dragons and gravel roads.

Resolutions are like promises you know you'll never keep.  I don't make resolutions.  I don't make promises much anymore either.

Instead, this is my prayer for this year.  Sanctification.  Roll that word around your tongue for a minute.

I feel like it always comes for me anyway.  This sanctification.  This tear off of who I think I should be and who I am in Him.  Constantly beckoning with the murmur similar to the kind the snow makes when it's falling.  One that sings of pummeling thousands of miles to the ground, but somehow finds it's place gently among the glittering unity.

This time, I'm boldly approaching His throne, asking Him to tell me what He thinks of me.  Asking for Him to define me.  To be what defines me.   Begging Him to violently tear away all the ugly of me that so fully reflects my love for this world.  To love me despite me.  He already does that.

I pray you will ask Him to do the same for you.  Maybe we'll meet up along this gravel road and share our scars.  Because we will certainly fall.  We will most certainly do more than scrape our knees.  Surely, we'll bloody our noses.  Maybe even the noses of our brothers.  But I hope to meet you along that beautiful gravel road where we will breathe in stories and breath out the hope that stems from the aroma of grace and mercy and justice that will surely surround us.

Happy New Year, friends.  His mercies are new each morning - not just tomorrow.

“The water was as clear as anything and I thought if I could get in there and bathe it would ease the pain in my leg. but the lion told me I must undress first. Mind you, I don’t know if he said any words out loud or not.

I was just going to say that I couldn’t undress because I hadn’t any clothes on when I suddenly thought that dragons are snaky sort of things and snakes can cast their skins. Oh, of course, thought I, that’s what the lion means. So I started scratching myself and my scales began coming off all over the place. And then I scratched a little deeper and , instead of just scales coming off here and there, my whole skin started peeling off beautifully, like it does after an illness, or as if I was a banana. In a minute or two I just stepped out of it. I could see it lying there beside me, looking rather nasty. It was a most lovely feeling. So I started to go down into the well for my bathe.

But just as I was going to put my feet into the water I looked down and saw that they were all hard and rough and wrinkled and scaly just as they had been before. Oh, that’s all right, said I, it only means I had another smaller suit on underneath the first one, and I’ll have to get out of it too. So I scratched and tore again and this underskin peeled off beautifully and out I stepped and left it lying beside the other one and went down to the well for my bathe.

Well, exactly the same thing happened again. And I thought to myself, oh dear, how ever many skins have I got to take off? For I was longing to bathe my leg. So I scratched away for the third time and got off a third skin, just like the two others, and stepped out of it. But as soon as I looked at myself in the water I knew it had been no good.

Then the lion said – but I don’t know if it spoke – ‘You will have to let me undress you.’ I was afraid of his claws, I can tell you, but I was pretty nearly desperate now. So I just lay flat down on my back to let him do it.

The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. You know – if you’ve ever picked the scab of a sore place. It hurts like billy-oh but it is such fun to see it coming away.

Well, he peeled the beastly stuff right off – just as I thought I’d done it myself the other three times, only they hadn’t hurt – and there it was lying on the grass: only ever so much thicker, and darker, and more knobbly-looking than the others had been. And there was I was smooth and soft as a peeled switch and smaller than I had been. Then he caught hold of me – I didn’t like that much for I was very tender underneath now that I’d no skin on – and threw me into the water. It smarted like anything but only for a moment. After that it became perfectly delicious and as soon as I started swimming and splashing I found that all the pain had gone from my arm. And then I saw why. I’d turned into a boy again.”

-C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Those prophets may have been onto something.

I want to see redemption win.

Sometimes we catch tiny glimpses of it in this life.  But that's not enough.  I want to see redemption claim ownership over this place.  It's difficult to imagine this is even possible in the wake of such deep depravity surfacing and stealing innocent blood.

Amidst the mess that is yesterday, know this beyond a shadow of a doubt:

Jesus loves the little children.

Their treasures are in heaven.  Their parents' treasures are most certainly in heaven.  We need to bear this burden together in prayer.  I'm not even sure what you should pray for, but it's what the prophets did in the wake of mass murder and wiping out of entire nations.  Perhaps we should start there, too.

Somehow, we have to find confidence that God is still on His throne.  My sweet friend Ryne put it so well in saying, "I don't think we should try to make sense of this because there isn't any."  And he's right.  There is no way to rationalize or reconcile evil within God's holiness.  Things get confusing.  But God doesn't ask you to have blind faith.  You can ask Him about these things.  Remember the prophets.  Remember their doubt and questions and confidence and faithfulness.  Make a home there.  You'll be in good company.

Photo credit:  Rachel Vaudrieul

"I am still confident of this:  I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living." Psalm 27:13

How did I lose a forest?

I hate graduate school for all that it's not and am trying to love it for what it barely is.

I want to rip a piece of academia off this program each day like a piece of pita bread with my teeth but I'm struggling to accept this will never happen.  My field liaison told me this week he thinks a really bright high school student could get through the program at this school.  I took a deep breath after he said that.  A really deep one.  The kind where you suck the air deep into your lungs and breathe it out through your teeth. 

I'm frustrated now.

"Like I said, I'm not getting anything out of this, Dr. Ferrante.  I don't know how half the students got into this program."

He told me if I want academic challenge I should have done something else.

Well, jeez.  That was honest.

"Like seminary?"

"You already argued with people for four years over God," he says to me.  "And what did you come up with Lindsay?  It took you four years to figure out that God is good?"

Touche, old man.

"If you're saying I'm never going to be academically challenged in this program, then what do you suggest?"

