So, I’ve got about two weeks before I fly out to Haiti, and I figure I ought to start packing. Or at least think about packing. My Bible and a toothbrush are at the top of the list. (I had to do without them for three days once, and it was not amusing.) Third in line is . . . well, unmentionables. They’re very important. Invented sometime after the Dark Ages and highly essential, depending on who you ask.
So, my plan was to go to the store and start checking off my list. Of which, unmentionables was at the very top. I forgot to factor in God’s generosity. It never entered my mind that He’d care to cross my list off for me.
This last week was the end of the school year at Nebraska Christian. The dorm girls I’ve been studying, eating, and playing with all year are packing. Did I say packing? That might be an understatement. They are cramming and stuffing and squeezing and crushing their belongings into every last inch of their suitcases and cardboard boxes. But even they can’t fit it all in. So, we’ve started a pile. Let’s call it Mount Everest. It’s a stack of all the things they’ve acquired while here that won’t be making the trip back home.
I’ve seen the stack. It’s quite impressive. But some things never make it to the mountain. Some things get handed straight to me. Like a couple beautiful Chinese silk scarves. Skeins and skeins of colorful yarn. Pens. Chopsticks. And . . . unmentionables. Still in the box. Brand new. Never opened.
Guess what I’m taking to Haiti with me?
I never knew traveling could seem so like walking into the living room on Christmas morning. I’m not paying for my plane ticket or my food or a place to stay. The dorm girls have been randomly handing me money - anywhere from pennies to one hundred dollar bills - ever since they heard I’d be seeing orphans down there. And now even the unmentionables are taken care of! I’m impressed. Who ever said God wasn’t concerned with the details?
Friday, May 20, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Things I've Probably Forgotten to Tell You
I forget things. A lot.
I forgot my birthday once. Passed the whole magnificent day with a bunch of barefoot school children in the blue mountains of Rwanda and never remembered a thing until I wrote the date in my journal that night. I’ve forgotten to tell my friends about the arrival of nephews and nieces. I’ve forgotten directions to a house I’ve driven to dozens of times. I’ve forgotten my phone number. I forget on a daily basis why I walked up the stairs, where I had my phone last, and what month it is. Really, it’s probably easier to learn the facts of my life from facebook than from me. My own sister had to learn I was going to Haiti from someone at church.
Oh, you mean I didn’t tell you either?
Oops.
I’m going to Haiti.
It’s been rather sudden. I’ve only known for a week or so, if that makes you feel any better. I’ve joked a bit over the last few years that the next time someone hands me a free plane ticket to anywhere in the world, I’m going . . . Don’t know that I ever really expected it to happen. But it did.
A phone call, an invitation, and a small side note.
*All expenses paid.*
All I have to do is be there.
I guess when God moves, He likes to be flamboyant at times. If I owned the cows on a thousand hills, I’d probably want to be flamboyant too.
So, I’m going down with Adventures in Missions (the same group that we went down with last fall), I’ll be there till early August, it’s all a little vague right now, and I couldn’t be more pleased. Vagueness included.
Don’t worry. I do know more than that: It’s going to be very hot. Electricity’s spotty. Vehicles do not stop for pedestrians. Don’t ask what kind of meat it is. I’m taking my Bible, my guitar, and my toothbrush. And, yes, the mosquitos down there do still have the capability of carrying dengue fever. But you don’t need to fret about that part, because I’m not, and I don’t think God ever was at all.
More info to come.
I forgot my birthday once. Passed the whole magnificent day with a bunch of barefoot school children in the blue mountains of Rwanda and never remembered a thing until I wrote the date in my journal that night. I’ve forgotten to tell my friends about the arrival of nephews and nieces. I’ve forgotten directions to a house I’ve driven to dozens of times. I’ve forgotten my phone number. I forget on a daily basis why I walked up the stairs, where I had my phone last, and what month it is. Really, it’s probably easier to learn the facts of my life from facebook than from me. My own sister had to learn I was going to Haiti from someone at church.
Oh, you mean I didn’t tell you either?
