I like to walk next to the lake here in Georgia. The water’s down a drastically upsetting number of feet this summer, and half the boat docks are on dry land. The red dirt underneath has had time to dry, and the birds have had time to pick open the clam shells. It’s my new favorite place to walk. It’s like God’s been working the whole summer just to pave a path for me to walk by the water.
(It’s kind of a big deal. We don’t get to walk by water much in Nebraska. Thanks, God. You’re much appreciated.)
On one of these walks, I found a hand-sized rock that glittered in the sun. It looked just like gold. Visions of grandeur, riches, and fame began to crowd my head. This rock had been hiding under the water for centuries, probably, but no one had found it because the water was in the way. And now that the water was gone, no one bothered to walk here . . . no one but lucky me! That’s what I was thinking. Until I picked up the sparkly rock and pulled a layer off. And then another and another and another.
Apparently, gold was a lot flakier than I thought.
Or, maybe it wasn’t gold at all.
I’m kind of hoping the second one is true. If it’s not, I just left a fortune lying in thin little glimmering sheets all the way from the edge of the lake to the beginning of the woods.
For every sliver I pulled off the fake gold, I wondered more and more what true gold looks like. Is it pliable? Is it shiny? When you bite it, is it hard? (No, I did not put the fake gold in my mouth.)
During the tour a couple months ago, we got to stop in Holland, Michigan, and catch up with a youth group that had been in Haiti this summer. It was one of my favorite stops. That’s a special group of kids. When they came back from Haiti, they wrote down some prayers and thoughts from the trip. This is some of what they said:
“I have learned this week that sometimes you have to give up your dreams to follow the dreams God has for you.”
“If I’m alone and have nothing to do, no one to hang out with, I’ll talk to God. If I really need help with something, I’ll talk to God.”
“God will be with me, guiding me, protecting me, providing for me until the day I join Him and all my brothers and sisters in Christ in Heaven.”
“I have surrendered my life to Jesus, and now I will dive in any time I feel the water of Jesus stirring within my soul.”
These quotes inspire me. They remind me of what’s real and what really matters. These are nuggets of true gold. Gold that can stand the fire and still be there after the wood, hay, and stubble are burned.
Oh Lord, open our eyes to be captivated by the real gold, to leave all the false stuff far behind, to let go of the worthless and unreal, to chase after what is lasting and true.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
Dying Leaves
The leaves are brown here in Georgia. I’m told they were brilliant a few weeks back, only I wasn’t here then. But that’s alright. I still go out nearly every day to walk through the woods. They’re vast and brown and quiet and beautiful. And dead. The leaves are very much nearly all dead.
It seems to be a recurring topic here recently.
The more I look into this whole idea of going to Haiti, the more I see that I am completely inadequate. The more I search, the more I see how little I have yet found. The more I understand the problem, the more I see that I cannot fix it. The more I live, the more I see the need to die.
George MacDonald referred to it when he wrote, “I used to build many castles, not without a certain beauty of their own - that is, when I was less understanding. Now I leave them to God to build for me: He does it better and they last longer.”
Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote it poetically: “From his deepest soul, he that hour loosed and parted from every hope in life that now is, and offered his own will an unquestioning sacrifice to the Infinite.”
Paul said it this way: “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.” And again, “For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.”
Amy Carmichael called it “a chance to die.”
C.S. Lewis said something about a masterpiece wishing in the midst of all that dreadful, time-consuming artistry that it were only a simple stick figure that could be drawn in a moment and done with.
Jesus said, “Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”
They all mean the same thing. Death is a good thing. Death is necessary for dead things to be brought to life.
I’ve begun to take note of the antics of dead leaves these days. The one that skipped along next to me on the shores of the lake. The mob that followed me up the road as I walked to the house. The hundreds upon hundreds that spun their quirky, rambling way to the ground under a sudden gust of wind.
It is my hope and prayer that for every dead leaf I see, a child of God is learning what it means to die.
It seems to be a recurring topic here recently.