He smiled his crooked 70-something year old man smile.  I know he's been to seminary.  I know he's studied theology.  You can always tell by the way people talk about simple things.  Like they know some sort of secret.

"You have to decide whether or not this is going to do anything for you.  Once you make a decision, you're life will be easier.  This internship you don't like will get easier.  Going through classes will get easier.  It will all get easier for you."

He certainly didn't mean easier academically.  He already said a high school student could do this work, which is slightly embarrassing.  Is he suggesting there is more to a Masters degree than academic challenge?  Like this program be ultimately helpful in other ways?

Wait, are we even still talking about school?

Apparently there's some bigger picture I'm missing here.  There's always a bigger picture.  How did I lose the forest?  I was told this could happen.  I just see the trees all around me.  It seems so meaningless.  Somewhere along the way, I missed something.  I ended up in the midst of it all and it's just greenery.  Nothing makes sense.  I forgot something on my way.

Surely, but I'm not sure what.

I question a lot of things.  Most things, in fact. Am I doing what I should be?  Am I wasting time?  I wonder how much time I even have.  Am I making good use of it?  Am I doing anything redeeming? Are You still redeeming me?

Slow down, Quenton.

Shake the Dust

SHAKE THE DUST - Anis Mojgani

this is for the fat girls
this is for the little brothers
this is for the schoolyard wimps 
and for the childhood bullies that tormented them
for the former prom queen and for the milk crate ballplayers
for the nighttime cereal eaters
and for the retired elderly Wal-Mart store front door greeters
shake the dust

this is for the benches and the people sitting upon them
for the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns
for the men who have to hold down three jobs simply to hold up their children
for the night schoolers and for the midnight bike riders trying to fly
shake the dust

for the two year olds who cannot be understood
because they speak half English and half God
shake the dust
for the boys with the beautiful sisters
shake the dust
for the girls with the brothers who are going crazy
for those gym class wallflowers
for the 12 year olds afraid of taking public showers
for the kid who’s always late to class 
because he forgets the combination to his locker
for the girl who loves somebody else
shake the dust

this is for the hard men who want love but know that it won’t come

for the ones who are forgotten
the ones the amendments do not stand up for
for the ones who are told speak only when you are spoken to 
and then are never spoken to
speak every time you stand
so you do not forget yourself
do not let a moment go by that doesn’t remind you 
that your heart beats thousands of times a day
and that there are enough gallons of blood to make every one of us an ocean
do not settle for letting these waves settle and for the dust to collect in your veins

this is for the celibate pedophile who keeps on struggling
for the poetry teachers and for the people who go on vacations alone

for the sweat that drips off of Mick Jagger’s singing lips
for the shaking skirt on Tina Turner’s shaking hips
for the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived

this is for the tired and for the dreamers
for the families that will never be like the Cleavers
with perfectly made dinners
and sons like Wally and the Beaver
this is for the bigots
for the sexists
for the killers
for the big house pen-sentenced cats becoming redeemers
and for the springtime
that always seems to show up right after the winters

this is for you

make sure that by the time the fisherman returns
you are gone again
because just like the days I burn at both ends
and every time I write every time I open my eyes
I am cutting out parts of myself just to give them to you
so shake the dust
and take me with you when you do
for none of this has ever been for me
all that pushes and pulls
it pushes for you
so grab this world by its clothespins
and shake it out again and again
and hop on top
and take it for a spin
and when you hop off
shake it again
for this is yours

make my words worth it

make this not just another poem that I write

not just another poem 
like just another night that sits heavy above us all
walk into it
breath it in
let it crawl though the halls of your arms
like the millions of years of millions of poets
coursing like blood
pumping and pushing
making you live
shaking the dust
so when the world knocks at your door
clutch the knob tightly
and open on up
running forward into its widespread greeting arms
with your hands before you
fingertips trembling 
though they may be

Our Savior has come.

Sometimes in church, the tears just well up out of nowhere.  I don't mean for it to happen.  They bubble like they've been waiting for the right opportunity to escape in a place where someone might understand.  They gain victory over my tired eyelids and then I can't sing anymore.  Today was one of those days.

The band was singing "Our Savior has come!  Hallelujah!  Our Savior has come!"  And I was overwhelmed.

Usually when I find myself choked up with the presence of the Lord, I feel like I need to say something.  It's like when you're around someone whose presence is so great and you just feel like before they run out the door, because you aren't sure when they'll be back, you should have something to say.  Something honorable to ask for or repentance to seek.  I surely have a lot of that.  I started blubbering questions and statements in my head.  Ones of peace and trust and forgiveness.  I meant all of them, but I would have preferred to just stand there and be in the moment, let His goodness and mercy wash over me and allow Him to take all the reasons why and just captivate me with Himself.

"Be still.  I see you."

And that was that.

I stopped the forced words I felt like I had to say and just stood there echoing in my heart what my tears wouldn't let me say with my mouth.

Our Savior has come.

I made a list. Two, actually.

I've just been thinking about how different my life if I didn't care what you thought of me.  Don't feel too special though, it's not just you.  But my church, my family, potential employers, future professionals and colleagues in my field.  Am I being who I really am?  Who I really want to be?  How much of what I portray is because I think that's what you expect?  Will you think I'm a total cheese ball for writing a blog about being who you are?

Like I've said before, I spend a lot of time in the car.  Far too much time to contemplate life.  You can only listen to Taylor Swift so many times before your mind drifts from whether this is another song about Joe Jonas or whether or not you'd really hate wearing long sleeves to work the rest of your life if you got a tattoo on your arm.

I made a list.  Two, actually.  Stop laughing.

