This is Redemption

I am sending an application in this week to go live in Africa for two years. Only one thing is left blank: Write briefly how you became a Christian, and trace how you have grown spiritually since then. There follow only about seven lines, not even the width of college-ruled paper. This is only a preliminary application; I know there will be numerous occasions in the future for me to explain the depth and breadth of this conversion, of this amazing love story. In the meantime, I am gripped by fear that I will botch it, that I will somehow say the wrong thing and screw this whole thing up.

Please let me be clear here, friends: That thought is sin. It is blasphemy because it presumes that I could somehow do something to ruin God's plans. It presumes that I have more power in this situation than He, and that is simply not true. I have repented of it, and will probably continue to do so daily until it finally sinks in that He has this all under control. There is a difference between knowing something academically, and knowing it in your heart. In my experience, the second is very slow in coming, but so beautiful and freeing when it does.

I became a Christian at age 11 at a youth conference. There was no big altar call (Methodists aren't really into that), just discussion at a break-out session on whether you thought, if you died today, you'd go to heaven or hell. My heart stopped. I wasn't sure. I apparently was the only one in my group that was so convicted, and I felt like even more of a fraud. I cried. I said that rote prayer that every kid across the nation says at a youth conference and "asked Jesus into my heart."

What did that even mean? I didn't know. I just did what I thought I was supposed to do: sang in the choir, watched the kiddies in the nursery, memorized Bible verses, and jumped at opportunities to go on missions trips. Those things make you Christian, right? Never mind the sin in my life, the fact that I didn't know how to pray anything beyond the "Our Father," the fact that my Bible laid on my shelf collecting dust.

As the years continued, I struggled desperately to reconcile my faith with the life I was leading. I was hurting terribly, my heart broken for something I couldn't explain and that I was sure I could never find. There were numerous occasions where I decided I did not want to carry on, and my body and soul will bear those scars until the day I die.

Even in these darkest of times, I was at church. I was there every Sunday for service and youth group, every Thursday night for choir, and on Wednesday night to help in the nursery. I hoped, I think, that if I just kept coming, He would meet me there.

It took me years to understand that He couldn't, or at least not in the way I wanted. I placed too many restrictions on Him. I was raised in a church where God was in a box, easily summed up in three bullet points on Sunday mornings. Jesus was a nice guy who also happened to be the Messiah. And the Holy Spirit did this crazy thing one day in the early church with tongues of fire, but hasn't really been heard from since.

That all changed for me one weekend in June. I was in town for a friend's wedding and she had this really great friend (who I'd never really met before) who hosted her bachelorette party. We all stayed the night at Meghan's house and the next day, I was invited to come along with all the wedding party to get our nails done. I sat and talked to Meghan at the wedding rehearsal, in the car between rehearsals and nails, in the apartment when we had the chance to relax for a few moments.

I had never felt so loved. This woman simply exuded the love of Christ. And I got it. I understood that THIS was what it was supposed to be about. It wasn't about formulas and bullet points, it was about love. It was about loving Him and loving others and letting ourselves be so vulnerable as to be loved. Meghan invited me to church the Sunday after the wedding and I eagerly accepted. And He met me there - He broke my heart and continues to do so that I might be fully His.

He has poured His Spirit on me, given me words and hope and peace where the world offers nothing. He teaches me everyday what He intended for life to be and how to live in community and love others beyond anything I can comprehend. It is a beautiful thing. He has laid it on my heart that I am supposed to be sharing this message of love with others. It is a call I am unworthy of, though one I accept wholeheartedly.

Now, if I could just whittle that down to 150 words before tomorrow morning, we'd be golden.

Good night, beautiful ones. I love you.

I Need You

I am afraid of human touch - always have been. I have always shyed away from hugs and kisses, felt awkward when those friends who are far more open with their touch insisted on hugs. And while I say that I am afraid of touch, perhaps it is more accurate to say that I am utterly terrified of just how much I need it.