The more I look into this whole idea of going to Haiti, the more I see that I am completely inadequate. The more I search, the more I see how little I have yet found. The more I understand the problem, the more I see that I cannot fix it. The more I live, the more I see the need to die.
George MacDonald referred to it when he wrote, “I used to build many castles, not without a certain beauty of their own - that is, when I was less understanding. Now I leave them to God to build for me: He does it better and they last longer.”
Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote it poetically: “From his deepest soul, he that hour loosed and parted from every hope in life that now is, and offered his own will an unquestioning sacrifice to the Infinite.”
Paul said it this way: “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.” And again, “For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.”
Amy Carmichael called it “a chance to die.”
C.S. Lewis said something about a masterpiece wishing in the midst of all that dreadful, time-consuming artistry that it were only a simple stick figure that could be drawn in a moment and done with.
Jesus said, “Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”
They all mean the same thing. Death is a good thing. Death is necessary for dead things to be brought to life.
I’ve begun to take note of the antics of dead leaves these days. The one that skipped along next to me on the shores of the lake. The mob that followed me up the road as I walked to the house. The hundreds upon hundreds that spun their quirky, rambling way to the ground under a sudden gust of wind.It is my hope and prayer that for every dead leaf I see, a child of God is learning what it means to die.
Monday, November 21, 2011
That of Which We Boast
I love adventures. I even love adventures when I don’t know where I’m going. That’s why I’m in Georgia right now. Staying in someone’s else’s house, eating borrowed food, not getting a job, and generally being incredibly irresponsible.
I’ve decided that I’m a little too good at getting lost.
Don’t worry. So far, I’ve only had to turn my car around three times after missing the right road. I am rather expecting that number to go up though. No GPS this time.
Some skills you’re not supposed to be proud of.
“But let him who boasts boast about this: that he understands and knows me, that I am the Lord, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight,” declares the Lord.
So, if I don’t have a business plan - or a fail-safe blueprint - or a comprehensive question and answer sheet - or even a vague idea of how much it will cost - then I can say this. And this is what I mean: I am here to know Jesus. That’s really the bare heart of it. How can I know Him unless I seek Him? How can I seek Him unless I listen? How can I listen unless I follow?
“Follow Me,” Jesus says. “Give everything away, and then come, follow Me.”
It is a lot to give up, a lot to lose. But it’s not too much. He’s never yet asked more than I could afford to lose. The things I let go of now seem like much as I open my hands to them. As I ungrasp, as I let go. Especially when I don’t have anything new to hold onto right away.
But some day in the light of Eternity . . . it will be as nothing. It will be giving away a worthless rock to gain a priceless jewel. It will be letting go of a bent, broken walking stick to hold the hand of God. It will be walking away from a muddy, trickling creek for the vast, unending ocean. I would rather lose all of it for a lifetime than lose Him for one day.
I’ve decided that I’m a little too good at getting lost.
Don’t worry. So far, I’ve only had to turn my car around three times after missing the right road. I am rather expecting that number to go up though. No GPS this time.
Some skills you’re not supposed to be proud of.
“But let him who boasts boast about this: that he understands and knows me, that I am the Lord, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight,” declares the Lord.
So, if I don’t have a business plan - or a fail-safe blueprint - or a comprehensive question and answer sheet - or even a vague idea of how much it will cost - then I can say this. And this is what I mean: I am here to know Jesus. That’s really the bare heart of it. How can I know Him unless I seek Him? How can I seek Him unless I listen? How can I listen unless I follow?
“Follow Me,” Jesus says. “Give everything away, and then come, follow Me.”
It is a lot to give up, a lot to lose. But it’s not too much. He’s never yet asked more than I could afford to lose. The things I let go of now seem like much as I open my hands to them. As I ungrasp, as I let go. Especially when I don’t have anything new to hold onto right away.
But some day in the light of Eternity . . . it will be as nothing. It will be giving away a worthless rock to gain a priceless jewel. It will be letting go of a bent, broken walking stick to hold the hand of God. It will be walking away from a muddy, trickling creek for the vast, unending ocean. I would rather lose all of it for a lifetime than lose Him for one day.