I just wonder sometimes if I'm doing what I really want to do, you know?  I wonder if I'm living up to who you want me to be, or if I'm just being me?  Trying to live both places is impossible.  I keep trying, and I keep getting my anxiety medication switched.  So something in this relationship isn't working.

These are my lists.  Unedited.  I made them while sitting on the bathroom floor.  I had a playlist playing and Audrey Assad started singing, "Your God will not forsake you, oh my soul."  And I thought of you.

I hope you know that God will not forsake you either.  If you pursue what you feel so deeply in your insides you were created for.  Please.  Go.  GO.  Do that thing.  Forget whatever it is you feel so pressured to do or be.  Just be what you are.  Do what God gave you beautiful talents and desires for.  Pursue those things.  Pursue true joy.  It only comes from the Lord.  He created you for His glory and your joy.  Try and believe that for a second.  I know it's hard.  I struggle with it every single day.  You are not alone.

If it didn’t affect getting a job or the way people perceived me, I would….

Wear t-shirts every day

Get a tattoo on my arm

Dye my hair red and blonde

Wear glasses more often

Admit I like the snow

Talk about my passion and desire to see the world be a better place in my cover letter rather than previous internships or work experience

Spend more time feeding the hungry

Donate more clothes

Own less clothes

Sew more of my own clothes

Wear slippers all the time.  Like every day.

Teach Sunday school for kids with disabilities and try to integrate them into regular Sunday school classes

Push the envelope

Be myself more and stop feeling like every church I go to is a job interview

What do I really want to do with my time?  Not just spare time, but on the earth.  While I'm alive.  If anything were really possible, I would…

Feed hungry people.

Hang out with the homeless.  Hear their stories.

Legally advocate for the slave.

Love the victim.

Trust the victim.

Help the slave.

Be a voice for the trafficked.

Care about where my coffee comes from.

Spend my money like there are other people on the planet.

Fight for gay rights.

Kiss the forehead of the child with a disability, just because they are beautiful.

Push for better education in SC.

Stop checking out so quickly.

Believe I am capable.

Give it all away.

Believe god cares about my burdens.  Even my self-inflicted ones.

Ain't No Hollaback Girl

If it weren't for you, I'd get a tattoo on my arm.   And I wouldn't cover it up with sleeves or thick bracelets.  I'd let it's beauty cut through the air that divides us.

I'd probably dye my hair red again, too.

But I'm afraid you won't take me seriously.  Like you won't think I'm very professional.  My Masters degree will mean nothing.  Somehow, I'm scared I'll lose all my credibility if I conduct myself in a way that is perceived as less than my age.  Than my maturity level.  I'm too old for this.

You see, I want to live up to your expectations.  I bet you knew that already.  I like to live in a world where I disguise it well.  My affection for your approval.

But can I tell you something?  It's exhausting.

I never really know what you're thinking.  You keep me guessing, but not in the sexy way like my husband does.  It's awfully frustrating.  Living up to this standard you've set for me, but you'll never really tell me what it is.  Always beating around an ever-evolving bush.

Be true to yourself.  Exceed expectations.  Reach for the sky.  You control your own destiny.  You can be whatever you want to be.  Create your own opportunities.  Think outside the box.

But not too far of course.

You know something?  I'm thinking you should just leave me alone for a while.  Go on.  Leave me be.  I need to be on my own with my thoughts for a while.  Figure out what I really think of myself.  Ask God what He thinks of me.  I don't know if I've ever asked Him before.  I was too concerned with you.

I would say it's not you, but lets be real.  It is you.  And it's me, too.  We'll take mutual responsibility for this one.

We can talk again when I can finally say out loud with my life,

You're not the boss of me.

Motivation Monday

The response last Monday from a little musical encouragement was overwhelming.  Not necessarily  in numbers, but in the Spirit moving and reminding me I'm not the only person who needs to be gently reminded of His goodness.

I get so used to His goodness sometimes, it's almost an expectation.  Like it's His job to love me.  But that is not the case.  God is saving a people.  He could have left us on our own, but didn't.  He chose to walk with us.  

For your soul today, sweet friends.

'Tis so Sweet to Trust in Jesus

I got really upset in church today.

We were late, and it was my fault.  The DVR demanded my attention this morning as Caleb and I caught up on Tosh.O and reruns of Project Runway I had recorded.  I leisurely ate my Lucky Charms and glanced back and forth between the brand new, unopened sewing machine in my closet and the incredible designs prancing down the runway.

I've got to set that thing up.  Someday.

Needless to say, I got in the shower late, and we barely made it in time to catch the last few verses of one of Caleb's favorite worship songs - "10,000 reasons" by Matt Redman.

I hate missing the worship songs, I whispered.  We were so late we didn't even make coffee before we left.

Tragic.

I got even more upset when I opened the program and saw that not only had we missed the music, but we missed really good music.  "'Tis So Sweet" and "Blessed Assurance" were on the set-list.  I so love hymns.  They are true, naked melodies holding hands with vintage lyrics.  Stirs my soul.

I soon fell into the words God was speaking through the pastor.  The church is doing a series called, "Whispers From God" on listening and discerning the Lord's voice.  On the surface, the sermon may have seemed elementary.

But when hearing and discerning the Voice that speaks stars into being becomes no big deal for you, you let me know.

As the pastor spoke and the Spirit gently pressed against my constantly criticizing heart (I have one of those, you know.), I realized this was the first time I had been disappointed that I was late for church.  Usually, I'd be completely okay with it.  You see, I really don't care for going to church.

Shocker.  Not really.

