Oh, How He Loves

We meet "virtually" at the end of a long week--she walking along a creek in the rain, I sitting atop a warm rock in the sun (by another little creek). Almost 200 miles apart, but still beside each other in heart. Sisterhood is like that.

It's been a week full of joy and full of sorrow, for both of us. Full of the joy of serving, of giving unashamedly, of pouring into other lives. Full of sorrow from others' pain, of staggering under the hundred-ton weight of someone else's hurt. Sometimes second-hand sorrow is hardest to bear.

We share (much-abbreviated) prayer requests and though we laugh at each other and with each other, our hearts break for each other and for our friends. People I haven't even met set my heart throbbing, make me close my eyes as if to try to block out the agonizing reality of the darkness that has set itself against them. I ache to wrap my arms around each one, hold them tight, tell them You ARE loved. YOU are loved. HE loves you--and through the darkness, through the pain--He'll never, ever let you go.

And that night as I go home, half-reeling from the overwhelming need to be loved that resounds through the hearts of this broken, pain-throbbing world, I can't help but think, this must be a glimpse into the heart of God.

'Cause if I love these people so much--people I've never or only barely met--how much more must He love each one of them and each one of us--His children--when He knows so deeply and so intimately?

Wow.

"Behold what manner of love the Father has bestowed on us, that we should be called children of God!" (1 Jn. 3:1)

You Matter

Rallied by one young prince's victory, a thousand men of the Israelite nation rush from their hiding places, armed with sticks and shovels, to pursue and to destroy their enemies. Successfully.

Ranks of young men file into ships, to land at Normandy Beach and to scramble and battle their way inland in a desperate struggle to free Europe.

Suicide bombers train for days, weeks--only to destroy themselves in a final explosion for what they believe is the right.

We are obsessed, we humans, with being part of something bigger than ourselves. With fighting for the right. With the ideal of the stalwart hero who battles and struggles and finally, though his death or through his life, wins. We want this. We crave it. It is part of both our deepest fears and our deepest dreams. It constantly drives us upward toward glory, or downward toward greatest loss. 

Because we are. We are part of Something Bigger. We do fight for it. Every day. 

The question is: What? What am I fighting for? Am I the hero fighting to free Europe, to rescue Israel from the Philistines? Or am I the suicide bomber who destroys not only others, but himself, in a blaze of terror?

There are only two sides. The side that destroys, and the Side that renews. The side that wounds, and the Side that heals. And one of the essences of the Gospel is just this:

YOU MATTER.

Your life matters. Your choices matter. YOU matter. More than you can ever dream. Because in every choice, no matter how small, no matter how insignificant, you fight. Because every time you choose the good, evil loses. 

And so in a hundred little choices, in a hundred little prayers, in a hundred little surrenders every day...we fight.

By His grace, choose the good.

"Fight the good fight of faith, lay hold on eternal life, to which you were also called and have confessed the good confession in the presence of many witnesses." (1 Tim. 6:12)

Canaan Bound

Source

It seems all the stories start the same.

"It was just an ordinary day. . ."

Maybe that's because it was. Until. 

Mine was. Or I suppose, I should say, it was an ordinary night. Until...

Wait--the whole story--you haven't heard it. It's a long story, you know. You don't mind? Well, let's begin, then...

Flat roofs are meant for stargazing. I've always been up there nights, as long as I can remember, maybe even more once I had a family. The breeze skips by, touches your face like a lover's hand; the stars twinkle and flash overhead; sometimes the moon burns a hole in the sky. A whisper-smell of jasmine, a far-away owl's hoot. You just can't sleep for long, not in so much beauty.

The moon was full that night, and it threw a halo all around. I've hardly ever seen a moon that bright--seemed you could scarcely see the stars. I'd fixed a bed up top of the roof, threw down a blanket or two at the end of a long day. And I lay there, hands behind my head, staring up at that sky and a thousand questions running in my mind. Don't even remember what they were about, really.

I guess I dozed off despite myself. When I woke the moon was half across the sky. For a moment I wasn't sure what had woken me--but I knew there was something. Then I heard it. Music. But unlike any music I'd ever heard before. It started soft; it took a moment before I could make out... words. And what words...

Get out of your country
From your family
And from your father's house
To a land that I will show you.

