The One Where Light Pierces Darkness

“Sometimes people in our lives start drowning. Under lies, under emotions, under their struggles. And sometimes it affects us. But as believers we are called, when someone starts going under, to reach down through the water and give them a solid hand to grab on to. To help pull them to the surface, even if we don’t understand. Even if we warned ahead of time that the water was deep and the current was strong. Even if it means laying down our pride. Because we never know when that drowning person will be us, and our survival will depend on a hand of truth reaching form above the surface of the waters to pull us back into fresh air. Back to life.” –Journal, 6/30/11

I've been gone for a while.

And I don’t just mean that I haven’t written in a while. I think the real, true version of myself has been on some extended vacation over the past few months. Seminary has a way of dragging our hearts into the light and asking us to struggle with what we find there, and I am no exception. But it’s not just seminary…life issues out its own unique brand of trials to all of us, and there will be times that these trials drag our true selves away and leave a bruised and muted version of us behind to live our lives for a while.

And you know what? That’s okay.

As I have been wrestling with my own struggles, I've also been contemplating something about community and life in relationship that I think is pretty important. In this world, there must be periods of our lives where we are allowed to be honest about the pain we feel; when it is safe to not be okay. Freedom to be exactly where we are and not pressured to bring our vibrant and true selves out from hiding. In these moments, we need people around us who are okay with letting us not be happy, perky, or fun. We need freedom in relationship to not have to hold it all together, and understanding that the true version of ourselves cannot come out to play right now.  Sometimes, we need permission to acknowledge that we might be drowning.

I think too often we have no space where we are given this kind of safety. Either the community around us treats us as though we are so fragile that we may break at any moment, or they fight back against the discomfort of our pain by demanding that we hide reality so that they may feel comfortable again.

 I’m not saying that there isn't a time where we are called to set aside our struggles in order to care for others. I’m saying that as a community we put so much pressure on each other to maintain the homeostasis of our relationships, and in turn to hide the pain that sin has so freely planted in our lives. To acknowledge the depth of damage that sin has caused is terrifying, and most of us choose to run from it while rebuking those who would dare expose it.

But what if we were called to something else? What if, instead of sweeping sin and pain under the rug as the rest of the world does, we entered into it with others? What if we pushed past our discomfort and even frustration, and sat in darkness with the suffering? Might we then have a better position in which to bring in the light?

My true self has been showing its face a lot more often these days, and as I take joy in living more fully out of who God has made me to be, I’m looking back in gratitude and thankfulness for those the Lord specifically placed in my life during a particularly hard period. These few people not only sat in my struggles with me, but when the moment came they reached out their hands and sought to pull me back to fresh air and life. I am so grateful for their sacrificial love toward me.

And I am filled with sorrow about the number of others whose discomfort led them away from me in frustration and fear. Words of pain and condemnation coming from those that I trusted. As I seek to understand and love the people who could not enter grief with me, I pray that my experiences will deepen my own understanding of those grieving and help me to more willingly extend my presence and my hand toward those in the depths themselves.

Vulnerability

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and you heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable." C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

"I've been turning up the stones of my own discontent,
and I'm finding out where all my hidden sorrows went
They've been laying there for years, I kept them out of view.
But its time I dust you off and take a good look at you.

Oh, how long

Oh, how long


Well its easier to clench your fist and grind your teeth,
than to look into the sadness that lives underneath.
Well you can kill off all those feelings, they'll just turn to ghosts.
They'll take over your house and become the host.

Oh, how long
Oh, how long

Well the man of sorrows walked the shores of Galilee,
and his eyes were cast with joy toward the crystal sea.
Where all the shadows will be gone and all these bitter tears,
and my heart will hang on that until the dawn appears.

Oh, how long
Oh, how long.
Oh you, you won't let me go."  MPJ, Until the Dawn Appears

Stones in the City Walls, Pulled from the Riverbed

“Silently tracing the cracks through the chaos. Grieving what cannot come back, what’s gone away.

Feeling the weight of the sorrow’s night, you can’t find your way through the black, so you pray for light.

Everyone’s trying to find ways to fix it, you know in your heart what you need to work it out.

Looking away to the violent sky, there’s a deep, dark river rising on the inside.

And you stand in the water with your arms crossed, groaning hallelujah.

And the trees bow to the east as the sun waits under the sea.

Fall into that mystery or it will pull you under,

It’s okay, say goodbye.” 