For the past 5 years, going to church for me was part of going to work.  I never could worship fully, bare my sin openly, and live in the tension I constantly felt between the Word and world.  You can blame that on me.  I'm okay with that.  It's just how it was.

But working in a church and being the church simultaneously is really hard sometimes.  You have to be an example and "live above reproach" (whatever that means), but at the same time, you know you're a broken vessel.  Maybe I simply wasn't mature enough for it.

But today, I sat in church and the Scripture saturated me.  This wasn't all to my credit of course.  The Spirit moves when the Spirit moves.  But I think part of you, and I don't know what part, has to be open to hearing the Lord speak.

You won't recognize Truth if you have no idea what it sounds like.  What He sounds like.

I could choose be incredibly critical of the church I'm going to.  It appears as a big production.  Big stage.  Couple thousand attendees at a given service on Sundays.  I've been going there a few months and have never met the pastor.  And the kicker?  They hold youth group during the church services, which drives me to the ends of the earth.

I've quit jobs over that mess.

But you know what?  I don't want to be.  I'm choosing not to be.  And God doesn't want me to be.

God is moving in that place.  The pastor preaches Truth.  I've watched people get out of their chairs and proclaim to believe in and accept Jesus for the first time.  It's beautiful.  They increased their budget for next year by a MILLION dollars for the sole purpose of building an orphanage for child slaves rescued from rock quarries in India.  They are working with a network of Indian pastors who will take the reigns of everything.  They're doing it "right".

I believe God is healing my overly critical heart.  I was mad because I was late for church.  Are you hearing me?  That's just wild.  When church ends, I don't want to get up.  And it's not because the pastor is some fancy speaker or because the band is flashy.  It's because God is pressing into me, and I don't want to leave the place where I know He may be hanging out.

Maybe He'd press into you too if you asked.  I'd put my money on Him.

Your Love is Strong

This weekend was a beautiful escape from the world with my sweet Mother in town from above the Dixie Line.  Tonight in the parking lot of her hotel, Monday's foreshadow reminded me reality was always just a few days away.  Tomorrow, I'll commute two hours to school and two hours back. Driving at 6:30am always comes too soon.  Hot coffee can only woo a girl out of her slumber so many times before she need to be reminded what the point of all this is.

If you are weary and need a reminder that you are loved with a love that will not let you go,

This one is for you.

Sparrow.

It's only two months into graduate school, and I'm already asking why I voluntarily did this to myself.

Getting back into school is hard after you've been out for a few years.  It's even harder when you're commuting 2 hours to class and back and an hour to your internship and back.  Thankfully I like to drive.  I turn on 93.7 and spend my mornings listening to the Hawk and Tom show.  I'm starting to feel like we're old friends who catch up in the mornings over coffee.  Torture Tuesday is my favorite - this week they put 6 bags of popcorn in a microwave for 30 minutes.  Then something happens on the show like the microwave door exploding off and I snap out of it and realize I'm my coffee is in a white travel mug and I'm on the highway with only my oversized school bag to accompany me in the passenger seat.

As you can imagine, I have a lot of time to think while I'm in the car.  Sometimes this is refreshing.  I crack the window and breathe the cool morning air into my throat.  Sometimes, it's torture.  Imagine being left with your own thoughts in a car for four hours a day.  That's why you're always on Facebook, or Pinterest, or reading this blog.  You don't want to have to sit with your thoughts.  It's okay though.  We're all like that.

I spend a lot of time wondering what I'll do when I'm out of school.  I know - I always tell people to be where their feet are.  But I can't help but wonder what path I'll pursue.  The beautiful thing about getting a Masters in Social Work is the incredibly vast career options.  Want to work with kids?  You can.  Never want to see a kid?  You don't have to.  You can work at a desk or in a circle doing group therapy.  You can write new policies or improve old ones.  Military, homeless, disabled, children, elderly, hungry, rich, poor, families, orphans.  There are so many different choices.  It's slightly intimidating.

But when I think about all the opportunities this experience will present to advance His Kingdom further, I start to think two years isn't so bad.  Research papers aren't so bad.  Maybe I even like some of this stuff.  I start to think what I do is not as important as why I started in the first place.

I start to think, and then I start to remember.

You know that feeling you got deep in your insides when you just knew that you knew without question you had to do something?  Whatever it is that you do.  That you've claimed as the thing you will be responsible for.

I will account for this.  For them.  I have seen this and I can never not see it again.  Something has to be done.  Said.  I have to.  There's just no other way.  I wouldn't be who I was made to be if I don't chase after this.

Remember that feeling for a second.

If I were sitting next to you right now, I'd whisper, "You were created for this."

Collateral Damage

I'm just going to lay my cards on the table.

I'm beginning to wonder if short-term mission work is any more effective than if you put a Band-Aid on a bullet wound.

Think about how we go about doing mission work in third world countries - or anywhere really.  We are trying to bridge a gap between what is and what should be, and I think those intentions can be good.  On paper, everything seems like a good idea.  This one could even be philanthropic.  But I think when we break it down, we see the logic is pretty lacking.  Let me show you the steps I believe we take when doing "mission work".

1.  We go to a place we decide is in need.

2.  We figure out what their deficits are.

3.  We rank their deficits by what's most important to address.

4.  We raise money to fund initiatives to fix their problems.

Read those steps again.  See how this is a little ridiculous?

At first glance, I think #3 seems the most outrageous, but the more I think about it, I think #2 is pretty awful.  Who am I to tell you what your deficits are?  Especially in a culture that is completely different from mine, and when I have no vested interest in your community.  Why does my culture's priorities trump what yours may be?