If I'd had questions before, they paled in comparison to my questions now. This was unlike anything I'd ever heard before. All I knew was here. All I'd ever known was here. My family, my father's house--it was all I had. My inheritance, my life, my hope for the future. To leave all this--for an unnamed land?

But the music swelled and grew and pulled at me. Somehow I knew it was for me. I remembered how God--the great YAH--had spoken to men in the past. Was this how He spoke? This beautiful but so uncertain way? Would He not be more specific, not give more directions?

I will make you a great nation;
I will bless you
And make your name great;
And you shall be a blessing.
I will bless those who bless you
And I will curse him who curses you;
And in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.*

The music faded. Only the moon remained, and I found myself on my knees, knowing I bowed before the Creator of All. Was it enough--His promise? To leave all I knew, to begin in a new and hostile place, knowing no one, with no family, no inheritance, no life?

"I will go," I whispered, though deep within a part of me recoiled from such a life-altering decision. "Tomorrow I shall tell them. We shall go."

* Genesis 12:1-3

IRL: Summer Begins

• Quiet days at the office...
• Reading Pilgrim's Progress, Hinds' Feet on High Places, Captivating, and To Kill a Mockingbird...
• Long-distance book clubs...
• Arranging new songs...
• Google Hangouts with friends...
• Beautiful new lyrics stuck in my head all day...
• Honeysuckle and privet-scented nights...
• Catching up and talking with little brothers and friends...
• Planning a weekend trip to my "new home" to order books, have meetings with the pastor, meet (even more) people, and start getting ready for July...
• Poetry
• Music
• Delighted with others' joy :)
• Solo hikes in the rain
• Thunderstorms

"There are different kinds of happiness," she said. "There is an exuberant happiness, that comes bubbling up and bubbling out--like Old Faithful. And there's a quiet happiness, like when you're hiking with your family at 5,000 feet. And there's a bittersweet happiness, missing the old and being grateful for it, standing alone in the rain, driving by yourself across the mountains. But they're all happiness. All to be embraced."

Somewhere Between

Source

It's a strange feeling being between two worlds.

That's where most of us grads (or soon-to-be-grads) are right now. Two worlds. One world is the one we've been in for at least four, sometimes five or more, years--college. To expand it even further, school in general. We've been students for at least sixteen years, most of us.

The next world varies a lot from person to person, but it has one thing in common--the unknown. Unknown grad school, unknown new jobs, unknown mission service. Unknown.

And for the moment, standing between last finals and an anticipated-but-unknown future, we look at the world and wonder one thing: Where am I today--really?

Because I don't belong here any more, but I still am here.

Because I will belong there someday, but I'm not there yet.

And so we stand somewhere between, in a strangely surrealistic "wood between the worlds," happy but unsure, relieved but just a little apprehensive, not knowing.

The parallels are intriguing.

"These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland." (Heb. 11:13-14)

Broken Healer

"The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon Me,
Because the LORD has anointed Me
To preach good tidings to the poor;
He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to the captives,
And the opening of the prison to those who are bound" (Is. 61:1)

What makes God such an incredible Healer? Besides, of course, that He is God, and can do whatever He wants. . .

When we are hurting, we want someone who has been there before us. Somehow, knowing that someone has walked this trail before--it smooths the thorns. It gives us hope. And somehow, that hope is really what most of us are looking for.

So He was broken--He was crushed--so that we might be healed. And so that we might recognize that healing, see it in hands and feet and heart, in flesh and bone.

And perhaps, just perhaps, He sometimes asks us to share in that brokenness--so that we might be able to offer healing and hope to another.

Other Side of Chivalry

"UGH!"

She stomps her foot and crosses her arms and scowls. Seventh-graders haven't yet mastered the art of the death glare, but they're getting close. Especially this one.

He looks at her with a crooked smile and doesn't say anything (he's smart). With an exaggerated sigh, she flings her arms to her sides petulantly and stomps . . . through the door.

He grins and waits for me to go through and closes it behind us.

"He's trying to be a gentleman, M," I smile; "let him do it."

And they say chivalry is dead. Girls say chivalry's dead. Are we the ones who've killed it?

I find this definition when I look up "chivalry": "the combination of qualities expected of an ideal knight, especially courage, honor, courtesy, justice, and a readiness to help the weak."