Stones from the Riverbed by Matthew Perryman Jones

I think at every moment of life we are simultaneously grieving and rejoicing. It’s part of living in a world where sin still takes up residence. A time and portion of your life passes, and there is grief over what was and will be no more. People move in and out of relationship, and there is pain in the process. Yet, each passing brings forward a bright horizon of possibilities and joys all its own. And each time it happens I’m left in ambivalent awe.

I remember talking with a friend a few months ago about what she could be doing better to protect herself and those she was in relationship with from getting hurt, from the pain of a ruptured relationship. I’ve been letting that sit in my heart for a while, processing it as I grieve relational pains of my own. And this is what I’ve come to:

We cannot truly protect ourselves from pain. It can and will come, often unexpectedly, and often despite all of our efforts to keep it at bay. But, maybe that is okay. Maybe pain isn’t the real enemy. Pain is so often the method through which we learn the most about ourselves and about God, and about the world he has put us in. It is a result of a broken system in which we live, and although it should never be delighted in itself, leaning into the pain and grief of life is often the only way we can find healing.

When we try to avoid pain, what we end up with is inauthentic, shallow, or self-centered relationship. Because in protecting ourselves, we hold back who we truly are and wall ourselves off from being deeply and wholly known. Ironically, knowing others, and being known by them, is what we were made to do. We cannot fully love without giving ourselves. And we cannot give ourselves without the risk and almost assured reality of pain.

I want to love fully. I want to know and be deeply known by another, and by a community of those who walk with God.

And I think I’m just beginning to learn my need to embrace both the grief and the joy that come with that depth of love. 

Land of the Living

So I know that my last post had "pt.1" in the title, and though I do plan on following up with a pt.2, this post will not be it. Instead, I wanted to update with a few things about my life here in St. Louis! I have realized recently that even though I really enjoy blogging, I don't do it very often. I think this is because I like to blog about deep things the Lord is changing in my life/things he is teaching me. Its a great way for me to process, but  at the same time it can be exhausting and takes a lot of effort. It also makes it seem like thinking deeply and processing are the only things I do, which is just not true! So here are some pictures and snippets of my life, including many of the beautiful things that bring me so much joy on a daily basis as I go about life here in St. Louis :)

Two of the three sweet children that I nanny for (didn't have a good picture of Jude, the oldest)! Titus (top) and Chloe (left) always bring a smile to my face. I get to hang out with these guys about twice a week and we have so much fun!

City Coffee House and Creperie! My friends and I have been attempting to explore some of the sights and tastes of St. Louis. This is one of the best brunch spots I have been to yet!

 In my free time, I love to cook and try out new recipes. Being in the kitchen is really refreshing for me, and its so fun to get creative and try new things with food. Two of my roommates have food allergies, so the picture below is a chocolate quinoa cake (gluten free, dairy free, sugar free) that I tried for Bekah's birthday, turned out wonderful!









                                                                     






Typical day...coffee, bible, notebook. Life of a seminary student...it can be exhausting, and a lot of work, but in all honesty I love it :)













 My apartment! Though not for long, since my roommates and I are moving to a house in about two weeks...we can't wait for more space and to be closer to church/work/friends.

My wonderful roommates (from right) Ally, Bekah, Carey and I, ice skating at Forest Park this winter. They are probably the biggest blessing the Lord has given me since I moved to St. Louis in August.

So that is a small picture of my life here in St. Louis :) Summer is beginning for me in about two weeks, and I definitely plan to process through and share some of the really amazing and impactful things I have learned in my classes and in life over the course of this past year. Thanks for sticking with me and taking the time to read my (rare) updates!


Bonus!
Current favorite past time:
Sometimes on beautiful days, Chloe and I take a blanket out to the backyard and relax under the sun :)

Current musical obsessions: Matthew Perryman Jones (particularly his newest album, which is the title of this blog post), Ray LaMontague, and Ellie Holcomb.


Currently reading: Reviving Ophelia, Saving the Selves of Adolescent Girls. Its for a class paper, but I've found it incredibly intriguing and eye opening. Hoping to read some new fiction over the summer (suggestions, please!)