Friday, November 18, 2011
The Very...Very...Very Long Bus Ride
Apparently, it’s hard for me to go anywhere without something . . . unusual happening.
God thinks He has a sense of humor. Sometimes I think He just enjoys seeing us squirm. It started with the very first bus. Which was late. Forty-five minutes late at 3:30 in the morning in 20 degree weather. The good news is my parent’s car has a very good heater in it.
I boarded the bus, wide-awake and cheery-eyed (Ha.), and discovered that there is something more uncomfortable than the seats on a transpacific flight. It is the half of a chair on the aisle end when the man next to you is asleep and taking up rather a lot of room.
Other than that, I was pretty comfortable.
Until we pulled into St. Louis.
I have decided I don’t particularly like St. Louis.
It started with our bus driver’s bland announcement that we would kindly take all our bags off the bus with us, and if he were us, he wouldn’t accept any help carrying them, if we knew what he meant. I dutifully grabbed my book bag, purse, computer, guitar case, and no-wheels-included suitcase, squeezed myself sideways through the door, and tried not to drop anything.
Visiting the restroom was going to be difficult.
I was trying to figure out which bus I was supposed to be boarding next when a strange man came up to me. He and his 6-year old daughter (in tow) needed money to buy two tickets to get from where they were to someplace else. At least that’s what he said the money was for. I’m not sure if I believed him or not.
I got on the bus, hoping for some peace and quiet. I had been on buses for 18 hours at this point. They were definitely not on my top ten list of favorite relaxation spots. Then the bus driver got on. “May I have your attention please,” he said over the intercom. “There will be no smoking - I repeat, no smoking - on board this bus. No alcohol, no drugs, no profanity. I repeat, no profanity. This is a zero tolerance bus. Let me say that again . . .”
He got his point across.
To most of us anyhow. All but the little man a ways towards the back who decided he couldn’t hold off that long and smoked a cigarette in the bathroom. At least that’s what the bus driver said he did. And then he pulled into a police station. Little town named Nashville, Illinois. I didn’t even know Illinois had a Nashville.
Apparently, it does.
Apparently, Nashville, Illinois’s police department doesn’t stay open till 9:30 at night. We waited for the cops to arrive. And then we waited for them to ask their questions. And then we waited for them to handcuff the distraught offender. And then we waited some more, for I don’t know why. All in all, it was about 45 minutes.
Flashing lights and everything.
And two guys at the front of the bus giving us a running commentary on the whole event. “Oh, man, he’s done for. They’re going to put him in jail - jail! - for smoking a cigarette. What? They will! I bet they got all sorts of charges on him - disturbing the peace and drinking and all kinds of other stuff. I bet he’ll be sitting in jail over Thanksgiving, yes, he will. That’s what they do in these sorts of places . . .”
Like that.
The bus driver finally remembered he had a bus to drive, got back in, and away we went. I thought all the abnormalcy was over. I certainly hoped it was. And that’s when the man sitting next to me tried to fall asleep with his head on my shoulder. He apologized the first time but then tried it again. This time, he also tried to hold my hand. I would have slugged him, but I didn’t want to stop at the police station again. Instead, I coldly told the man that if he was going to bother apologizing, he shouldn’t dare repeat the mistake. Then I moved seats.
It was a very long bus ride.
All I have to say at the end of it is, no, God, thank You very much, but that was not funny. And, well, at least I’m not the only one. Gladys Aylward had it lots worse . . .
God thinks He has a sense of humor. Sometimes I think He just enjoys seeing us squirm. It started with the very first bus. Which was late. Forty-five minutes late at 3:30 in the morning in 20 degree weather. The good news is my parent’s car has a very good heater in it.
I boarded the bus, wide-awake and cheery-eyed (Ha.), and discovered that there is something more uncomfortable than the seats on a transpacific flight. It is the half of a chair on the aisle end when the man next to you is asleep and taking up rather a lot of room.
Other than that, I was pretty comfortable.
Until we pulled into St. Louis.
I have decided I don’t particularly like St. Louis.
