.  It's hard to not think of all the things I'm missing at home.  It's hard to not think of my family, to not think of Lifepoint, to not think of friends.   

But maybe Sheldon Vanauken and C.S. Lewis phrase it best and ultimately offer perspective I need most in this moment.  In Vanauken's book A Severe Mercy (personal all-time favorite book), the two dialogue about this concept of time:

If, indeed, we all have a kind of appetite for eternity, we have allowed ourselves to be caught up in a society that frustrates our longing at every turn.  Half our inventions are advertised to save time - the washing machine, the fast car, the jet flight - but for what?  Never were people more harried by time: by watches, by buzzers, by time clocks, by precise schedules, by the beginning of the program.  There is, in fact, some truth in the 'good old days': no other civilization of the past was ever so harried by time.

And yet, why not?  Time is our natural environment.  We live in time as we live in the air we breathe.  And we love the air - who has not taken deep breaths of pure, fresh country air, just for the pleasure of it?  How strange that we cannot love time.  It spoils our loveliest moments.  Nothing quite comes up to expectations because of it.  We alone: animals, so far as we can see, are unaware of time, untroubled.  Time is their natural environment.  Why do we sense that it is not ours?

C.S. Lewis, in his second letter to me at Oxford, asked how it was that I, as a product of a materialistic universe, was not at home there. 'Do fish complain of the sea for being wet? Or if they did, would that fact itself not strongly suggest that they had not always been, or would not always be, purely aquatic creatures?' Then, if we can complain of time and take such joy in the seemingly timeless moment, what does that suggest? It suggests that we have not always been or will not always be purely temporal creatures.  It suggests that we were created for eternity.  Not only are we harried by time, we seem unable, despite a thousand generations, even to get used to it.  We are always amazed by it - how fast it goes, how slowly it goes, how much of it is gone.  Where, we cry, has the time gone? We aren't adapted to it, not at home in it.  If that is so, it may appear as proof, or at least a powerful suggestion, that eternity exists and is our home."

Maybe that's the truth for this moment.  That in my frustrations with time and feeling that the coming month is just a gaping void before me, what my heart is ultimately saying is that I was not made for this earth.  If we understand time through the lens of Scripture, then it's only logical that I should feel this way.  Because we are not meant for this world, for this fraction of time that we think lasts for so long, when it really is just a vapor.

"Each one of these people of faith died not yet having in hand what was promised, but still believing. How did they do it? They saw it way off in the distance, waved their greeting, and accepted the fact that they were transients in this world. People who live this way make it plain that they are looking for their true home. If they were homesick for the old country, they could have gone back any time they wanted. But they were after a far better country than that—heaven country." - Hebrews 11:13-16 (MSG)

May we all practice the art of waving our greeting to this world, accepting that we are transients, always longing for another time and another place.

Divine Spaciousness in Tight Places

I feel as though I should have something a little more profound or eventful to write about on the occasion of my 200th blog post.  Alas, I do not.  It's really just a collection of those small things that have come to mean something big in recent weeks, those little saving graces, those things for which I sent a "thank you, Jesus!" up to the heavens on more than one occasion.  They are the things that I could, no doubt, survive without but they make the going a little easier.  Many moons ago, I had a friend pass along this quote to me, from Barbara Brown Taylor's book Leaving Church:

“Many years ago now, when I was invited to speak at a church gathering, my host said, ‘Tell us what is saving your life now.’  It was such a good question that I have made a practice of asking others to answer it even as I continue to answer it myself.  Salvation is so much more than many of its proponents would have us believe.  In the Bible, human beings experience God’s salvation when peace ends war, when food follows famine, when health supplants sickness and freedom trumps oppression.  Salvation is a word for the divine spaciousness that comes to human beings in all the tight places where their lives are at risk, regardless of how they got there or whether they know God’s name.  Sometimes it comes as an extended human hand and sometimes as a bolt from the blue, but either way it opens a door in what looked for all the world like a wall. This is the way of life, and God alone knows how it works." 

So these things are my extended human hands or bolts from the blue, the things that have found me in tight places as of late:

1) My Sseko sandals - oh man, am I glad I have these sandals.  I LOVE these things.  On my last trip, I brought a not-so-great pair of tennis shoes and they wreaked havoc on my feet.  I really wasn't sure what to pack this time around, half-afraid everything was going to just cause pain from all of the walking we do around the village.  So, so, so glad I've got these with me.  Buy your own pair (and support some efforts in Uganda in a practical way!) and see what I mean.