This point was driven home on Sunday, as I stood in church with an open invitation to come forward and receive the touch of a brother or sister, to receive prayer, and grace. I was completely frozen in that moment. As many others acknowledged that primal need, I stood wondering how I could need something so much. I had nothing that needed to be prayed for really, no burden I carried alone. I just needed a hug, a touch, a physical reminder that there are others in this with me.

And that scared me. I didn't know how to ask for something so simple and basic. I didn't know how to admit that within me is this inherent need and desire for the touch of another. I still don't. Part of this probably has to do with my associations with touch and desire - how they are, in my mind, so sexualized and dirty. I forget that they were not always this way, that there was a time when I did not associate a hug with just another way for a guy to feel me up, or a hand on my shoulder with the desire by a man to push the boundaries.

I have gone so far off course of what I wanted to say, though it is true that when I began writing this, I had no idea that these things would come up. I really wanted to write this to tell you how much I need you, and your touch, even though it terrifies me.

When I was engaged, the safest place in the world was wrapped up in Steven's arms. Even on those days that were so difficult that I questioned whether or not I could keep going, if Steven snuggled up next to me on the couch, or slid into bed beside me and held me, I knew it would be okay - if only for the next 10 minutes. And I miss that, though it is difficult for me to admit it.

It is difficult to admit, I think, because I know that I will not have that again. I have, for better or worse, richer or poorer, committed myself to a Man, a God, who lived on this earth over 2000 years ago. He cannot physically touch and hold me the way Steven did, and while this marriage is so beautiful and completely perfect, I have to admit I miss that physical aspect of the relationship. And just by saying that, I feel that I am somehow admitting unhappiness or unfulfillment, and I feel I have cheated on Him by the thought. But He is teaching me, slowly, that I was meant to need touch, meant to give it, meant to feel love by these things.

That's why He gave me you, of course. And I am beginning to learn this, beginning to accept the fact that we need each other more than we could possibly imagine.

I need you, friends. I need your love and your hugs and for you to hold me while I cry. So next time you see me, please hug me. I don't know how to tell you how much I need that, but I do.

.love

One day I'll make a real post. I promise.

But I couldn't possibly say what I feel any better than Anne Lamott already has: "I just love the guy. I love Jesus - it's that simple."

I am overwhelmed by love these days. I can't contain it. I cry because I am so overwhelmed. It is beautiful.

I am thankful for all of you.

Everything Changes

I received a word from God today. This doesn't happen often, in fact, it has never happened so directly as it did today. I think the friend I sat with at church probably thought me insane because there was nothing in the message that should have prompted me to burst into tears as I did. It is time, He said.

I knew immediately what this meant - how my life from that second on will be different and I must do the things I have been avoiding doing. I cried for the majority of the sermon, half-praying, half-meditating on the words I was given - it is time.

Here, in its entirety, is the message I received today.

Jessica Jean - dearest daughter, beautiful girl - it is time. The season for growing yourself is past - time now for giving more of yourself than you knew you had. Time now to plan and prepare for the life I called you to. Time to stop thinking and dreaming, and time to start doing. Stop ignoring the challenges I am calling you into and accept them. You have been so faithful to give me the big things, but it is time. Surrender all. Take up your cross.

Friends, I'm not sure what to do with this message, but I know: everything must change, and everything has changed.

Pray for me, please, my friends, as I wrestle with what these words mean. I am praying for you, too.

Love.

Little Lessons

I have been attempting to write a blog entry for a week now. The words refuse to come and I am frustrated because my moods don't seem stable for long enough to figure out what I'm feeling. So instead, I am going to write what I DO know, and provide a list of the things that God has taught me over the past month.

• Run because you can - and Jessie never will.
• The hardest part of a daily spiritual walk is actually opening up the Bible.
• Addictions, no matter how small, only serve to put you in chains.
• The story had to happen the way it did.
• Amazing things happen when you make yourself vulnerable.
• If you know who is in control - there's no need to worry about anything.