It started with our bus driver’s bland announcement that we would kindly take all our bags off the bus with us, and if he were us, he wouldn’t accept any help carrying them, if we knew what he meant. I dutifully grabbed my book bag, purse, computer, guitar case, and no-wheels-included suitcase, squeezed myself sideways through the door, and tried not to drop anything.
Visiting the restroom was going to be difficult.
I was trying to figure out which bus I was supposed to be boarding next when a strange man came up to me. He and his 6-year old daughter (in tow) needed money to buy two tickets to get from where they were to someplace else. At least that’s what he said the money was for. I’m not sure if I believed him or not.
I got on the bus, hoping for some peace and quiet. I had been on buses for 18 hours at this point. They were definitely not on my top ten list of favorite relaxation spots. Then the bus driver got on. “May I have your attention please,” he said over the intercom. “There will be no smoking - I repeat, no smoking - on board this bus. No alcohol, no drugs, no profanity. I repeat, no profanity. This is a zero tolerance bus. Let me say that again . . .”
He got his point across.
To most of us anyhow. All but the little man a ways towards the back who decided he couldn’t hold off that long and smoked a cigarette in the bathroom. At least that’s what the bus driver said he did. And then he pulled into a police station. Little town named Nashville, Illinois. I didn’t even know Illinois had a Nashville.
Apparently, it does.
Apparently, Nashville, Illinois’s police department doesn’t stay open till 9:30 at night. We waited for the cops to arrive. And then we waited for them to ask their questions. And then we waited for them to handcuff the distraught offender. And then we waited some more, for I don’t know why. All in all, it was about 45 minutes.
Flashing lights and everything.
And two guys at the front of the bus giving us a running commentary on the whole event. “Oh, man, he’s done for. They’re going to put him in jail - jail! - for smoking a cigarette. What? They will! I bet they got all sorts of charges on him - disturbing the peace and drinking and all kinds of other stuff. I bet he’ll be sitting in jail over Thanksgiving, yes, he will. That’s what they do in these sorts of places . . .”
Like that.
The bus driver finally remembered he had a bus to drive, got back in, and away we went. I thought all the abnormalcy was over. I certainly hoped it was. And that’s when the man sitting next to me tried to fall asleep with his head on my shoulder. He apologized the first time but then tried it again. This time, he also tried to hold my hand. I would have slugged him, but I didn’t want to stop at the police station again. Instead, I coldly told the man that if he was going to bother apologizing, he shouldn’t dare repeat the mistake. Then I moved seats.
It was a very long bus ride.
All I have to say at the end of it is, no, God, thank You very much, but that was not funny. And, well, at least I’m not the only one. Gladys Aylward had it lots worse . . .
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
The Little Problem and How It Became a Grand Adventure
I’m beginning to think God likes adventures even more than I do. Let me tell you a story.
Once upon a time, there was a girl whom God told to pack her suitcase and drive 1,100 miles to Georgia. She had $123.51 in her bank account. When she arrived in Georgia, she had 51 cents left. The following week, all meals were provided by the event she was helping with. She needed nothing but gas in her car. The day her car ran out of gas, she received enough money in her bank account to fill it up again. The next time her car ran out of gas, someone handed her $20. The third time it happened, she didn’t even need it.
She went to church on Sunday, and God told her to put the extra money in the offering. So, she did.
Two months passed. Some people thought the girl was very foolish and slightly irresponsible. They didn’t say so. But that is what they thought. Actually, the girl thought they were probably right a good deal of the time.
But she didn’t have a job, she couldn’t make money grow on trees, and God didn’t say to do anything else. So, she had to continue to trust. There was only one problem.
At the end of two months, the girl was in Nebraska. Her car was in Georgia.
One thousand one hundred miles away.
By plane or train or bus or car or hitchhiking? That was the question. They were all quite valid options . . . well, most of them anyway.
The girl began to pray. She wanted to know if God had an answer for her little problem. The first day she prayed, she received $100. Several days later, she received the same amount again. On that same day, she found a bus ticket for almost exactly $200. Only she was just a little bit short. But on the very next day, she discovered in her room five $5 bills she’d tucked away in an envelope six months earlier and completely forgotten about. Now she could buy the bus ticket.