2) My smartphone - I know, I know.  I vowed to loathe this thing for all eternity when I first got it.  Just ask anyone who was within 50 feet of me in the first few days I had it. I ranted and raved about this phone - and not just the phone itself, but the principle of having to pay what I did for it.  My mother was tired of hearing about it. *Swallowing my pride and eating my words* I will concede that it has been a gift, primarily because I've been readily able to check emails on the go when the guest computer is less-than-speedy and because of some of the apps I have.  Actually when it comes to apps, it's mainly Skype and Pandora.  (Howard Shore and Bethel Music are my top two fave stations.)  I'm not saying I won't chuck the thing when I get back to the States and switch back to my dumbphone, but I am glad I have it on this trip.

3) Emails from friends and family - There are some emails that have literally just made my day, even though whomever is sending them might think they are entirely trivial.  And the longer the email the better.  I just love getting personal emails, having that connection to life back home, knowing what's going on in my friends' and family's lives.  Those things matter to me.  I think sometimes people might put up this barrier and think, "Oh, Courtney's in Kenya - she doesn't need to be bothered we these mundane or inconsequential details..." Ahh, but you are mistaken!  I LOVE  knowing the mundane and the simple details of life back home, the stories.  Please keep 'em coming!

4) When kids say the darndest things - In a village of about 100 kids, there are bound to be things that come out of their mouths that make you laugh out loud.  That happened the other day.  I was taking a walk with Johnson (my caterpillar friend) and somehow we got to talking about the biggest states in America, but then the next question out of his mouth, somehow or another, was about bombs.  It took me probably a solid 30 seconds to decipher what in the world he was talking about and to catch up with his end of the conversation, but I finally caught on.  Then he goes, "Please, do you know where the bombs are?' "No, do YOU know where the bombs are?" "No, please.  Al-Shabab has them."  Seriously?  You're like how old? 7? 8? and you know who Al-Shabab is? And I still don't know how we got from Texas, California and Alaska to asking who has bombs?  I have no idea why, but that hit my funny bone hard in that moment and I had to work hard at not laughing hysterically because he said it so seriously and with a such straight face.  I'm still laughing about it.         

5) Cheez-Its - When I still had some.  I ran out last week. :( :(  That warrants a double-sad-face.  Totally a First World problem-kind-of-thing, but nevertheless you can bet I will be putting in a request for a box of Cheez-Its to be waiting for me at the airport upon my return.  Forget kissing American soil.  I'll be hugging that box of Cheez-Its.  (And no, this is not a prompt to give me Cheez-Its for every birthday and Christmas gift for the rest of my life.  I might have a slight love for these things, but that does not mean I want a lifetime supply of them.)

6) Peanut Butter - I think us girls living here for the short-term have eaten our weigh in peanut butter.  We put it on everything.  Bananas.  Crackers.  Toast.  Apples.  Cookies.  Whatever we can get our hands on, we throw some peanut butter on there with it.  When you eat kale, rice, beans and an assortment of other Kenyan staples, peanut butter suddenly looks likes the greatest food ever invented. 

7) Pastor Brad's sermon from July 22 - I needed to hear it.  You probably do, too.  Listen to it.

8) My mom's weekly cards and emails from my dad - Before I left, my mom handed me a stack of cards, one for each week I was originally supposed to be here.  I have exercised self-control and only opened them at the beginning of their appointed week.  Thank you, Mom!  I love them and read them often.  And Dad, your emails mean the world to me.

9) Weekend trips out of the village - It's just nice to get out every now and then.  Granted, it takes like an hour to get any place decent just because of the roads being not-so-great, but load me up on some Dramamine and we can go anywhere.

10) Java House - God bless you, Java House, for your vanilla milkshakes, tasty chicken sandwiches and stellar french fries.  I think those three things speak for themselves.  

So those are the things that have been saving me lately, the small graces that God gives each day, the manna that arrives at just the moment I need it to.