Even worse, did anyone even ask you if you wanted help?  And if so, did we ask what you thought the vital issues were?  Did we engage your community in helping to work towards sustainable change?  Or did we just fix your gutters and paint your house?

When I was in Belize, I met a little boy named Iverson.  I was smitten.  His ivory smile contrasted with his ebony skin in the most beautiful way.  He wore the same striped polo shirt with holes in it the whole week.  Each time I saw him, his shirt was adorned with a new layer of dirt from playing soccer with garbage in the road.  I was willing to do whatever it took to get him out of this situation.  Seriously.  I wanted so badly for him to get out of there and come home with me.  I would buy him a race car bed and make him hot pancakes for breakfast each morning. 

On my last day in the country, I asked Iverson about his family and where he lived.  He told me he lived in one big room with his grandmother and 5 siblings and some other family members.  He told me he had a hot dog for lunch. I cried and kissed his head.  I told him Jesus loved him and would take care of him.  He hugged me and snuggled his sweet 5-year-old head under my chin.

I knew he was exactly where he should be.

I don't know how much good it necessarily would have done to take this sweet boy back home with me.  Iverson has a family.  He is fed.  Not like I'd like to see him fed, but he has more than many children in his country.  Would bringing him home have made his life better, or just more American?  Why is my way what is acceptable?  Why do I measure progress by the way our culture does things?

Like I said, I'm beginning to wonder if we haven't been going about this all wrong.  Before you start throwing stones and casting lots for my things, take a second to seriously think about it.  How many people that go on trips are invested in the community they're working in?  How many mission trips have you youth pastors taken your students on where the agency you worked with has planted any roots with the community it's serving?  Have you involved them in anything?  Have we focused only on their deficits, rather than drawing off of what the community has to offer?  

You know everyone has something to offer, don't you?

Change is incremental.  Small.  Gradual.  Grueling.  It takes commitment.  Not for a year or two.  It takes more than the junk drawer language of just “loving on people”.  Hitting the denominator takes investment.  

And if we aren't willing to commit to the duration, maybe it's better if we just stay out of the way.

"Jazz is like life, because it doesn't resolve..."

A lesbian main character, college students partying and smoking pot, a setting where the character is told he can't escape himself.  That the human dilemma must be experienced.  Sounds like a pretty typical movie, right?

How about a line in a movie that says, "If you ever plan on making friends, or sharing a bowl, or seeing a human vagina without a credit card, get in the closet Baptist boy.  And stay there."  Not too shocking, right?

What if I told you this film was made by Christians?

Today I went to Wal-Mart specifically to buy the movie Blue Like Jazz.  That's a sentence I never thought I'd type.  Only in my beautiful sleepy dreams would Blue Like Jazz become more than a book I purchased and gave to every Christian I met.  Now it's something that can reach an ever larger audience.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

If you don't know anything about Blue Like Jazz, download the book by Donald Miller to your Kindle or Ipad immediately.  I'd say go to Barnes and Noble or Walden Books, but most of those don't exist anymore.  You'll have to download it.  But that's okay.  It's 2012, you know.

Long story not as long, Donald Miller is one of the most honest and creative Christian thinkers who makes words eloquent and raw at the same time on paper, and now on film.  His book Blue Like Jazz is a New York Times bestseller, and now a movie.  The film had the momentum and creative behind it to begin filming, and then key investors decided stock in Apple or Coach or something that was more secure, and pulled from the project.  As a result, some crazy fans make a Kickstarter video and raised hundreds of thousands of dollars to save Blue Like Jazz.  Incredible.  I wish I had thought of it.

With performances from Marshall Allman, Tania Raymonde, Claire Holt, Ryne Hambright,  and Steve Taylor directing, this movie proves it didn't cut corners.  But this isn't a movie review.

I just want to say, FINALLY.

This is a mile marker for Christian sub-culture, a trail blazer.  For what, you ask?

For Christians to be human.  In public.

Doubt.  Questions.  Searching.  Becoming.  Mistakes.  Anger.  Resentment.  Civil Disobedience.  Passion.  Motivation.  Curiosity.  Starting over.  Starting for the first time.

Too often Christians feel, at least I feel, like I can't be human in front of people.  Like I have to have it together or you'll think my God is too much of a pansy to fix me or give me faith.  I feel like I have to  have answers for suffering or why private business owners exercise their first amendment rights because I don't want you to think I hate people.  I don't want you to think God hates people.  He doesn't, you know.  He also wouldn't wear a Christian t-shirt.  Just throwing that one out there.  That one is for free.

But this movie is the first of it's kind that says we are human.  We believe in God, and we have questions.  We don't always believe what we know in our hearts to be true because a broken world doesn't always reflect a perfect God.  "We all have our crap."  And if it's okay for everyone else to be human and be part of a functioning society, then maybe it's okay for Christians, too.


Just like real live people, sometimes Christian film makers feel like they have to wrap things up in a nice little bow at the end of Christian movies so you don't feel if there's no positive resolution, then God isn't real.  We don't want you to think God isn't real, because He is.  But sometimes, there is no bow.  There's just no neat package.

Blue Like Jazz has no bow.


I don't have answers for everything either.  I don't have answers for most things.  I question more than I answer.  Eventually, I hope I have faith in more than I have questions.  And if that's the case for you, it's okay.  God doesn't wrap presents.  God sustains.  He authors.  He perfects.

I just thought it was time you know.

Now go watch this movie so you know what I'm talking about.