And just to make sure she wasn’t thinking of taking a different route instead, God did this: The friends who offered to drive her suddenly found they couldn’t. Plane tickets were too expensive, and the cheapest airline wasn’t flying to Georgia anyway. Hitchhiking was deemed unreliable for certain dark and sinister reasons . . . Only the bus was perfect. The ticket would take her from Grand Island, Nebraska, to Gainesville, Georgia.
Which is exactly where God wanted her to be.
And that is the story of the little problem and how it became a grand adventure.
Once upon a time, there was a girl whom God told to pack her suitcase and drive 1,100 miles to Georgia. She had $123.51 in her bank account. When she arrived in Georgia, she had 51 cents left. The following week, all meals were provided by the event she was helping with. She needed nothing but gas in her car. The day her car ran out of gas, she received enough money in her bank account to fill it up again. The next time her car ran out of gas, someone handed her $20. The third time it happened, she didn’t even need it.
She went to church on Sunday, and God told her to put the extra money in the offering. So, she did.
Two months passed. Some people thought the girl was very foolish and slightly irresponsible. They didn’t say so. But that is what they thought. Actually, the girl thought they were probably right a good deal of the time.
But she didn’t have a job, she couldn’t make money grow on trees, and God didn’t say to do anything else. So, she had to continue to trust. There was only one problem.
At the end of two months, the girl was in Nebraska. Her car was in Georgia.
One thousand one hundred miles away.
By plane or train or bus or car or hitchhiking? That was the question. They were all quite valid options . . . well, most of them anyway.
The girl began to pray. She wanted to know if God had an answer for her little problem. The first day she prayed, she received $100. Several days later, she received the same amount again. On that same day, she found a bus ticket for almost exactly $200. Only she was just a little bit short. But on the very next day, she discovered in her room five $5 bills she’d tucked away in an envelope six months earlier and completely forgotten about. Now she could buy the bus ticket.
And just to make sure she wasn’t thinking of taking a different route instead, God did this: The friends who offered to drive her suddenly found they couldn’t. Plane tickets were too expensive, and the cheapest airline wasn’t flying to Georgia anyway. Hitchhiking was deemed unreliable for certain dark and sinister reasons . . . Only the bus was perfect. The ticket would take her from Grand Island, Nebraska, to Gainesville, Georgia.
Which is exactly where God wanted her to be.
And that is the story of the little problem and how it became a grand adventure.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
The Recurring Question
So . . . what’s next?
I get that question a lot. After high school. After Hong Kong. After Oregon. After leaping off a 25-foot bridge with nothing but a surprisingly calm raging river of death and destruction underneath. Usually I shrug and say, “I dunno. Sounded like a good idea at the time.”
Today I have a different answer for you. It is this:
It’s waiting with my car in Gainesville, Georgia.
At least, that’s where I hope it is because that’s where I’m going. A long time ago, I told God I didn’t think He made me to sit in a college classroom for four endless years, so I’d simply have to get my degree elsewhere. I go where He tells me to go. He’s the teacher. I’m just hunched over the desk, scribbling frantically to keep up with the notes.
Next chapter: Georgia.
I have a vision that involves Haiti and underprivileged children and houses and families and the American church. I have a vision that means stepping out into the unknown and learning a new language and sweating a lot. I have a vision that requires a team. I have a vision that’s going to cost everything. It’s rather blurry around the edges, but it’s glowing with the light of the glory of God. I don’t know much, but I do know who is leading me.
So, I’m headed down to Georgia. On Thursday. I’ll be back home for Christmas with my family and friends.
I think.
I’m going on faith and not on sight.
Goodbye, Nebraska.
. . . again.
I get that question a lot. After high school. After Hong Kong. After Oregon. After leaping off a 25-foot bridge with nothing but a surprisingly calm raging river of death and destruction underneath. Usually I shrug and say, “I dunno. Sounded like a good idea at the time.”