Have a Sandwich

I dearly love the movie "You've Got Mail."  I don't know what it is, but I can watch that movie over and over and over again and never get tired of it.  Drives my mother crazy that I do that with movies.  There's one scene in particular that was brought to mind today, though.  If you don't know the movie, Meg Ryan plays a bookstore owner named Kathleen Kelly.  She comes up against Joe Fox (Tom Hanks) who is a rival bookstore owner and he eventually runs her little shop into the ground.  She's heartbroken, but she decides to sell the shop, the only thing she's ever known.  She sits down to have lunch with her now former employees but loyal friends and they chat about her decision to sell.  Birdie is her accountant, a slightly eclectic older woman who has been a mentor to Kathleen.  She attempts to give Kathleen a little pep talk:

"You are daring to imagine that you could have a different life. Oh, I know it doesn't feel like that. You feel like a big fat failure now. But you're not. You are marching into the unknown armed with... [pauses, hands Kathleen a plate of sandwiches] Nothing. Have a sandwich."

That's kinda how I feel.  Daring to imagine a different life.  Marching into the unknown with [next to] nothing. 

Why? 

Because I went out on a limb and quit my job to spend more time in Kenya.  The decision was for a variety of reasons, not confined solely to Kenya.  It was about risk.  It was about "divine discontent."  It was about change.  It was about surrendering.  It was about doors closing and doors opening. It was about God nudging and me shoving back.  It was about a lot of things which cannot be fully contained here.  

It wasn't an easy decision by any stretch of the imagination.  And even now the doubts creep in and I wonder if I've lost my mind all together.  That's so like our enemy, Satan.  Always the accuser and the discourager.  But then I tell myself that people make decisions like this every day, in some way, shape or form.  There's nothing exceptional about what I am doing.  This is simply how I know to live my life.  Fears and failures and all that comes along with taking risks. 

So, when you feel like you're marching into the unknown armed with nothing, just remember - have a sandwich.  And maybe some Cheez-its.

Always Questions

"Miss Courtney, please, Miss Courtney, do you have snow where you come from?"

"Please, please, Miss, do you have any brothers?"

"Auntie Courtney, please, where do you live?"

"Miss Courtney, how many planes did you take to get here?"

"Auntie, please, what is your favorite food?"

Always questions.

Always their little faces pressed close to mine so I can hear their soft voices over the din of the dinner crowd.  I have to watch their mouths move so I can better connect what I'm hearing with what I'm seeing because I struggle to understand their accents.  I sometimes have to ask them to repeat themselves multiple times before it registers what they are saying.  Or I look to another child to interpret for me.  We eventually understand one another and I can give an answer.

"Miss Courtney, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

But it is here - it is here that I have no answer.

Several children have asked me that question and I genuinely don't have an answer.  I have no idea what to tell them.  I stare at them for what seems an eternity, trying to conjure up some really brilliant, noble answer that sounds acceptable - and normal - and rational - as if I need to impress a group of 4-year olds in Kenya.

I have wrestled with a sense of purpose here lately - or lack thereof.  The sentiment seems most prevalent in my job but it bleeds over to other parts of my life, even in my time here in Kenya.  What am I doing here?  What am I doing there?  Do I belong here?  If not here, then where?  If not there, then where?  It's this no-man's land, this demilitarized zone that nobody seems to know what to do with and you're afraid to walk out into it for fear of being shot by some unknown enemy.

But the theme keeps showing up, this idea of purpose.  I watched the movie Hugo not too long ago. I was struck by one of the quotes from Hugo, the main character:

I'd imagine the whole world was one big machine. Machines never come with any extra parts, you know. They always come with the exact amount they need. So I figured, if the entire world was one big machine, I couldn't be an extra part. I had to be here for some reason. 

I figure if the entire world is one big machine, then I have to be here for some reason.

But maybe we're asking the wrong question.  Maybe it's like Pastor Brad said, maybe the better question to ask is not WHAT do you want to be when you grow up, but WHO do you want to be when you grow up.

Because I can answer that question.

I want to be someone who lived with Jesus as her one magnificent obsession.  I want to be someone who put her "yes" on the table and walked away with no regrets.  Mind you, not someone who was perfect, not someone who always got it right. Just someone who lived a purposeful life.

I just wish I knew exactly what that looked like in the flesh and in the day-to-day living.