Currently watching: LOST season 4...watching it bit by bit during study breaks with my roommates, and remembering how much of a love/hate relationship I had with the show the first time around. Some good TV, right there :)

The Idol of Security, Pt.1

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the ways in which we try to protect ourselves from hurt, pain, or difficulties. The first thoughts that come to mind are ones that have to do with money. If you step back and look at our culture from a distanced perspective, we actually seem a little crazy. We are so scared of losing comfort and stability that we pour money into savings accounts and are obsessive about having a “safety cushion” of money in the bank in the chance that anything might go wrong. 

Now, I’m not against saving. I actually think saving can be extremely wise stewardship of your money. The point I am trying to make is that we often step way beyond wise stewardship to just plain lack of faith, making an idol out of comfort and security. Saving thousands of dollars for ourselves, and yet being unwilling to give because we don’t want to touch our monetary security blanket. We protect ourselves from any foreseeable financial disaster, while most of the rest of the world is unsure where they will get the money for food today.

I’m very much guilty of this myself, worrying much more than I should about money and finances, holding tight to what I have because I am afraid that if I let it go, I will not have what I need. I’d like to claim that being in grad school does this to a person. You are taking out loans for thousands of dollars that you will have to pay back in just a few short years, all the while making just enough money while in school to pay rent and buy food. It’s definitely a test of faith, especially since I did not have to be in this position. However, I know that I had this tendency long before I entered grad school. It comes out more now because by coming to Covenant I am choosing to go into debt and I feel the weight of that responsibility. But I can remember worrying about money while I was in undergrad as well, when I wasn’t taking out loans for anything.

The summer between my junior and senior years of college, the Lord taught me a huge lesson in financial security, faith, and sacrifice. I had the privilege to travel to Zambia with Crusade on a summer project, where we participated in student ministry on two different college campuses, and visited a couple of orphanages. I had been to impoverished communities before going to Zambia, but for some reason the poverty we saw there struck me in a way that it hadn’t before. I didn’t just feel heartbroken for the people we were working with who had next to nothing, I also felt conviction. Spending daily time in the Word, I was reminded about what the church is called to, what is an essential part of ushering in the kingdom of God on this earth: ministering to the poor and needy. This is something that was supposed to be a main characteristic of the Israelite community in the Old Testament, one of the primary characteristics that set them apart from other nations. In Isaiah 58:6-7, the Lord says to the nation of Israel:

“‘Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—when you see the naked to cloth him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?”

Fighting for justice, giving to those who are needy, to those who are hungry and have nothing, loving and serving those who the world despises and rejects, this is what the kingdom of God looks like. It was on that trip that, as a believer, I felt the weight of this calling and the ways that I had not embraced it in my life. I felt the Lord asking me to give in immense financial ways when I returned to the States, because financial security was an idol He was desperate to rid me of. My senior year of college was marked by having to trust the Lord in ways I had not let myself before. And I saw Him show up, I watched as He brought people and circumstances in my life to give me just what I needed and no more. It was an amazing time of growth in my life in this area, and in my understanding of what it looks like to participate in ushering in the kingdom of God on this earth.

I’m forgetful, though. I still struggle with trusting the Lord that coming to Covenant was the best decision financially. When it comes time to pay my tuition bill, I feel the strain because I’m being asked for something I don’t actually have. But I’m finding it worth it. I’m learning, I’m growing, and I’m beginning to understand that if I am committed to walking with the Lord it will most likely be like this for the rest of my life. He will ask me to give until it hurts, to take steps of faith and ask for Him to provide when I am unsure how that will happen. 

He has given me a great example of this in the form of my new church, New City, in watching how they are faithful with their finances, always pouring into ministry that God calls them to, even when they are unsure where those finances will come from. And He reminds me through His Word in those moments that I am tempted to panic. I want my life to reflect the characteristics of God’s kingdom, and that means giving up my comfort and security, believing that what I will gain is so much more valuable. And knowing my flesh and how it fights this, I’m asking others to hold me accountable to living the way that God has called me to. I know it will be hard, but I also know it will be beyond worth it.

“Then you’re light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard…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.” Isaiah 58:8,10-11

“Do not worry, saying ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Matthew 6:31-34

Beautiful Things

"You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

You are making me new
Oh You are making me new"

Gungor says it such amazing words.  God has made something beautiful out of me.  He has made something beautiful out of the dust and depravity that was our inheritance.  Out of the mire rises the Church, the bride of Christ who's blood has paid our ransom and bought our way back to Yahweh.  And now we await the day when all creation will be made new.  Which reminds me of another Gungor song that I find myself listening to over and over again:

"Create in me a clean heart,
for I have turned my face from you.
Save us from our ways, oh God
oh God,
for we have turned away from you.
Lord have mercy.

