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.