You've Been Warned

I’m not sure why I’m always surprised when I hear of tragic or volatile things that happen in the world or down the street or in my life.  The Bible is full of secrets to this life and deep waters.  And I forget that.  Sometimes I still feel like I did when I believed that false belief that says if you don’t read the Bible then God won’t like it and you’ll feel guilty.  Just because I have a theological degree doesn’t mean I understand everything or don’t fall into old patterns.  Do you know your pastors and youth pastors and small group leaders are human?  Do you know they’re broken?  They doubt and question and fear, I promise you.  

And I think that should bring you hope.

God wants us to take Him seriously when He says that trouble will come, but to take heart, because He has overcome the world.  Do you get that?  Those three pieces.  

It's on it's way, but hold fast, because I've already conquered this.

When people ask me why God lets horrible things happen, I wish I could remember to talk with them about this verse.  Scripture, the inherent Word of God, one of the few things I’d stake my life on, comes out freely and openly and says things are going to get really, really difficult.  Not that it might or could.  That it will.  It’s on its way.  And no one is exempt.  Not pastors or rock stars or you or me.  

And I don’t think God means trouble like you’ll get a flat tire or the store will be out of marshmallows on your way to a bon fire.  I think He means suffering.  Serious, life-shaking, up all night and I’m ready to renounce my faith because this is so incredibly horrible and exhausting and confusing, suffering.  I bet you have cried over this trouble.  And if you haven’t, I’m sure you will.  You want to know why I think that?  Not because my glass is half empty.  I say this because the Bible tells us straight that storms are brewing and that we are one phone call away from it.

But Jesus also says to take heart.  That He has overcome.

Jesus wants us to take Him seriously when He says that He has overcome the world.  I’ll confess, I just used the synonyms tab for the word ‘overcome’.  Here’s what came up:  affected, blown-away, bowled over, defeated, conquered, overthrown, swept off ones feet. My favorite synonym that came up is ‘visibly moved’.  

God has visibly moved the world.

And He has, hasn’t He?

Action and Reaction Almost Rhyme

Someone recently pulled aside my father-in-law outside of the church walls and told him my husband and I don't dress appropriately to church on Sundays.  "There's just a way we do things around here." 

Keep in mind, we aren't wearing bathing suits.  We're wearing jeans.  And not even the neon colored ones.

I had been told this to my face a few times from other people in this particular church.  When it happened, I looked them in the eye, forcing them to look into mine and hopefully view me as a human being rather than an object of disapproval.  It prompted a roll-your-eyes-when-you-walk-away-and-say-a-short-prayer-for-them response in me.  But saying something to my father-in-law?  That made me angry.  I don't know why my reaction was that of surprise when I found this guy went out of his way to be judgmental.   That people still conduct themselves this way.  I guess I thought we had grown up a little.

But the Bible is littered with crap like this.  Almost like God was trying to warn us.

It really could get this ridiculous.

While people still act like this and it's extremely sad, people still react like me, which is also extremely sad.  Criticism, skepticism, and reciprocal judgement rather than redemptive anger, sorrow over sin, and prayer.  Just as his criticism lacked redemptive breath, so did my mental reaction.

I'll be the first to admit my humanity, but in the same banner, I'll also be the first to admit I believe we are called to holiness despite the circumstance.  While it is our responsibility not to conduct ourselves like fools, it's also our responsibility not to react like fools.  


"Be holy, for I am holy."


Other people's behavior does not give you or me the freedom to respond in judgement.  We have been given a mandate to strive for holiness, to live a life set apart despite the way other people choose to spend their time or use their words.  A life that undeniably echoes the love and grace of our sweet Savior.  And that mandate alone frees us to react with the kind of redemptive anger that holds hands with redemptive love.

God doesn't give us the go ahead to look like idiots when we respond to sighting sin.  Instead, He frees us to react with genuine intention, and maybe with some solid rebuke.

Our criticism can't save anyone.  It disenchants people not only with "church folk", but more so, disenchants people with the God who knows the number of hairs on your head.  It serves as a poor and unjust reflection of the God who spills stars into the sky we all share.  And we do reflect Him whether it's our finest moment or not - you know this right?

I remember seeing an interview with Katy Perry once, and this was a long time ago.  But she made a comment about how she had no desire to be a role model for anyone.  And I remember thinking to myself, that's a ridiculous thing to say.  You have no choice in the matter.

He said we would be the body, we would be His hands and His feet in the world.  And not just some ambiguous "in the world", but in our communities.  In our churches.  With each other.  We will reflect Him.  God cares about the way we treat one another.  The way we act and the way we react.

Don't you know the hymn?  They'll know we are Christians by our love...

Memento Mori

It's never easy when somebody dies.

Our church sends e-mail alerts all the time about people sick or in the hospital or recent deaths-in-the-family.  I hate getting those e-mails because while I see them as prayer requests, others see them as people.  People they adore.

A tragic and beautiful thing happened this week.  A sweet, mission-minded, 23 year old young lady left this side of eternity.  Some would say she went too soon, but that's human talk.  This was the time the Lord had designated before there were oceans.

What gives me rest is knowing she would have wanted to go if her work was done.  She loved and feared the Lord, and she wasn't in the business of wasting time.  She was in the business of redeeming it.

I know this because she was my roommate my freshman year of college.

The accident happened en route to do things that were covered in the aroma of Jesus.  She spent two restful weeks in a hospital, and then onto bigger and better things she went.  I can't help but wonder if the few good days she had during the two weeks she was in a coma were when she saw her sweet Savior for the first time.  When He came for her.  He promises to do this, you know.

Some never think it will be them.   We don't think death happens to people we know.  Maybe our grandparents, because they're old.  But not us.  Or we're the other extreme and live (if you can call it that) in fear of everything.  Like cancer or car accidents are lurking behind every tree.  Neither of these are healthy, and neither will save us.