I've also been reading a lot of the Bible lately. I am ashamed to say that until this month, I spent far more time reading theological texts and commentaries than I did reading the actual Bible. I will admit that I did not always enjoy reading the Bible - I think I complained a LOT while I read Isaiah (which gets better, by the way) and some of the books of the Bible I could gloss right over without ever reading again. But then there were those books, chapters, passages that jumped from the page and immediately nestled themselves in my heart for safe-keeping. I'd like to share those, too.

Whether you turn to the right or the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, "This is the way; walk in it." --Isaiah 30:21

Stop doing wrong,
learn to do right.
Seek justice
encourage the oppressed
Defend the cause of the fatherless,
plead the case of the widow.
--Isaiah 1:16-17

For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to divide soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. --Hebrews 4:12

Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires. --Galatians 5:24

But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ. --Phillippians 3:20

My heart swells just thinking of them.

That's not me...

I arrived at work on Monday morning and was surprised by a gift. It was marvelous in the fact that it was so completely unexpected. A small loaf of pumpkin bread (my favorite!), a halloween treat bag, some lotion, and a very sincere thank you note.

The gift was meant as a small thank you for all the great work I have done with the young girl I nanny. She has cerebral palsy and the first week or two were rough. She is intensely attached to mom and dad and screams when they are new people to deal with. In the note, the family thanked me for my "positive attitude and abundant energy" in working with Jessie.

I smiled when I read this, not because I was in any way proud of myself, but because I knew I was doing my job. I knew that I had finally managed to get out of the way and let God do His work.

If you don't know me that well, perhaps you don't know that "positive attitude" and "abundant energy" are not terms that could have described me at any point in the last eight years. "Suicidal" and "negative" were thrown around a lot. "Disturbed" or "depressed" were extremely common. But positive? energetic? Never.

I was worried when I took this job - and that worry only increased the first two weeks when there was barely a half an hour that Jessie wasn't screaming and crying. I didn't have the patience for this; I couldn't love this baby; I couldn't do this plus a second job. And finally it hit me: I can't do this job, but HE CAN.

And so I begin every morning with a prayer as I drive to work. I ask God to empty me completely and fill me with His presence and that I can have strength without end to do His work with this amazing little girl. I ask Him to help me remove myself from the picture, to not let my tired, frustrated human body get in the way of what He can do. And He has been so faithful. The result is a love I didn't know I could have for a child with special needs - and a baby who is growing stronger by the day under the love of and care of many people doing God's work.

Jessie laughed yesterday - I mean really laughed, not just her usual giggle. Five minutes of absolutely unbridled laughter as I tickled her at play group. What a sweet sound of heaven it was.

Poetic Justice

That title means nothing, by the way. And I have so much more to say, but I am exhausted and heartbroken and drained beyond belief. And I had no idea when I agreed to babysit tomorrow night that it was going to be a NINE HOUR AFFAIR. So much for a day off.

This is the poem that I mentioned in my very first blog post. Not Dickinson, but not terrible. But then again...I'm biased.

Good night, my loves.

------

where are you?
i reach out to you in the darkness
and the emptiness envelops my arm
swallows it into the void

unsatisfied, the void reaches out to me
the arm that was once mine
(but which now belongs to the void)
touches me tentatively
and lays its fingers to rest on my chest

worn fingers stroke my heart
interrupting its lub-dub of life
and creating a pattern too familiar to me
(lub-lub-lub-dub---lub-lub-dub)
of fear and death

once mine, the hand under the
power of darkness
grips my heart
and wrenches it from my chest

i open my mouth to scream
--nothing
the vocalization of my fear
silenced before it could begin
you do not hear my cries

but you know how i wish
to cry out
for i see you there
in the corner just beyond my grasp

your eyes, with their eerie,
otherworldly quality
reflect the fear and pain in my own
you see my pain
and yet you do not help

you expect me to come to you
i, who am in the control of
powers darker than you are light,
am supposed to come to you.

i reach once more with the hand
still in my control
spidery fingers reaching out desperately
for contact and assurance.

as a child, i was taught
that You are a constant--
unchanging
unmoving

but there, in the darkness,
in the grips of something i neither
know nor comprehend,
i am positive

i see You take a step back.