Author Francis Chan wrote

"It is true that God may have called you to be exactly where you are. But it's absolutely vital to grasp that He didn't call you there so you could settle in and live out your life in comfort and superficial peace. His purposes are not random or arbitrary. If you are still alive on this planet, it's because He has something for you to do. He placed us on this earth for purposes that He orchestrated long before we were born (Eph. 2:8-10). Do you believe you exist not for your own pleasure but to help people know the love of Jesus and to come fully alive in Him? If so, then that will shape how you live your life in the place where you are."

I want that truth to shape how I live my life in the place that I am.  Here in Kenya. Back home at my job.  With my family.  With my church.  Wherever life takes me. 

These children will grow up knowing they have one purpose: to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.  And maybe in the years to come, I will come back to this village, back to these children and I will whisper to them, "I know my purpose."

The Edge of All I Know

“When you have come to the edge of all light that you know and are about to drop off into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing one of two things will happen: There will be something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly.” - Patrick Overton
 Mmm.  Such a good reminder.  I think I'm just about on that edge.  So many nerves.  So many fears.  So many what-ifs and uncertainties and not enough space for all of my snacks.  I keep thinking of Susan Sarandon in the movie Elizabethtown (one of my all-time favorite movies - see it as soon as you can):  "All forward motion counts."

All forward motion counts at this point.  Pack. Get to the airport. Get on the plane. Find your seat. Make your connections.  Get to Nairobi.  Get to the village.  Find those smiling faces.  Hold on tight. And find life on the other side of the world.  Forward motion counts. 

My bags are nearly by the door.  Few last items to pack.  Weigh them to make sure they are under 50 pounds.  Get some sleep.  Wake up and find out if there's something solid to stand on or if I'm going to find out what it means to fly.

Repairer of Broken Walls

A few weeks ago I went to see Snow White and the Huntsman.  (Think what you like about Kristen Stewart - I happen to really like her, especially in this Snow White role.)  As I thought about the movie and the different themes that played out, it dawned on me why I like female characters like this so much - they are healers. Strong women whose presence alone changes the course of situations.  Think of Lucy Pevensie in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.  Or Arwen in The Lord of the Rings.  It's probably why I consistently come back to these movies time and again, because of characters like those.

In one of the scenes in Snow White, the dwarfs rattle off their ailments - aching hips, throbbing legs, pounding headaches.  Then they realize those problems have been alleviated since Snow White entered the picture.  One of the dwarfs says, "She is life itself."  Her mere existence heals parts of who they are and how they view life.  And I find that so stunning for some reason.  Maybe because I want to be like that.

Isn't that who we are called to be as Christ-followers, healers and menders of that which is broken?  Broken systems, broken relationships, broken societies, broken hearts, broken pasts, broken dreams, broken hopes. 

As I had been reflecting on that idea, God, in his usual way, allowed this concept to play out in my own life.  The general idea is that I was faced with a broken relationship in my life and it wasn't getting any better.  I was, in fact, contributing to making it worse it seemed.  And the more and more I thought about it, the more and more I realized that I can't let this go on.  I can't let this disrepair continue.  If I'm to say that I am a follower of Christ, then it means I can't just pay lip service to a set of ideas about restoration and reconciliation.  It means I actually have to do the work of making this relationship right.  As Beth Moore says, "We gotta do the thing, girls!"  So I did the thing and went to work, mending and repairing as best I could, as best I knew how. Stone by stone, you rebuild the wall, repave the streets and bring people to a place of healing.  In our own little corners of the world, we gotta do the work.  I have to do it in my workplace, in my family, in my church, in Kenya, wherever life takes me.  Just like Jesus, his presence alone changes the course of situations.  It should be the same in our lives.  Not in some magical, mystical kind of way.  But in a rubber-meets-the-road kind of way, in a way that makes people take notice, in a way that brings about life.

I love how Isaiah 58:9-12 says it:

“If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,
and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.
The Lord will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.
Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins
and will raise up the age-old foundations;
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings."

I want to be a repairer of broken walls and a restorer of streets with dwellings.



   

There is No Plan B

As time draws closer to leave for Kenya, the questions and the fears get a little more overwhelming.

"Are you sure you want to go?"

"How long will you be there?"

"Is it safe?"

Yes, I don't know, and probably not.

The doubts from others start to crowd in and their voices get a little louder with each passing day.  You can bet there are days that I have my own doubts, days when I second-guess and wonder.  I'm like Toodles in Hook, wandering around the house, incessantly muttering, "Lost, lost, lost..." "Lost what?"  "I've lost my marbles."

