Good news

Most of us have an appreciation for a really good story. Complex characters, a well constructed plot, action, adventure, sorrow, redemption, romance. A well told story captivates us. But don't most of us love the great stories that are actually true, not merely fiction? I know I do. That's why I love the story of God. There are so many ways to tell it, and still, language falls so short. His story must also be experienced.

Imagine with me a homeless woman on the bus. I'm being stereotypical here for a purpose. Her clothes are soiled and smell foul, like she has sat in her own urine for days. Her hair is greasy and matted to her head. On her breath is the bitter stench of alcohol. Her skin is tough and weathered and beneath her fingernails are black. She doesn't give eye contact, because it seems no one cares to look her in the eyes.

Now imagine God enters the bus. He sits down next to this woman. He doesn’t gag, hold his breath, plug his nose or look away. Instead, he looks her in the eyes and engages her in conversation. Within a few short minutes, the woman that no one ever talks to; the woman that people avoid sitting next to on the bus; the woman that no one wants to touch; feels understood for the first time in her life. Instead of pointing out her filthiness, God leans in and gives her a hug, and then he invites her over to his house. He offers her a place to take a hot shower and a new, clean pair of clothes. He discovers her favorite food, cooks her a meal, and they sit down to eat together. She pours out her heart to him, and he pours his out in return. Finally she is known. Finally she is accepted, and she is no longer ashamed. She has inexhaustible debts, and he explains that his Son has already paid them for her. God offers her a key to the house and adopts her into his family.

This is the embrace of grace.

At some point, we all are or have been this woman. And God has sought us out on the crowded bus, alone in our seat, where he has engaged us, embraced us, and invited us home with him. He has bathed us, clothed us, prepared a meal for us, and dined with us. He has offered us a new identity, so that we do not remain homeless, hungry, filthy, destitute, and alone. This is the God of grace. And this is his embrace. All he asks is that we have the faith to receive.

Still, as nice as this metaphor is, I know it falls short of an all-inclusive view of the gospel. It is, at best, perhaps a snapshot somewhere in the middle of the gospel story. The lengths to which Jesus has gone to save and redeem us from our sin, the forgiveness he offers, and the power with which his life, death and resurrection transforms us is beyond metaphor. The story of the gospel is so good, it stands alone. Sometimes metaphor simply opens the door to the full story.

I love the gospel ("good news"), and I find I've fallen more and more in love with this story - and the God who has so brilliantly crafted it - over this past year. Growing up "in the church", I think I kind of lost my awe of the gospel. Or perhaps I never really had it, because it's like it was always there. I took it for granted. For some reason this year, I've been seeing God's story through fresh eyes, and each time it blows my mind and unravels my heart. It truly is the greatest Romance ever. As we approach Easter, a holiday that culturally means little more than baskets of candy and decorated eggs and cute little bunnies, I am marveling again at the wonder of the good news of the gospel of Jesus. And without Easter - the death and resurrection of Jesus - this story would not exist.

The danger of laptops

Oh dear. Instead of sleeping, which I should be doing, so I can spring out of bed at 4:50 am (yeah right - about the springing part)... I'm sitting here editing and uploading pics online and looking up airline tickets to Mozambique. Not that I have the money to purchase a ticket to Mozambique at this moment (Apple took a sizable chunk of it, mind you), but a girl can dream, right? It's been awhile since I dreamed of Africa...

http://www.irisministries.com/about-our-mission.cfm

So for now: goodnight, friends. Goodnight, Africa.

The age old Judeo-Christian face off

Goat...

versus

...Sheep.

And for the record, though it may be biblically unpopular, I cast my vote for goats.

Foundations

I came across a quote posted on a fellow believer's facebook page the other day, and it troubled me. It read: "What we think, or what we know, or what we believe is, in the end, of little consequence. The only consequence is what we do." What initially troubled me was how good it sounded. After all, what could be more important than what we do in life, than how we live? In my days of wrestling and questioning and refining my beliefs (a lifelong process, but especially intense during this period), mostly while I was immersed in the world of "academia", I remember feeling much the same as my friend quoted above. Gradually, I allowed my perspective of the gospel to be redefined by the particular complexities of our culture, world affairs, and my own life experiences. Things were no longer black and white, but appeared to me as quite gray, confusing, ambiguous, uncertain. Now I'm not denying that life is colored by a deep shade of gray, that it isn't filled with its share of heartbreaking complexities and questions too big for us to answer satisfactorily, and that this does not impact our faith. My issue is when we take that perception about life and apply it to God. Let us be clear, those of us who are in the faith: Life may be complicated, but Jesus Christ is not. Issues may be ambiguous, but the gospel is not. We must guard ourselves so we do not confuse the two.