Today I have a different answer for you. It is this:
Iwannamovetohaitiwithateamofpeoplepassionateaboutjesusandsharinghislovewithkidsandadultsandwelllearnthelanguageandbuildrelationshipsandfindwaystogettheamericanchurchinvolvedandwaitforthegloryofgodtoopentheeyesofhisbridetowalkinginthefaithandhopeandloveofthelordfortheadvancementofhiskingdomandthepraiseofhisname.I hope you understood that. Apparently, the structure for the words isn’t quite there yet. Absent periods, commas, capital letters, and little things like that. But no worries. I’m on a quest to find the structure.
It’s waiting with my car in Gainesville, Georgia.
At least, that’s where I hope it is because that’s where I’m going. A long time ago, I told God I didn’t think He made me to sit in a college classroom for four endless years, so I’d simply have to get my degree elsewhere. I go where He tells me to go. He’s the teacher. I’m just hunched over the desk, scribbling frantically to keep up with the notes.
Next chapter: Georgia.
I have a vision that involves Haiti and underprivileged children and houses and families and the American church. I have a vision that means stepping out into the unknown and learning a new language and sweating a lot. I have a vision that requires a team. I have a vision that’s going to cost everything. It’s rather blurry around the edges, but it’s glowing with the light of the glory of God. I don’t know much, but I do know who is leading me.
So, I’m headed down to Georgia. On Thursday. I’ll be back home for Christmas with my family and friends.
I think.
I’m going on faith and not on sight.
Goodbye, Nebraska.
. . . again.
O Holy Ghost, revival comes from Thee
Send a revival; start the work in me
Thy Word declares Thou wilt supply our need
For blessing now, O Lord, I humbly plead
Send a revival; start the work in me
Thy Word declares Thou wilt supply our need
For blessing now, O Lord, I humbly plead
(from the song “Cleanse Me” by J. Edwin Orr)
Friday, November 11, 2011
Why
This is an excerpt I read recently from a book called Always Enough. It was written by Heidi Baker.
This is why I do what I do. Or why I'm trying to do what I'm trying to do. I don't particularly know what I'm doing. I typically know about half an answer out of ten. Statistically, I'm not exactly succeeding.
But God has called me.
So, I flounder along, confusing others and myself and everyone reading this because I haven't told them ... again ... what exactly it is I'm doing. Speaking of which ... I don't think I've really said, have I?
Well, maybe there will be room for that next time. For now, I just wanted to say this: Jesus is calling. Who will go? He is always enough.
“The Lord is calling for servant-lovers who will call in the outcasts, who will go into the dark corners of the world and compel the poor to come. And they will come. They’ll come by the millions. Who will go and leave their lives of comfort and call in the broken? Who will go and be a learner? Who will go and lay their lives down for Jesus among the poor? The Lord Jesus wants His house to be full. It’s time for us to go out to the poor, to the broken, to the homeless, to the dying and to the lonely and call them to come in. Thousands and thousands of missionaries and ministers need to go to the darkest places, to the poorest places, to the forgotten places, because the wedding feast is about to begin and so many of the poor haven’t been called. Rush out and call them. They will come.”
This is why I do what I do. Or why I'm trying to do what I'm trying to do. I don't particularly know what I'm doing. I typically know about half an answer out of ten. Statistically, I'm not exactly succeeding.
But God has called me.
So, I flounder along, confusing others and myself and everyone reading this because I haven't told them ... again ... what exactly it is I'm doing. Speaking of which ... I don't think I've really said, have I?
Well, maybe there will be room for that next time. For now, I just wanted to say this: Jesus is calling. Who will go? He is always enough.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
What It's Like to Be a Bride
On the other hand, I have every qualification for writing this post.
God is showing me that I am a piece in a whole, a member in a body, a part of His bride. (Sorry, men. I’m not sure how that all works from where you stand. I’m sure God has His reasons.)