Oops.
I’m going to Haiti.
It’s been rather sudden. I’ve only known for a week or so, if that makes you feel any better. I’ve joked a bit over the last few years that the next time someone hands me a free plane ticket to anywhere in the world, I’m going . . . Don’t know that I ever really expected it to happen. But it did.
A phone call, an invitation, and a small side note.
*All expenses paid.*
All I have to do is be there.
I guess when God moves, He likes to be flamboyant at times. If I owned the cows on a thousand hills, I’d probably want to be flamboyant too.
So, I’m going down with Adventures in Missions (the same group that we went down with last fall), I’ll be there till early August, it’s all a little vague right now, and I couldn’t be more pleased. Vagueness included.
Don’t worry. I do know more than that: It’s going to be very hot. Electricity’s spotty. Vehicles do not stop for pedestrians. Don’t ask what kind of meat it is. I’m taking my Bible, my guitar, and my toothbrush. And, yes, the mosquitos down there do still have the capability of carrying dengue fever. But you don’t need to fret about that part, because I’m not, and I don’t think God ever was at all.
More info to come.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Grace
God allows us the most absurd liberalities. Flooding oxygen into the lungs of one who hoards much and gives little. Calling the sun to rise over one who has repeatedly dishonored His holy Name. Growing food for one who comes into Him throne room to complain. Pumping blood through the veins of one who won’t even acknowledge His existence.
If it were a man, it might make sense. I complain. You complain. We’ll both get over it, right? It’s just the way we are. But for a perfect, unerring God to put up with imperfect, oft-erring man? Well, it might have been easier if He’d just gotten Himself a dog. At least they know not to potty on the carpet.
And yet He will insist on offering us forgiveness. What illogical mercy! What startling pity! He makes such unheard-of allowances for us. It is near ridiculous the forbearance we get from Him. Any other god would have rejected us already. Any other god would have sent us straight to hell. Forget time out. Forget counting to ten. Any other god would have killed us on the spot. That’s the thing that surprises me most. That we’re not already dead.
I don’t understand God’s grace. I look at Job with his accusations and David with his adultery and Peter with his denial, and it seems to me that anyone else would have been thoroughly disgusted with these men. Demanding a courtroom trial with God as though He were human? Killing a woman’s husband so he won’t find out you got her pregnant? Standing in the same room as Jesus and swearing you’ve never met the man before? Really? If I ruled the world, I would have hung the whole lot of them. It’s what they deserve. So, how does God respond? By calling Job “My servant.” By saying of David that he was “a man after My own heart.” By telling Peter, “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build My church, and the gates of Hell will not overcome it.”
I don’t understand it. Why God would open the doors to welcome a murderer into His throne room. Why He would let a rapist into His Heaven. Why He would find pleasure in the praises of a drunk. Why He would speak to a pornography addict. Why He would listen to a single word from a selfish, disagreeable, vicious little fool. But He does. And I’m grateful.
If it were a man, it might make sense. I complain. You complain. We’ll both get over it, right? It’s just the way we are. But for a perfect, unerring God to put up with imperfect, oft-erring man? Well, it might have been easier if He’d just gotten Himself a dog. At least they know not to potty on the carpet.
And yet He will insist on offering us forgiveness. What illogical mercy! What startling pity! He makes such unheard-of allowances for us. It is near ridiculous the forbearance we get from Him. Any other god would have rejected us already. Any other god would have sent us straight to hell. Forget time out. Forget counting to ten. Any other god would have killed us on the spot. That’s the thing that surprises me most. That we’re not already dead.
I don’t understand God’s grace. I look at Job with his accusations and David with his adultery and Peter with his denial, and it seems to me that anyone else would have been thoroughly disgusted with these men. Demanding a courtroom trial with God as though He were human? Killing a woman’s husband so he won’t find out you got her pregnant? Standing in the same room as Jesus and swearing you’ve never met the man before? Really? If I ruled the world, I would have hung the whole lot of them. It’s what they deserve. So, how does God respond? By calling Job “My servant.” By saying of David that he was “a man after My own heart.” By telling Peter, “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build My church, and the gates of Hell will not overcome it.”