Dare we build our lives on questions? What kind of foundation is that? No, we must build on the truth, and that truth is found in Jesus. If we cannot accept that truth, if we find it too offensive, politically incorrect, biased, intolerant, narrow-minded, or whatever terminology we wish to attach to it, we will come to the end of our lives and find that we have merely built a structure on a faulty foundation. And in the end, regardless of our works, that will not stand; it will dissolve. "For no other foundation can anyone lay than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ" (1 Cor. 3:11).

One of the other issues I have with the assertion that the thing of most consequence is what we do, is that it implies a self-reliance contrary to the gospel of Jesus and His grace. Doesn't Paul emphasize in Romans, "For when we were still without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly"(Rom. 5:6), and again, that "God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us"(Rom. 5:8)? Which part of that statement can we actually dare to take credit for? That Jesus came to us because we were inherently good, because "God helps those who help themselves"? Well, Jesus already burst our bubble when He said we can't even lay claim of choosing Him... (John 15:16).

Who are we fooling if we profess that this life and beyond is all about Christ, yet live as if it all depends on us? By God, someday when my life is over, I don't want my legacy to be that I was the "nicest do-gooder"! The greatest thing that could ever be said of my life is that I knew Jesus, that I was crazy in love with Him, and that this love was experienced by the people who came in contact with me. I could never take credit for that. It's only God's grace working in me that has brought me where I am today and will continue shaping me into who I am to become. Those are not words of false modesty, for it is impossible for God to ever receive too much credit.

And some may ask, what about all the good people out there in the world doing good things who don't share this belief in Jesus? I don't deny there are many such people - that would be naivety! But sadly, while they may improve the conditions of life here on earth, and may even be able to postpone the deaths of others, they can in the end offer no solution for salvation. And I'm not talking only about the after-life kind of salvation, but also "the kindgom of God is at hand", heaven on earth, abundant life, freedom from the bondage of sin kind of salvation. It begins now, not just after death. I'm beyond caring if that type of thinking meets with the approval of a postmodern culture, let alone a postmodern church. I'm not ashamed to say that the thing of most consequence is that I exist because of Jesus, I live through Jesus, and I live for Jesus. And He alone is to receive all the glory for whatever fruit comes from my life here on earth. This is to be the measure of our lives: "For we do not preach ourselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord" (1 Cor. 4:5).

Friends, in an age of information, technology, multiculturalism, pluralism, relativism (a host of other "isms"), and many complex issues I have no desire to make light of, we must resolve to stand fast in the simplicity of the gospel. If it's complicated, it's not God, "For God is not the author of confusion but of peace" (1 Cor. 14:33). There is good and there is evil; there is truth and there is deception; there are some who understand and there are many who do not. This may be sobering, but we cannot philosophize it away: "But even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing, whose minds the god of this age has blinded, who do not believe, lest the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine on them... For it is God who commanded light to shine out of darkness, who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ" (1 Cor. 4:3-4, 6). Certainly, to some the truth of the gospel is veiled. But how much more that compells me to pray that the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the person of Jesus shines in their hearts - hopefully in part through my life - so that they may know the abundant life God offers! Yes, let us walk in humility and respect, in grace and love, in mercy and justice - and let that be shown in what we do. But let that not be what we hang our faith on. Our faith hangs on Christ alone, in what He has done for us so that we can now experience life and spread those seeds of hope in the world.

My kids

With the birth of two new babies amongst my Starbucks coworkers, we began a little photo display on the front of one of our registers. Customers love it. Over time, many customers inquired which kid was mine. Some, when they heard my reply, would follow it with, "Well, when's your turn?" It's not that this little exchange irritated me, as much as I realized I had a creative solution to it. So I began posting pictures of my own kids...

I recently took a trip to visit my kids at the farm. Well, by kids I mean adopted kids, Bert and Ernie, twin Alpine dairy goats. Unfortunately, I cannot take these kids home to Ballard, because for one, the farm would not look kindly on kid-napping, and two, they would eat the inside of my apartment to smithereens. Kids will do that, or so I hear. So, I brought Mom with me on this particular visit, because she, like any good grandma, wants to bond with her grandkids. We were both anticipating the visit, but when we arrived, the kids were out to pasture and didn't pay us much attention. We waved and hollered, cajoled and whistled and waited; still, the kids ignored us. It appeared we'd come at an inconvenient time.