A week ago, Teri asked me what I learned on the tour. The traveling-around-the-States-praying-for-gas-money-walking-into-restaurants-with-no-money-to-pay-for-food-enjoying-every-hot-tub-we-could time. This is what I told her:
Six weeks ago I didn’t know God was this faithful. That He could do something that I labeled failure and still be true. That He could catch us when we were falling off a cliff and make it funny. That He could give us this many presents when it wasn’t any of our birthdays. Five weeks ago I didn’t know His bride - His American bride - was this beautiful. That she was being called to walk in love, and she was answering the call. That she was striving hard to be His hands and His feet. That she was so generous and honest and kind.
I’ve seen the American Church alive and worshiping. I’ve seen complete strangers open their front doors and welcome us with hugs. I’ve seen hearts healed. I’ve seen dreams lived. I’ve seen the same God I saw in Haiti and Africa and China and around the world take charge of a red mini-van to proclaim His kingdom in the USA.
Welcome to the Bride of Christ. Around the world, God is calling His children to rise up, to give up, to shout out, to live out the truth and life that are found in Jesus only. Many of His children are answering that call. I’ve seen it. And it’s gorgeous.
Not because it’s about us at all. But because as we bow at His feet, our faces start to reflect His. And that’s what the world is dying to see.
To God be the glory.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Life In the Gap
So, now that the tour’s over, and I’ve finally begun to realize how little I actually told you about what we were doing, I’d like to end with an introduction.
Readers, meet Teri.
I’m sure Teri says Hi. :-)
Teri is the reason I went on the Fall Dream Tour 2011. Well, Teri and God.
I first met Teri in Gainesville, Georgia, sitting in an office at AIM headquarters at a table with scribbled words, verses, and dinosaurs all over it. God has given Teri a dream. A dream to reach deep into the American church, grab hold of all that hidden potential, and pull it out into the raw, real, day-in, day-out world.
You could probably call her life a spark. A John the Baptist sort of call. Or a cold bucket of water to rouse a sleeping giant. Whichever you prefer.
After five weeks on the road together, this is what I have learned about Teri:
She likes chips. Blue ones especially. She loves asking her six-year old daughter, “Do you know - do you know how much I love you?” She’s writing a book, and the plot is fascinating. She sometimes snores (hi, Teri :-)). She loves Ireland, Scotland, and Tennessee. But that’s not all I know.
Teri has an unstoppable, passionate determination to follow the dream God has given her. She had a conversation once with a fellow worker at AIM. Life was rough just then, and Teri was wondering if maybe she’d heard wrong and ought to move into something a little more normal.
This is what she said: “I can’t do this. I used to know how to do these things.” (Teri used to be a strategic planner.) “But now? I don’t know how to do this. I’m screwing everything up.”
Her co-worker’s response? “Teri, you don’t have any idea how much you mean to us. We watch you. We’ve seen how much you’ve given up. You inspire us.”
Why? Because the things that are holding America back are the very things that Teri’s giving away. She’s given up her family, her house, her job, security, stability, retirement, sanity, even her dog Abner. And the more she loses her life, the more abundant the life she finds. And she’s more compelled today than she was yesterday. And she was more compelled yesterday than she was the day before. This is living in the gap between what we have and what we need. This is where we see God show up.
Those are Teri’s words, not mine.
I’ve come away from the tour thinking we could use a few more Teri’s in the States. I’ve seen her walk up and pray for total strangers. I’ve seen her share hugs and a laugh with former prostitutes. I’ve seen her encourage pastors and other missionaries. I’ve seen her skip through a parking garage with her daughter, ride a horse for only the second time in her life, praise God for a broken window, and paddle a kayak under the stars. I’ve seen the living, holy, present Almighty God be glorified in Teri’s life.
She doesn’t live half-heartedly. She doesn’t always know what she’s doing, and she doesn’t always get it right. But there’s no turning back now, and she knows it. As she herself said, “I’m in, baby!”
Readers, meet Teri.
Teri is the reason I went on the Fall Dream Tour 2011. Well, Teri and God.
I first met Teri in Gainesville, Georgia, sitting in an office at AIM headquarters at a table with scribbled words, verses, and dinosaurs all over it. God has given Teri a dream. A dream to reach deep into the American church, grab hold of all that hidden potential, and pull it out into the raw, real, day-in, day-out world.