The reality is we're all going to die one day.  It could be forty years from now.  It could be tomorrow.  We just don't know when our time is up.  That scares some people.  It shouldn't.  It should motivate you.

God doesn't sleep.  This is freedom.  

That doesn't mean I feel comfortable standing in my closet, picking out clothes to wear to say goodbye.  The nausea and anxiety that come with searching through black dresses is still too much to handle.  My husband will probably have to pack my bags for me.

I just have hope in this God who makes promises.  This God who loves us.  And oh, how He loves us.

My friend only had 23 years in the grand narrative that is God's story.  She died serving this Jesus that scooped her up before death could bat an eye in her direction.  I desire to serve this Jesus, too.


Not wasting time with things that aren't in the business of unveiling the Kingdom at hand has to be a conscious decision.


If children are still going hungry and lost people are still lost, then there's some stuff we just don't have time for.

We've got things to do.

I don't take Jesus seriously.

When I pulled into the Memorial Home, I wasn't even sure where to park. Where I was expecting a parking lot full with vehicles belonging to family visitors, there was only a small circle of gravel big enough to fit three cars. And it was empty. I pulled in and took in the sight. The size of the dead tree in the front yard demanded attention; it's branchs curved and reached toward the ground as though they were crying out in thirst. A broken wooden fence surrounded the front of the one story building. It reminded me of an old schoolhouse, scattered with patches of terminal grass where flowers used to grow. I guess the flowers don't bother anymore. A woman in a red sweater came out the front door and stood on the porch and stared at me as though I was some sort of dangerous intruder, interrupting my thoughts. A dog followed behind her.

That must be Carolyn.

Carolyn runs the Memorial Home for the Aged in Laurens, South Carolina.  It's a home for the elderly who can't afford assisted living or a nursing home yet can no longer care for themselves. The place doesn't even have a website.  You can find the phone number from people who know people who have lived in this small town for a while.  Without Carolyn, the 38 people currently housed at would be homeless. Even the ones who have family have only Carolyn. Those they love are long gone with stolen inheritances, retirement, and estates they did not earn. All prodigal's sons who never came home. So when I say theses people would be homeless, I mean homeless.  On the streets.  Surely dead.

The Memorial Home used to be run by a board, who were responsible to "the county". So essentially, Laurens County was responsible for the Memorial Home and the board made decisions on their behalf. The actual name of the facility is the Laurens Memorial Home for the Aged, which I refuse to call it. Staff, finances, sanitation, the whole parade used to be the responsibility of the county, and eventually they decided it was no longer their responsibility. In Carolyn's words, the dedicated people on the board were told to sink or swim, but they'd do it without the support of the county. Carolyn was on this board.

Twenty some years after that conversation, I'm sitting across from this woman, wondering what on earth she was thinking. 

The tears overflowing from her seasoned eyes as she told me story after story about souls she deeply cared for would have brought the most apathetic to their knees. The scent of a decaying building and bodies were most abundantly mixing with the stories she hummed; both still grasping for what life is left in them. But what I will tell you, is that stories like hers and those she gives her life to make better should never die. Compassion is real. I have seen it.

I try and visit Carolyn at the Memorial Home more often than once in a while.  I hope it reminds her somebody cares about what she's doing; it reminds me good people really do exist.  I asked her recently why she hasn't written a book about all the things she's seen, all the redemption she's encountered.  An account of how God dips His finger into this depravity.  She laughs and coughs at the same time.  She says nobody would believe her.  She says the stories are too ridiculous.

I have come to find out Carolyn has battled cancer for years.  Her husband is also terminally ill. They live in a small house fifty paces from the Memorial Home.  And this - this is how they've chosen to spend their time.  All of it.


The rest of it.

Carolyn Penland will never write a book. She'll never hold a weekend conference in Nashville or be a well-known, eloquent blogger. She'll never be known for her sepia-induced photography or have a booth at a Christian music festival. She is a woman who took on something that wasn't her problem to own.  And yet now, it fully encompasses her existence.  People are depending on her to stay alive.

Do you remember one of the last things that Jesus told His disciples in the upper room? He tells them that where He's going they can't go. And then He tells them to love one another, as He has loved them.

I can just imagine how different would things look if we took Jesus seriously for once.  If I took Him seriously when He says He has to leave for a while, but He'll be back for us.

"Take care of each other."

The Pericope Adulterae

I bet that when the Pharisees brought the woman caught in adultery to Jesus and asked His thoughts on the Mosaic law that damned her to humiliating and painful execution, He just thought to Himself,

You've got to be kidding.

Some translations of the Gospel of John say that as the Pharisees were speaking, Jesus wrote in the sand as though He did not hear them. As though their concern and infatuation over her sin was not number one on His priority list. He also knew they were trying to back Him into a corner so they could condemn Him as well.

Straight up, if I were Jesus, I would have been really ticked off. I would have called out the Pharisees for trying to make me look like a fool, patronizing me by quoting Mosaic law, as if I was unaware of it. They would have been crossed off my list of potential small group leaders. I would have wanted to sit down with the woman and tell her that sex was created for glory and joy and she was not experiencing that joy, and glorifying no one. Then I would have handed her a Matt Chandler sermon.

And that's just off the top of my head of immediate reactions.

But Jesus didn't do that. He didn't react emotionally or erratically. He wasn't sarcastic or patronizing. He asked a simple question that required action as the only possible answer. He said that if you've never screwed up anything in your life, you can throw something at her. (Paraphrase of course - don't try and look that up.) And one by one, the Pharisees walked out, leaving the guilty woman with Jesus.