Homecoming

I sat yesterday in the choir loft at the church I was baptised in. It was a strange sort of turn of events, singing with the choir I watched for so many years from the pews. Well, perhaps "watch" is too strong a verb - I was sitting in a pew with a baby (because even at age 7 I loved kids) and only glanced up occasionally to make sure my mother hadn't dropped dead while she was singing. (She never did, by the way - she was singing two altos down on Sunday.)

But while I sat in the choir loft, I was swarmed with seemingly silly memories of my time there. Of volleyball and girl scouts and Sunday night Hymn Sings. The last one hit me like a ton of bricks - I could remember exactly where I sat on those Sundays (always the fifth Sunday of the month) and which song I would request. Hymn 593. I haven't picked up a Methodist Hymnal since I switched churches in 1996, but I could still remember the hymn number. And in case you don't have your hymnal handy, I've reprinted the words here. I've left the chorus to last - I remember belting out those words with the sort of faith and promise only a child can deliver. It is my fervent prayer that I can again discover that unfettered faith.

Hymn 593: Here I Am, Lord

I, the Lord of sea and sky,
I have heard my people cry.
All who dwell in dark and sin,
My hand will save.

I, who made the stars of night,
I will make their darkness bright.
Who will bear my light to them?
Whom shall I send?

I, the Lord of snow and rain,
I have borne my people’s pain.
I have wept for love of them.
They turn away.

I will break their hearts of stone,
Give them hearts for love alone.
I will speak my words to them.
Whom shall I send?

I, the Lord of wind and flame,
I will send the poor and lame.
I will set a feast for them.
My hand will save.

Finest bread I will provide,
'Til their hearts be satisfied.
I will give my life to them.
Whom shall I send?
Chorus
Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord?
I have heard you calling in the night.
I will go, Lord, if you lead me.

I will hold your people in my heart.

Amen.

Yesterday

I watched a beautiful movie tonight. It broke my heart. It was a Zulu-language filmed called "Yesterday," which is also the name of the main character. It follows this woman, a young mother whose husband is away in the city for work, as she gets devastating news that changes her life, her marriage, her relationship to her community.

Africa has, for many years now, held a special place in my heart. This is due in great part, I believe to the AIDS epidemic and the way it ravages lives and leaves families torn apart. This movie reminded me of that, but also gave me new insight into just how heart-breaking a situation exists over there.

Yesterday confronts her husband about the news of her diagnosis - and he beats her. She returns home, leaving him in the city, where he stays until he is forced out of his own illness to see a doctor. He returns home to his wife, already thin and bearing the classic lesions of a man whose body is ravaged by AIDS.

Rumors fly in their small community and when the news that John has "the virus" is confirmed, the community demands his exile. What if he bleeds on us? What if he makes us all sick? Get him out! Yesterday visits a hospital in town, hoping to find a place for her husband - but the waiting list is already many people long and they will not have a bed for months.

And this is the part that broke my heart more than anything else: Yesterday scoured the countryside looking for pieces of scrap metal. She dragged them, herself already ill with the virus, into a field and built a hut for her husband where she could nurse and attend to him in his dying days. The aftermath of AIDS - the orphans, the sick children, the hospitals - has always been alive in my mind and heart. But the present reality - the people who are rejected by their friends and family, who are suffering with no one to lay a healing hand on them - had never struck me before that moment.

My heart is so broken by this thought that I don't know if I have any more thoughts tonight. Pray for Africa, friends.