You could probably call her life a spark. A John the Baptist sort of call. Or a cold bucket of water to rouse a sleeping giant. Whichever you prefer.
After five weeks on the road together, this is what I have learned about Teri:
She likes chips. Blue ones especially. She loves asking her six-year old daughter, “Do you know - do you know how much I love you?” She’s writing a book, and the plot is fascinating. She sometimes snores (hi, Teri :-)). She loves Ireland, Scotland, and Tennessee. But that’s not all I know.
Teri has an unstoppable, passionate determination to follow the dream God has given her. She had a conversation once with a fellow worker at AIM. Life was rough just then, and Teri was wondering if maybe she’d heard wrong and ought to move into something a little more normal.
This is what she said: “I can’t do this. I used to know how to do these things.” (Teri used to be a strategic planner.) “But now? I don’t know how to do this. I’m screwing everything up.”
Her co-worker’s response? “Teri, you don’t have any idea how much you mean to us. We watch you. We’ve seen how much you’ve given up. You inspire us.”
Why? Because the things that are holding America back are the very things that Teri’s giving away. She’s given up her family, her house, her job, security, stability, retirement, sanity, even her dog Abner. And the more she loses her life, the more abundant the life she finds. And she’s more compelled today than she was yesterday. And she was more compelled yesterday than she was the day before. This is living in the gap between what we have and what we need. This is where we see God show up.
Those are Teri’s words, not mine.
I’ve come away from the tour thinking we could use a few more Teri’s in the States. I’ve seen her walk up and pray for total strangers. I’ve seen her share hugs and a laugh with former prostitutes. I’ve seen her encourage pastors and other missionaries. I’ve seen her skip through a parking garage with her daughter, ride a horse for only the second time in her life, praise God for a broken window, and paddle a kayak under the stars. I’ve seen the living, holy, present Almighty God be glorified in Teri’s life.
She doesn’t live half-heartedly. She doesn’t always know what she’s doing, and she doesn’t always get it right. But there’s no turning back now, and she knows it. As she herself said, “I’m in, baby!”
Thursday, November 3, 2011
1,176 Hours, 147 Meals, and 70 Toilets Later
I am about to go through a long list of Dream Tour statistics. But first I would like to start off with something profound. So. I was looking at the picture of the map I posted earlier, and I decided it doesn’t look like a wobbly figure 8 at all. It looks like a bikini.
Eh-hem.
Now that I have your undivided attention: The following is a list of very dull numbers which specify certain statistics recorded over the last several weeks of my life. They are as follows:
- Time elapsed: 49 days (September 15-November 2, 2011)
- States visited: 22 (NE, KS, MO, TN, KY, GA, SC, NC, VA, MD, PA, WV, IN, IA, WI, OH, MI, AL, MS, LA, TX, OK) And if you know all those abbreviations, you’re doing better than I did. I had to look them up.
- Toilets occupied: 70 (Yes, it was a little weird counting the number of different bathrooms I went into. I did it for you.)
- Sleeping arrangements:
- Couches: 8
- Blow-up mattresses: 1
- Beds: 4
- Floors: 5
- Top bunk of the bunk bed: 1
- Pianos played: 6 (two Grands!)
- Chocolate inhaled: . . . Oh, it wasn’t that much, alright?
- Miles traveled: 7,270
- Free things:
- 1 cup of coffee
- 1 World’s Smallest Ice Cream Sundae (Welcome to downtown Holland, MI.)
- 4 Casting Crown Concert tickets
- 1 copy of Radical (The church we were attending just happened to be handing them out that morning. Really. For free.)
- 3 New Orleans Aquarium tickets
- 1 GPS
- 235 hugs (. . . Okay, I didn’t really count those. It’s an estimate.)
- Beginning financial statement: $123.51
- Ending financial statement: Enough.
So, what’s the moral of the story?
If God can do all this in just 49 days through three adults, a six-year old, and a mini-van . . . just think what He could do if He had us all in. I mean it. ALL of us. ALL in. You might have to bring your own mini-van though. I don't think you'll fit in ours.
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