Has no one condemned you? Neither do I. Go and sin no more.

I bet He looked her in the eye when He breathed forgiveness and compassion into the stale air surrounding them. I bet small, salty tears fell from her tired eyes. I bet she felt like a ruby in His midst. Like a precious, sought-after ruby.

I think we forget too quickly that Jesus is eager with affections for the lost.

In light of the recent rumors of Jason Russell of Invisible Children being arrested, I just want to plead with you to have no stones to throw. Don't forget that Jesus has compassion for broken people, including those who mess up in public. You are one of them.

Instead of treating people like humans who make mistakes, especially ones in the media, we immediately slander them and everything the represent. We assume they've always had ill intentions or mask our prior support and say we were secret skeptics from the beginning. I think this is unfair.

I don't know Jason Russell or his heart. I don't know if he was really arrested or detained under section 5150. Maybe he was. I don't know the true effect that Kony 2012 is having on Ugandan people. Maybe some are angry and fearful. Maybe some are hopeful. But here is what I do know.

We are called to love, and love extravagantly. In spite of brokenness. In the face of our brothers potential public humiliation, we are called to compassion. You are called to LOVE him. Your slandering of this man on Facebook and twitter is an awful showcase of that. Can we just not make Jesus look bad this time?

Jesus had no stones to throw.

You don't owe me anything.

Last year, I made it to the final round of interviews for a job that I really, really wanted. And not because it was easy work or tons of cash or close to home, but because the people were real, the cases were real, and the decisions were final.

Alright. Judge Judy jokes aside, this job was pretty boss. And I wanted it badly.

It ended up being between me and a guy native to the area where the job was. I felt confident and nervous all at the same time and checked my phone constantly.  I knew I was qualified for the position, but moreso, I knew I had clicked with the students, parents, and committee. Our conversations about faith, theology, and the Kingdom at hand were effortless. After a rough run at my "dream job" that turned out not so dreamy, I was eager for something fresh and new. There wasn't a fearful bone in my body. For the first time since going to Australia, I felt courageous. I felt assured knowing that if this was what the Lord had for me, I'd have to fearlessly jump in. I would have to move far away from home to a place where I knew very few people. I knew it would be scary, but I was ready to pack my bags. I enlisted the help of friends and followers on twitter and facebook for prayers we could press into. I had never been so ready for anything. And the salary wasn't too shabby, either. But I didn't get the job. The other guy did.

And he had a Bachelors of Science degree. In nursing.

Yes, you heard that correctly.  Nursing.

It didn't make any sense to me. I even started to tear up on the phone as they told me they had offered the position to the other candidate and he had accepted.  My immediate emotion wasn't even that of hurt.  It was embarrassment.  When I asked for feedback as to what I could improve on as I continued in my search, the answer made not getting the job even worse.

"Nothing. We prayed for someone we wouldn't have to settle for, and God sent us two.  You'll do great wherever you are."

And then they proceeded to give me Scripture to refer to when I felt confused and disappointed.

-- Just a note to anyone in ministry - when you're declining to give someone a job, do not give them Scripture to help them feel better. It does not help. It does not make them feel better. --

I couldn't understand why it was happening. My resume was amazing. I studied under great professors, including an Australian Old Testament scholar, helped start a ministry from the ground up in the poorest county in Pennsylvania, studied abroad in a rigorous academic program, was hired full time in my field 6 months before graduating. I did everything right.

And I got beat by a guy with a nursing degree.

Not only did I feel entitled to a good job, but I felt like God owed it to me. I studied what I believed was my calling regardless of the terrible salary, volunteered countless hours, sacrificed planning my wedding to spend 6 months in another country studying and serving. Certainly, there should be some sort of return, right?  So I decided God was now in my debt.  He owed me one.

After my anger took the sidelines, I pouted like a toddler in a tiara who doesn't want to put on her fake eyelashes.

And I learned awfully quickly that God doesn't owe me anything.

I wish I could say that I never think about that job anymore, but sometimes I catch it hovering in the shadows of my mind.  It is the only job I've never been offered. And that will knock a prideful person on their, well, on their pride.

In January, I moved to South Carolina regardless of not getting the job.  I came to find out the guy with the nursing degree is already gone.  When I interviewed last year, the church was in the midst of some changes and after hearing the generalities of the situation, it's hard to say if I would have survived it.  Had I been hired, I would have walked in with my own scars and the church was in no place to help them heal.

Driving home after finding out, I felt protected by my God.  I also wondered why He chose to reveal this to me.  I had moved on.  He didn't have to give me a glimpse of the answer to my questions.  But He did.  It was as though He knew it all along.

I watched your excitement grow and grow, and I was excited too.  To see you discovering there's even more out there than you thought.  More cultures within this country.  To see your desire and willingness to leave your family and know you were risking anxiety ridden nights.  I knew you thought it was all worth it to see the Gospel come alive.  Man, it was beautiful.  But sweet daughter, I had to protect you.  I grieved the loss of something you never had alongside you.  I was so hurt to see you hurting.  Confused.  Embittered.  I want you to know I'm not mad at you.  I was only protecting you.  Today, you only see in part.  Keep that in mind, my girl.

God will go to extremes to show you that He loves you. He has a bird's eye view of the timeline of eternity.  He created it.  No one knows the long run better than God.

I hope our Lord sends you a cool breeze reminding you that He is in control, and you don't have to feel like He owes you anything. Because first of all, He doesn't, and second, He wants to shower you with grace and hope because He loves you. And that's better than Him doing it because He owes you.