But I always come back to the same conclusion:

There is no Plan B.

This, what I'm living, is Plan A.  And there is no Plan B. 

There is no Plan B when it comes to Kenya.  It never crosses my mind to not go, to not go because of fear.  It never crosses my mind that in the midst of Somali pirates, planes crashing into crowded neighborhoods, and bombs going off in churches, that I wouldn't ever go back to Africa.  Because it's the only thing I know how to do.  I don't know what else to do or who else to be.

In the movie We Bought a Zoo, Matt Damon's character said, "You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it."

Maybe life needs to be lived twenty seconds at a time.

Because there is no Plan B.

The Holstee Manifesto

http://shop.holstee.com/pages/about

Let This Be True of My Life

When you are forgotten or neglected or purposely set at naught, and you sting and hurt with the insult or the oversight, but your heart is happy, being counted worthy to suffer for Christ - that is dying to self.

When your good is evil spoken of, when your wishes are crossed, your advice disregarded, your opinions ridiculed and you refuse to let anger rise in your heart, or even defend yourself, but take all in patient loving silence - that is dying to self.

When you lovingly and patiently bear any disorder, any irregularity, or any annoyance, when you can stand face to face with waste, folly, extravagance, spiritual insensibility, and endure it as Jesus endured it - that is dying to self.

When you are content with any food, any offering, any raiment, any climate, any society, any attitude, any interruption by the will of God - that is dying to self.

When you never care to refer to yourself in conversation, or to record your own good works, or itch after commendation, when you can truly love to be unknown - that is dying to self.

When you see your brother prosper and have his needs met and can honestly rejoice with him in spirit and feel no envy nor question God, while your own needs are far greater and in desperate circumstances - that is dying to self.

When you can receive correction and reproof from one of less stature than yourself, can humbly submit inwardly as well as outwardly, finding no rebellion or resentment rising up within your heart - that is dying to self.
       
           - Author Unknown

The Dust of Everyday Life

Pablo Picasso said, “Art washes from the soul the dust of everyday life.”

I have needed some dust washed off my soul lately.

In the wake of Jonathan's death, I have found myself reflecting on thoughts too numerous to mention all in one place, but finding at the same time a sense of desperation to get them out of my head and onto paper or onto canvas.  Because in the days after his loss, I just kept coming back to the same phrase over and over again:

There is healing in the act of creation.

There is a solace that is found in making something that is all together separate from you, but still a part of you.  Maybe it's my way of remembering.  My way of honoring.  My way of healing.  Because I don't know what else to do.  I don't know what else to do other than write.  Journal entries.  Blog entries.  Cards to people, talking about Jonathan.  I don't know what else to do other than to paint, to put a brush in my hands and figure out a way to bring life to my own soul.  That's what I know to do.

I remember after I lost my grandfather several years ago, I dredged up a story I had written about him when I was an undergrad student.  It was originally a creative writing assignment for an American Lit class I was taking.  We were to write a story with "local color," a story that conveyed a distinct region or area, including dialect and geography.  I chose my grandparents' farm and the words of my grandfather to tell the story I had bottled up in my head.  So, when he died, I did a painting based on that story, a story I dearly love because, from my perspective, it so clearly captured my grandfather and all that I esteemed him to be.  I treasure that painting and that story so.

Because that's what I have to do to wash the dust off my soul.  Because that's where I find some semblance of healing and satisfaction in the face of loss.

There is healing in the act of creation.

"God created the heavens and the earth...and he saw that it was good..." 

The Practice of Getting Lost

Sometimes we need to get a little lost.  It does our senses some good when we're not sure where we are.  Barbara Brown Taylor said in her book An Altar in the World, "You have to start somewhere.  If you do not start choosing to get lost in some fairly low-risk ways, then how will you ever manage when one of life's big winds knocks you clean off your course?  I am not speaking literally here, although literal lostness is a good place to begin since the skills are the same: managing your panic, marshalling your resources, taking a good look around to see where you are and what this unexpected development might have to offer you."