Bert and Ernie dismissed us, but in their absence, another kid whose name I don't know, came shuffling quietly over to us beside the fence. [On a side note, visiting the kids does have a bit of a prison visit feel to it, with the wire fence and all between us, but I try to overlook that.] This kid had fairer hair and squinty green eyes that wouldn't look directly at us. Kind of a nervous kid, I'd say. I called to the kid and reached my fingers just far enough to scratch the kid's side. I continued scratching the nervous kid's tummy, and when I commenced with the petting, the kid took one nonchalant step closer to the fence. Now I could reach the kid's nose. So I scratched and petted him on his nose and behind his ears and atop his head, without him so much blinking one of his beady little eyes. And when I paused an extra long pause - he scooted even closer to the fence. We continued this little dance until said kid was pressed against the fence. This kid, so quiet and sad and socially awkward, with each "meehhh"-less movement closer to the fence seemed to be shouting, "pick me, pick me!" What could I do? I melted.

So while I didn't exactly get to see my kids up close this visit, I did adopt another kid, and that made me very happy. Very happy, indeed. After all, as the saying goes, "no goat, no glory."

Contentment

Recently I wrote on my facebook status, "I love my life." It's like this revelation hit my heart: I am abundantly blessed! Just two years ago, life was drastically different. On a typical day, I would drag my tired body out of bed at 7am, go to work for a few hours, then drive to my counseling internship in Everett and generally work another 4-7 hours (depending on whether or not I would be sitting in an evening class for 4 hours in Kirkland), and spend the last few hours of my night at a coffee shop studying, after which I would drop into bed some time after 1am, ultra-caffeinated and mentally keyed up, trying to relax enough to fall asleep and do it all over again the next day.

I was aware during this period of my life that I was incredibly blessed to be receiving a higher education, and I genuinely loved being a student, but I mistakenly believed I thrived off the pace of life I led as a grad student. Professors and supervisors would warn us grad students, "Just wait until you finish school and have a break for awhile, you'll be bored." When I finished grad school, however, life as I knew it came to a grinding halt. My dad's death forced me to slow down whether I wanted to or not. I suddenly had no clue where I was going with my life any more, what I was passionate about, or what ambitious things I would aspire to do with my education.

So, I spent a month with my family in Oregon after Dad died, and the following month with a close friend in Guatemala. When I returned home to Seattle, I spent nearly the next three months searching for a job. I felt lost, adrift, and frustrated. Job searching had never been fun for me, but now, it felt torturous. Each time I sat down at my laptop, I wanted to bang my head against it. Nothing that would have previously interested me held appeal any more. I finally ended up taking a position as a barista at Starbucks, figuring it would help me bide my time until I moved onto something more meaningful.

And life gradually settled into a new rhythm. I worked about 30 hours a week, making people smile as they came and went for their daily caffeine fix. I went for long walks with my camera around my neck, talking with God and soaking in the solitude. I continued to sit at coffee shops, reading and writing, enjoyed leisurely time with Mom, reveled in the luxury of making meals, spent more time with friends, reconnected with parts of me that had been lost in the busy pace of life, and picked my guitar up more frequently again. I was slowly learning not to strive.

I've got a confession: I just passed my one year mark at my job, and much to my surprise, I'm not bored yet. I've had a year to build relationships with the customers that frequent our little kiosk, and I'm actually quite fond of them. I've even become friends with a few of them. When I come home, I leave work at work. And in my hours of free time - when you work 5:30am to 2pm, there's a lot of time left in the day - I'm still not bored. I live in a beautiful part of Seattle, just blocks from a view of the Puget Sound and Olympic mountains. Lots of families, lots of people walking their dogs, lots of charming local businesses within walking distance. It makes me smile. I often spend part of an afternoon sitting at a neighborhood coffee shop, drinking the cup of coffee I ironically didn't consume at work, reading my bible and writing. I go for a run or walk to the gym for a yoga class. I meet up with a friend and enjoy a good conversation over a bowl of pho. I play guitar and sing at the top of my lungs. I have dinner with Mom and go for a long walk together afterward. I attend a small group through my church and worship with my church family on Saturday nights. I rest. I am content. I have nothing to prove.