We will run to you,
we will run to you.
Turning from our sin we return to you.
Father heal your world,
make all things new

Your love and mercy
build us, shape us
break and then recreate us now.
Lord, have mercy.

Oh bring us back to you,
oh bring us back to you"

Now that is beautiful <3

The One Where All Things Are Made New

Sometimes the world just doesn’t make sense to me.  And it is revealing; my soul knows this is not how it was supposed to be.

I have been learning a lot in seminary.  Theology. How the Lord is so much bigger than I ever imagined. Psychology.  How our brains function.  How the functioning of our brains affects how we experience God. How much modernist and post-modernist thoughts have affected the way we look at God and the Church and Scripture and life. I’ve learned so much that I couldn’t possibly write it all down. And out of all of this information and wisdom, this is what sticks out to me: The way our world is now is not the way it was meant to be, and all of our pain and struggle balances on this single fact. Just look around; I am not the only one who knows this to be true.  All humanity remembers how things were meant to be, otherwise pain, suffering, loss and heartache would not seem so wrong to us.

The other day I was talking about this with one of my roommate’s cousins.  She isn’t a Christian.  But I shared with her anyway because hey, I’m going through hard times, and she’s going through hard times.  I wanted to be real with her, whether I thought she would agree with me or not. As we were sharing with each other a little bit of the pain we were feeling from life at the moment, I asked her, “Don’t you think that pain seems so out of place in our lives? Why is that? It happens to everyone, so why does loss seem so wrong?”  She didn’t really respond, so I said, “I think it’s because it was never supposed to be this way.  We weren’t made to experience loss this deep, so deep it cuts into our soul. It’s an intruder in life.”  She looked at me for a minute, and then said: “You know, that’s a bold statement. But I think you might be right.” 

I think loss is probably one of the most painful things to experience.  Whether it’s through separation, broken relationships, or death, the pain of loss threatens to overwhelm us.  Sin, death, evil…they don’t really make sense.  In her book Epic of Eden, Sandra Richter explains this well, saying:

Humanity somehow knows that it should not die, even though in all remembered experience humanity has died.  And this sixth sense is not restricted to those who believe. No, all of the sons of Adam and the daughters of Eve somehow know that [humanity] is not what they are supposed to be, that there is something profoundly wrong with the world as it is. I believe this sense is evidence of the residual presence of the image of God in humanity. (116-117)

There is something profoundly wrong with the world as it is. And I feel this, even more so in the past few weeks than I have in a while.  However, this realization is not pushing me to despair at depravity in quite the same way as it has before.  Does pain still hurt deeply? Yes.  But my perspective on it has changed so much in the past few years.  In some ways, realizing that death and trials reflect the reality that humanity is not what it should be, and that it is our responsibility that the world is this way, it makes the pain deeper and more real.  But it also gives me a breath of hope, a joy in the midst of the storm of life.

 This change in perspective comes from the fact that I know God has seen the destruction of sin, and He has not sat by idly.  He is angry, He is burning with fury at the way sin has attacked His creation and with a deep desire to make things right.  So much so that He sent His own Son to be crucified on our behalf, that sin and death would no longer have ultimate power.  He is coming to make things new, to make things right again.  He will fulfill His intended purposes for His creation, and I am included in that creation.  Because of Christ, I experience redemption now, and in the future to come.  How beautiful is that? I am redeemed. And this is what gives me joy, the fact that God is in the process of redeeming ALL of His creation, and He will one day come live among us.  That is the day that I am waiting for, and the hope that holds my gaze when I don’t know how to deal with my own sin or the struggles that come my way. 

In many ways, being here at Covenant has really increased my sensitivity to how much this world doesn’t reflect the Lord’s original intention and desire for His creation.  We still retain the image of God, but it is a broken and marred image.  The more I learn about how things were supposed to be, the more the absence of the “supposed to” pains me.  Yet, God is patient, and so I must be as well.  In the meantime, while I wait for the beautiful and incomprehensible reality that awaits me (and all of the Church) when the Lord will make all things new, I will strive to bring some of that redemption here on this earth. 

“‘Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes.  There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’  He who was seated on the throne said, ‘I am making everything new!’…” Revelation 21:3-5a

Amen.  Come, Lord Jesus.