Some people don't manage their panic or marshal their resources very well, however.  You may have heard about the couple and their children who got lost in a corn maze in Danvers, Massachusetts.  After spending who-knows-how-long in the maze and not making it out, the decide to call 911.  That would have been my natural thought.  Yes, let's call 911 to get us out of a corn maze.  Hmm. Either way, the police come, only for the couple to discover that they were about 25 feet away from the exit.  To each his own.

But then I spent some time in our own local corn maze and discovered that I was quite annoyed at getting lost.  And quite annoyed at going around in circles, wondering how the heck to get over there, wherever there is, when I am so sick of seeing and being here, wherever here is.  I didn't feel the need to call 911, but I will admit that I did text the above sign at one point because clearly my sense of direction was not getting me anywhere.  The text wasn't much help.  It basically said look at the sun and go left.  Awesome.  That's just where I came from.  So, I'm still here.  

I suppose getting lost in that corn maze was a good reminder, though, for me.  I need those kind of reminders every so often, even if they do come in the form of muddy paths, ridiculous winds, screaming lost children, and stalks of corn slapping me in the face as I walk by.  I need to get lost a little more often.  And be okay with it.  

Taylor went on to write in her book

When the safety net has split, when the resources are gone, when the way ahead is not clear, the sudden exposure can be both frightening and revealing.  We spend so much of our time protecting ourselves from this exposure that a weird kind of relief can result when we fail.  To lie flat on the ground with the breath knocked out of you is to find a solid resting place.  This is as low as you can go.  You told yourself you would die if it ever came to this, but here you are. You cannot help yourself and yet you live."

She goes on to say 

You will think of other ways to get lost, or to accept that you really have gotten lost through no choice of your own.  It can happen anywhere, in all kinds of ways.  You can get lost on your way home.  You can get lost looking for love.  You can get lost between jobs.  You can get lost looking for God.  However it happens, take heart.  Others before you have found a way in the wilderness, where there are as many angels as there are wild beasts, and plenty of other lost people, too.  All it takes is one of them to find you.  All it takes is you to find one of them.  However it happens, you could do worse than to kneel down and ask a blessing, remembering how many knees have kissed this altar before you.

I only hope I can practice the art of getting lost a little more often, both in the literal and figurative sense.  I'll just know not to text Pig17 next time around.

In Two Days

In two days, my brother will stand in front of friends and family make a covenant with the woman he loves.

In two days, my brother will slip a ring on Megan's finger and vow to love her until his dying breath.

In two days, my brother will make a decision that will forever change his life.

In two days, my brother will stand before a holy and gracious God and pledge he will honor and cherish the King's daughter with every fiber of his being, no matter the cost.

It's a hefty decision.  Apart from accepting Christ, I'd say it's the most important decision a person can ever make in his or her lifetime.   

But you know what's really mind-boggling about those moments?  They are mere reflections.  Mere reflections of what Christ desires for His Church, his own bride.  But you know what I also really love about those moments?  It reminds me that God is for us.  He is for marriage.  He is for purity.  He is for covenant relationships.  He is in favor of those things that ultimately reflect Him.

One of the poems that I absolutely love is called "Dear Bride to Be" by Beth Moore.  I don't know where I first encountered it, but I think I have given a copy of it to nearly every friend I have that has recently gotten married.  In my mind, it captures God's deepest desires for our marriages.

Josh and Megan - this is my prayer for you.

Come to Me, dear bride to be
And kneel before My throne,
And I will share My heart with you
And make your house a home.
Listen well, lean closely,
There are secrets at My feet.
The marriage you will soon begin
This Bridegroom will complete.
The man with whom you’ll journey
Is your wedding gift from me
To teach you things beyond this world,
A precious mystery.
For through your union I will choose to teach you of myself
Let him hold you tightly
and keep you safe from harm
until I’ll one day hold you in my everlasting arms.
Let him wipe away your tears
and trust him with your pain
until I wipe them all away and heaven is your gain.
Pray to love his tender touch and want his gentle kiss.
I grant you both my blessing
and ask you not to miss
the reason why I have chosen for two halves to become one
That you might see the Bride of Christ,
sweet daughter, dear son.
So make his home a refuge, he’s to love you as I do
Until your mansion is complete for you
And if I should choose to leave you here when I call him home Trust me, I’ll be your husband then, you’ll never be alone. 