Yet all this, alone, was not the inspiration for my facebook status. I think Mike Bickle (founder of the International House of Prayer in Kansas City) says it best:

"Enjoying God is important to consistent spiritual growth. I have tasted this pleasure in some measure but not in an uninterupted way. There are moments when pleasure in God can erupt in our spirit. Even though this does not happen all day or even every day, nor do we feel this for extended periods of time, yet, a little touch of this pleasure does a remarkable thing in changing how we think and feel about life."

The more I enjoy God, the more I feel God's enjoyment of me, the more I, in return, enjoy life. All of life is about finding pleasure in God and living from a place of knowing and experiencing His pleasure in us. This revelation absolutely alters how I think and feel about life, and it causes me to look at my life and say, with great joy, "I love my life." And someday, when this particular season of life transitions into the next, I pray I take with me this revelation, that my capacity for enjoying God only expands and deepens with each season.

"Like an apple tree among the trees of the woods, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down in his shade with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste." ~ Song of Solomon 2:3

Oh, that we would daily sit in the shade of God's expansive love and taste the sweet fruit of His goodness and delight in us! For there is no pleasure like Him in all the world, no fruit that will satisfy us as Jesus does.

Of lilies, foxes and myrrh

* These thoughts came to me as I read Song of Solomon. If you haven't read this unusual book of the Bible, this probably won't make much sense to you. As usual, I'm very open here about the journey I'm on in life, and specifically, with some healing God is doing in my heart. I share so openly in the hope that my honesty might speak to where someone else is at, for with authenticity comes freedom. *

Song of Solomon 2:1 - "I am...the lily of the valleys."

The path to healing is certainly not a paved one, but for me, it is rooted in the knowledge of my true identity in Christ. In my mind's eye, I see a valley, not too far from the base of a mountain. Where the mountain has a rugged beauty, containing wildlife and plantlife and the elements of nature, the valley is rocky, shadowed and desolate in comparison. But somehow, peering closely into this valley, my eyes fix on a splash of color. A beautiful, tenacious lily springing up between the rocks. Not much sunlight reaches here, yet still the lily thrives. The lily defies the odds, not by striving, simply through being. In season, the lily grows and flourishes in beauty against her bleak backdrop. She remains, knowing she is the lily of the valley.

Song of Solomon 2:15 - "Catch us the foxes, the little foxes that spoil the vines, for our vines have tender grapes."

I'll be a little vulnerable here, if you don't mind, but it's for a purpose. There is a recurring theme of rejection in my dreams the past few months; an insidious lie that I am the least likely to be loved with a faithful, lasting love. These lies are the little foxes that I must catch, for they endanger the life and healing of my heart. And the way I catch them is through forgiveness. I choose to forgive: for the judgment passed on me through rejection, for the inability of another to see my true beauty and value, for all the broken promises and failed love. I catch these little foxes and place them back at the cross of Jesus, and I release them from my debt. They owe me nothing - nothing. And I, in turn, am released from their judgment. I am free to love and to be loved.

Song of Solomon 1:13 - "A bundle of myrrh is my beloved to me, that lies all night between my breasts."

At the risk of sounding risque here, I merely love this imagery. The imagery of Jesus, my Beloved, being like a bundle of myrrh resting at night on my chest, near my heart. It speaks to me of His sweet fragrance, for myrrh is fragrant, used in incense and perfume. The fragrance of Jesus is salvation, grace, forgiveness, joy, healing, love, peace and life. I want that near my heart at all times. It speaks to me of Jesus as the Anointed One who covers me, for myrrh is an essential ingredient in sacred anointing oil. And it speaks to me of His ability to soothe the pain of a wounded heart with His love. Some bible scholars believe the sour wine offered to Jesus when He cried out on the cross was a mixture containing myrrh and would have helped moderate His excruciating pain. He refused it; but He offers Himself to us as our anointing oil.

That this verse speaks specifically of Christ's presence in the night resonates with me, particularly in light of the recurring dreams. I need not be tormented or disturbed in the night with the presence of Jesus resting upon my chest as I sleep. There is an intimacy conveyed in this that has nothing to do with "doing" and everything to do with position. I am positioned, in rest, with the anointing of Christ, in a posture of safety, trust and intimacy.

I know who I am. I am the lily of the valley, thriving in, at times, difficult terrain. Through forgiveness, I am catching the little foxes - the lies that often emerge from being hurt - that threaten the growth that is happening in my life. And my heart is covered by the fragrant, anointing presence of Christ, in a position of rest.

Yes, I am my Beloved's, and He is mine.