I don’t understand it. Why God would open the doors to welcome a murderer into His throne room. Why He would let a rapist into His Heaven. Why He would find pleasure in the praises of a drunk. Why He would speak to a pornography addict. Why He would listen to a single word from a selfish, disagreeable, vicious little fool. But He does. And I’m grateful.
Monday, March 7, 2011
A Very Little
Have you ever tried to get through an entire day - or even a couple hours in a day - facing each decision by asking yourself, “What would Jesus do?” and then acting according to what you sincerely believe? It’s a fascinating project. Slightly scary and potentially discouraging, but fascinating. It brings Jesus to the forefront of your mind in a consistent way and turns him into a real, flesh-and-blood person who had to eat lunch just like you and play with his nieces and nephews and get blamed for something that wasn’t his fault.
You should try it sometime. For a week, say. Or a month. Or a lifetime. You will find it impossible to write something bitter in an email or on facebook. You will have to swallow the harsh words you had for a family member. You won’t be able to complain when you have to give up a relaxing afternoon to watch someone else’s children. You will be more thoughtful, less disagreeable, more compassionate, more truthful. You will see more of the sun and less of the dark.
I’m sure as Christians this is what we’ve been trying to do all along. We’d be doing it already, only we haven’t really trained ourselves into the habit of thinking and acting this way. We do what comes naturally, what comes first. Unfortunately, that includes a lot of bickering, grumbling, and unnecessary severity. They’re little things, really. Brief moments of bad-mannered-ness that even we don’t remember for very long. And so we excuse ourselves. It’s not like we’ve killed anyone. It’s not like we even want to kill anyone. This is true. But we’re not being like Jesus.
I recently read a quote from Monod (no, I don’t know who that is) that said, “Between the great things we cannot do and the small things we will not do, the danger is that we shall do nothing.” We hear about Billy Graham and Mother Theresa, and our thought is, “Well, yeah, that’s great, but I can hardly do that.” And it’s true. Most of us can’t. But what about the things you can do? The places you can go, the people you already know, the brief, easily-forgotten minutes that face all of us every day? What about the little things? After all, “One who is faithful in a very little is also faithful in much.”
What would Jesus do?
You should try it sometime. For a week, say. Or a month. Or a lifetime. You will find it impossible to write something bitter in an email or on facebook. You will have to swallow the harsh words you had for a family member. You won’t be able to complain when you have to give up a relaxing afternoon to watch someone else’s children. You will be more thoughtful, less disagreeable, more compassionate, more truthful. You will see more of the sun and less of the dark.
I’m sure as Christians this is what we’ve been trying to do all along. We’d be doing it already, only we haven’t really trained ourselves into the habit of thinking and acting this way. We do what comes naturally, what comes first. Unfortunately, that includes a lot of bickering, grumbling, and unnecessary severity. They’re little things, really. Brief moments of bad-mannered-ness that even we don’t remember for very long. And so we excuse ourselves. It’s not like we’ve killed anyone. It’s not like we even want to kill anyone. This is true. But we’re not being like Jesus.
I recently read a quote from Monod (no, I don’t know who that is) that said, “Between the great things we cannot do and the small things we will not do, the danger is that we shall do nothing.” We hear about Billy Graham and Mother Theresa, and our thought is, “Well, yeah, that’s great, but I can hardly do that.” And it’s true. Most of us can’t. But what about the things you can do? The places you can go, the people you already know, the brief, easily-forgotten minutes that face all of us every day? What about the little things? After all, “One who is faithful in a very little is also faithful in much.”
What would Jesus do?
Monday, February 28, 2011
All About the Bermuda Triangle ... Sorta ...