Makes Me Think

Every Wednesday morning one of the local radio stations has a segment called Zuko's CyberScoop.  The DJ references a few websites that listeners have recommended or that he has stumbled across.  He had one this morning, though, that caught my attention.  And after reading a few, I'll admit that I got a little misty-eyed.  I'll let the site do the talking.

http://www.makesmethink.com/

Today, I was sitting on a park bench eating a sandwich I made myself for lunch when an elderly couple pulled their car up under a nearby oak tree. They rolled down the windows and turned up some jazz music on the radio. Then the man got out of the car, walked around to the passenger side, opened the door for the woman, took her hand and helped her out of her seat, guided her about ten feet away from the car, and they slow danced for the next half hour under the oak tree. MMT


Today, I took a cab ride 16 blocks in Manhattan and when I got to my destination I realized I forgot my wallet at home. As I fumbled through my purse, trying to explain things to the cab driver and scrounge up enough cash, a man walked up behind me and handed me a $50 bill. “Thank you!” I said. “Let me have your address. I will pay you back.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out an old receipt and wrote down an address. “You can drop off my money here,” he said. This afternoon I went to the address he gave me and found myself standing in front of a soup kitchen that had a sign out front that said, “Accepting cash donations to feed the hungry.” I walked in and donated the $50. MMT


Today, my father celebrated his 85th birthday in his hospice bed. Our entire family gathered in his room to celebrate with him. It was a bittersweet experience. And a few hours before he passed he used every bit of strength he had to read a love letter aloud to us that my mom had written to him back in 1946 when they first started dating. MMT


Today, I saw my elderly neighbor down at his mailbox getting his mail when a gust of wind ripped a large yellow envelope out of his hand and blew it down the street. As I got up to assist him, my dog, who was sitting on my front porch next to me, unexpectedly got up and went running after the envelope, caught it in her mouth halfway down the block, and brought it back to my neighbor. MMT

Today, I am a corporate accountant for a privately held chain of restaurants in the mid west. Our company employs several hundred people. The economic downturn has had a noticeable effect on the number of customers eating in our restaurants, but not a single employee has been laid off. But what our employees don't know is that the owner hasn't written himself a paycheck in six straight months. MMT

Big Picture Definitions

Oh, life.  Sometimes I wonder about you.  Like how the heck you and I are supposed to work together.  Or how I'm supposed to survive you without completely botching everything up. 

I have felt this tremendous pressure lately - probably self-imposed - to have somehow "arrived" at a job better than one as an admin assistant and to own a home or to at least be living somewhere other than with my parents. (I hate seeing that last part in black and white.)  I wrestle back and forth - do I get an apartment?  Do I buy house?  What is this desire to own a home?  As Christians, how much of the American Dream should we buy into?  What does it look like to live in community?  Where should I live?  Why do we own homes?  What does it ultimately signify?  And if I go back to Africa for any length of time, shouldn't I really answer that question first before I go and buy a house?  Am I less of a person for not being out on my own?  What if people think I'm a slacker?  Am I enabling some kind of crazy habit and I don't even realize it?  Why do I have this job?  Am I a good steward of my talents and skills?  Why am I not better using the education I have?  Should I be doing something different vocationally?  Is this really how it's supposed to be?

I have no good answers, unfortunately.  I suppose some of my thought process stems from reading books like Radical by David Platt and Crazy Love by Francis Chan, books that really challenge(d) me to reevaluate biblical truths versus things I had been told all my life, things that I just bought hook, line, and sinker.  A lot of "why" questions came out as a result of those books - why this, why that, why not this, why not that.

I really appreciated what Shiao Chong wrote in an article for Comment:    

If we don't make enough money to buy the latest technological gadgets, watch the latest movies, wear the latest fashions, eat at the trendiest places, in short, if we do not have the money power to participate in the culture of consumerism, to be a consumer, we are left out at the margins; we are not "in" or "hip"; we are made to feel that we are missing out. We are not worthy because we don't fit the big picture definition of who we are supposed to be.

But just who is it that we are supposed to be and what is the big picture definition?  Who is writing that definition?  And why are we defining our worth on whether we have a home or a corporate career?  Why am I defining my worth based on those things?  Not to say that those things are wrong - having things, pursuing a great job, etc - but the question must be "What is our motive?"  Why am I seeking those things?  And are we doing it from a biblical, Christ-centered worldview? 

I sure wish I knew.