Dearest Lord -
Be with your children in Africa tonight. Pour out your grace, peace, and love on their wounded hearts and give them the strength to carry on. Open their hearts to your word as you send your servants to them. Let them know there is a place for them in your kingdom, where they will no longer by burdened by the illness and brokenness of this world.
Amen.

Holy Orders*

So here goes. I initially set up this blog to do some spiritual wandering as some girlfriends and I prepare for a pilgrimage sometime next year. That pilgrimage and subsequent spiritual wanderings will still happen, no doubt, but I'm finding now that this blog may be here to serve for wanderings as a prepare for a life drastically different than I'd ever imagined.

The life plan two months ago: head home for a year or two (probably two). Save some money. Pay off debt. Apply to graduate schools. Get in. Get offered amazing assistanceship packages. Go across the country to get a Ph.D. Become a psychologist and research. Change lives. Change the world.

The life plan NOW: head home for a year or two (probably on the shorter end of that). Save some money. Pay off debt. Apply to missions schools and programs. Go into missions. Travel. Immerse myself in the culture of the people I am living with. Spend every day telling them of the love and redemption of Jesus Christ. Change lives. Change the world.

This change in the life plan is not as drastic as it seems. When I was in second grade (I think), we had to write poems about what we wanted to be when we grew up. I was surrounded by future doctors, lawyers, authors, mothers. And then there was me. The last line of my poem stated "I long to be a missionary." I was, at the time, rather impressed with my use of the word "long" as a verb, and honestly, didn't think of what I had just put to words. I hardly thought of it in the years to come, when I decided that I loved medicine and the human body. I would be a medical missionary. I hopped at any chance to go on a missions trip with church. I was heavily involved in my youth group and was well on my way to being a good, Christian teen with a mind on missions.

Something happened, of course - it always does. I hadn't really planned on sharing this part of my story, but a friend of mine was so bold as to confess something along a similar vein, and to be honest, it is part of who I am. And I love who I am. So here it is.

I got depressed - severely so. I tried to kill myself and bear the physical and emotional scars that will be there forever as a result of those attempts. I starved myself for months on end, abused my body in countless and unspeakable ways, and allowed myself to be broken by the words and thoughts of myself and others.

I tried to stick it out and stay with God. I really did. There are many, many journal entries made while I was on church retreats or at church on Sunday nights screaming and yelling and fighting with God - why he was putting me through this - why couldn't he just heal me or let me die? Preferably, the latter.

Finally, I walked away. Or, to put it more aptly, I felt like God had walked away. I wrote a poem on that feeling of abandonment, which I won't share tonight, because let's be honest - this is already a little long. But I couldn't do it any more. I stopped praying, stopped reading my Bible, stopped regarding myself as a follower of Christ.

I see now that God let me walk away - He had to. I am so stubborn and bull-headed that I would not come back to Him until I saw that I absolutely could not do it on my own. I had to be so broken that I had nowhere else to turn. He allowed me to continue down a dangerous and painful path, allowed me to put myself in situations where I was abused and degraded, until I realized that without Him, it wasn't worth putting up a fight.

I should state that I am not proud of this recent conversion. To be honest, even typing that sentence - I had to be so broken that I had nowhere else to turn - made my stomach turn. I am, at times, still disgusted with myself - that I should be so prideful, so arrogant as to believe that I had it all worked out. That God was my last resort.

But how gracious and merciful He is - accepting and welcoming me with open arms. And how good it is to be back.


*I realize that missions may not be a "holy order" as falls under the list of sacraments of the Catholic church. If I recall correctly, that's nun or priest. Your other option is to get married. (Not that I'm Catholic, but I do have friends who are who would likely point out my gross misuse of the term.) But my intention in using it here is note that when I accepted my call to missions (after a few days of chatting it over with God, because I really thought he might be a little crazy...), I had the overwhelming feeling/knowledge/acceptance that I would not be getting married. This was further confirmed to me a week or two later during a phone call with a life-long missionary, which will no doubt be fodder for another blog entry.

Good night, all.

Love.