I’ve been doing quite a bit of thinking and reading the last couple months. Thinking about what I want to be when I grow up. (Yeah, I know. It’s about time.) Reading about foreign countries, missions, sacrifice, miracles, and the Bermuda Triangle. Absolutely fascinating, the stories out of that place. Really. What follows, I suppose, is the beginnings of my decision/thesis/conclusion (minus the Bermuda Triangle):
I’ve had a good life. Traveled a bit, spent a bit, read a bit . . . eaten a lot. I’ve been comfortable. What have I sacrificed? . . . Um, huh. What would I have to say to Daniel in Heaven? Paul? Amy Carmichael? Jim Elliot? . . . Jesus? “Uh, hey. Really neat how you gave up so much in your life. I always wanted to be just like you. Only . . . um, well, I guess I never got around to it . . .” And you thought foot fungus was embarrassing. Don’t you see? We’ve only got one chance at this. One arrow to shoot. One race to run. One masterpiece to paint. And then we’re finished. I don’t know what you’ve been doing with your life, but I’ve been wasting too much of mine. Sitting on the couch, chowing popcorn while some girl in Africa dies of AIDS. The worst part isn’t that she died. The worst part is that I don’t even know her name. Do you? I don’t know her birthday, what she wanted to be when she grew up, or what her favorite color was. Jesus knows. He gave His life so she could know Him. And here I sit on my couch with my popcorn.
I’m not okay with that anymore.
“Go and make disciples.” What if we took the words of Jesus literally? What if we stopped quoting, “What would Jesus do?” and started actually doing what Jesus would do? These are just words. They’re easy to write, easy to read, and even easier to forget. We should know. We’ve forgotten whole heaps of statistics and sermons and summons before.
So, what am I going to do about all this? . . . Well, that’s a good question. I think I’m going. Literally. Going. To somewhere. Not sure where. God knows. But I don’t want to be the only one at this. I want to see the Bride of Christ in America stand up and come with me. I want to see the billions of Christians start to swallow up the millions of orphans. I want to see us stand up and jump in and pour out until it’s enough and Jesus comes back. I want to see more Christians be Christ. I want to see a raging torrent of disciples who aren’t afraid to live and aren’t ashamed to die. I want to learn what it means to give what I can’t keep to gain what I’ll never lose. I want to “go and make disciples.”
What do you want?
I’ve had a good life. Traveled a bit, spent a bit, read a bit . . . eaten a lot. I’ve been comfortable. What have I sacrificed? . . . Um, huh. What would I have to say to Daniel in Heaven? Paul? Amy Carmichael? Jim Elliot? . . . Jesus? “Uh, hey. Really neat how you gave up so much in your life. I always wanted to be just like you. Only . . . um, well, I guess I never got around to it . . .” And you thought foot fungus was embarrassing. Don’t you see? We’ve only got one chance at this. One arrow to shoot. One race to run. One masterpiece to paint. And then we’re finished. I don’t know what you’ve been doing with your life, but I’ve been wasting too much of mine. Sitting on the couch, chowing popcorn while some girl in Africa dies of AIDS. The worst part isn’t that she died. The worst part is that I don’t even know her name. Do you? I don’t know her birthday, what she wanted to be when she grew up, or what her favorite color was. Jesus knows. He gave His life so she could know Him. And here I sit on my couch with my popcorn.
I’m not okay with that anymore.
“Go and make disciples.” What if we took the words of Jesus literally? What if we stopped quoting, “What would Jesus do?” and started actually doing what Jesus would do? These are just words. They’re easy to write, easy to read, and even easier to forget. We should know. We’ve forgotten whole heaps of statistics and sermons and summons before.
So, what am I going to do about all this? . . . Well, that’s a good question. I think I’m going. Literally. Going. To somewhere. Not sure where. God knows. But I don’t want to be the only one at this. I want to see the Bride of Christ in America stand up and come with me. I want to see the billions of Christians start to swallow up the millions of orphans. I want to see us stand up and jump in and pour out until it’s enough and Jesus comes back. I want to see more Christians be Christ. I want to see a raging torrent of disciples who aren’t afraid to live and aren’t ashamed to die. I want to learn what it means to give what I can’t keep to gain what I’ll never lose. I want to “go and make disciples.”
What do you want?
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