I don't think girls really mind courage or justice, or even honor--look at the popular movies and books and you know we like those things. But it's that "courtesy" thing, especially because courtesy ties precisely to the last item in that list: "a readiness to help the weak," that gets us.

God made people to be strong. He made guys to be strong. He made girls to be strong too. Look at the women in the Bible and you see strength all over the place. Eve, Deborah, Esther, Jael . . . these women are no pushovers. And we, as their daughters, want to be strong. We want to be the warrior princess of the story. And our culture pushes that even harder. Women must be "empowered"; we must be tough and strong and not give in to anything. Especially men.

We say this--we do this--partly because strength is built into us, and partly because we are afraid. The strength part is good. The fear part is not. Because fear always makes a fake hardness, a brittle china sort of toughness that isn't at all tough. Instead, it breaks and cuts.

What are we afraid of? It probably depends to a degree on the individual girl, but I'd say there's one thing that carries through us all: We are afraid of being hurt.

"But I'm not hurting you!" the poor guy protests. "I'm being nice to you!"

Yeah, you are. But you are also, even in one small way, making me dependent on another person. You. I'm depending on you to hold that door for 30 seconds and not let it smash back in my face. I'm depending on you to hand those fallen books back and not toss them away just to spite me. I'm depending on you to not cut in front of me in line. Little things, yeah, but I'm depending on you. And that is a terrifying place to be. Most girls have been let down enough little or big times (even by seventh grade) that we're gun-shy of any kind of dependence.

Maybe it's a scary place for you too, gentleman at the door. Maybe it's not. I don't know. But if you want to make it better, what do you do?

Keep doing what you're doing. Try to be patient. Try to be a little bit nicely stubborn--sometimes that's what it takes. But don't just be a gentleman when it comes to holding doors or picking up books or letting me go first in the potluck line. Be dependable other places too. Build my trust. I don't care if I'm not and never will be your girlfriend. We all need to build trust--you, and me, and my seventh- and eighth-graders, and all of us.

Girls? That's a whole different post. But try to see the true strength behind accepting courtesy. It takes a lot more strength to graciously accept an offer that makes you momentarily dependent on another, than it does to bull your way through alone. Remember that. And act on it.

If we want chivalry, we can't refuse it. If we want kindness, we can't put it down. If we want to be open and true with each other, we must move past that fear that cuts.

IRL: Catch-up

Student teaching is going overall quite well. It's a bit of fun times trying to nail down my classroom management but fortunately my kids are really quite easy so that makes my life a bit better. Some days are better than others but they're recognizing when I'm serious and they listen. I, in turn, am learning to be a little bit tough with them when I need to. It's a matter of getting comfortable--I can't be tough with you until I feel we have a relationship, so that makes my management strategy a little different.

After this coming week, it's only two more weeks in the classroom--one more of full-time teaching, and then one week part-time teaching. Going to miss my kids but I'm glad I took my week off when I did (at the end of the school year). Grad is already going to be crazy enough, without trying to teach straight up until the Friday of graduation weekend!

Besides that, I'm trying to soak up every minute I can of the rest of this spring. I'm outside as soon as I get home and staying out till the sun goes down (lesson planning? yeah...that's Sundays...sometimes...I get them done!). Spending time with my friends and just trying to make the most of every minute.

Today I'm driving up to my "new home" to check out a place for my horse that will hopefully work out so that he can come with me. Also dropping by the two apartments/duplexes I'm deciding between.

How To Be a Teacher

...according to second grade:

--"But she's a STUDENT teacher."
--"Yeah...but she has a whistle!" 
--"That's true...I guess she's a teacher too!"

Never-failing source of amusement right here. Love having the combination of older and younger kids--best of all the worlds! :)

His Lamps

I don't remember if I've shared this before, but just in case I haven't...this is a great little poem I have posted on my wall to remember.

We are His lamps, to shine where He shall say;
And lamps are not for sunny rooms,
Or for the light of day,
But for dark places of the earth,
Where shame and wrong and crime have birth;
Or for the murky twilight gray,
Where wandering sheep have gone astray;
Or where the lamp of faith grows dim,
And souls are groping after Him.
And so sometimes we find a flame,
Clear shining through the night--
So dark we cannot see the lamp, 
   but only see the light.
May we so shine--His love the flame--
That men may glorify His name.

~ R.J. Flint