the whole story

It is easy for me to be cynical in this world. To look at the poverty and broken families in certain areas of Grant Park and believe the statistics. Many young men that grow up without fathers abandon their families later in life. Many men and women that grow up below the poverty line live the entirety of their life beneath it. But our God is bigger.


Today we organized a day camp for the kids of Trestle Tree. We split up into four teams and the kids played football, made crafts, fought over plastic bats....


I spent my day with the red team. A team of delinquents, really. We were the trouble makers, the rowdy ones. By the end of the day I was covered in sweat and melted face paint. But we played hard and I pray that some day, if not today, each of those kids realizes how deeply I want them to believe... even though I lost my temper once or twice.


Walking into the cafeteria for lunch today, I overheard my co-leader Dan talking to a five year old girl on our team. He was explaining the gospel in words she could understand. Speaking of how Jesus took the punishment for us because he loves us. And that taking the punishment meant that he had to die for us.


A few minutes later, Dan and I found the little girl weeping unconsolably. I scooped her up and carried her outside where Dan took her from me, explaining that she was upset because Jesus had died for her. I can't explain exactly where her tears came from -  they could have been joyful because of his love, but they seemed like deep sadness, guilt even. Guilt because she caused the death of someone who did not deserve it.


She sat on my lap during lunch and I was able to ask her a few questions. I asked her why she was sad and she explained that she wanted Jesus with her. I was excited to tell her he's coming back, and she was excited to hear it. She didn't realize that not only did Jesus die, but he also lived. (And yes, I now realize this was the perfect time to insert, "But He lives in our hearts..."Dang. I'm still learning).


Anyway, that got me thinking....


How often do I tell the wonderful news of the gospel without telling the second part of the story? The part this precious girl couldn't grasp. The part where He defeated death, resurrected, ascended, and promised his return.


When you ask a child about Jesus, chances are he'll say, "Jesus really cares about us. He died on the cross to save us from our sins." That is beautiful truth, but if you're listening closely there is a huge problem with those words.  The sentence leaves us with a dead God.


Maybe, we are so used to telling the story that we forget sometimes it doesn't make sense. And that's how you get a five year old girl weeping over a Man she never got to meet. But I think this runs deeper than this little girl's tears. I think it plays out in everyone's life. I know it plays out in mine.


I often live my life stuck on the darkness of the crucifixion, burdened with guilt. I live my life on Saturday, forgetting that Sunday is coming and with it the ultimate victory. The ultimate grace. It constantly surprises me how hard it is to live under grace. To accept the Lord's sacrifice and truly live in the freedom of it. But... that's how we worship, I suppose.

lights will guide you home

There was this beautiful, gracious woman that helped raise me. I lost her to disease over ten years ago, but Tuesday we will put her body in the earth and I am realizing, for the first time, how deeply I miss her. And how blessed I was to love her.

When I think of my grandmother, my mind first flashes to a rest stop, somewhere between Birmingham and Atlanta, where my parents handed me off to my grandparents for a week. I remember there was banana pudding and I remember knowing I was safe.

My grandparents' house was pretty much made for kids. Acres of land and woods with two large vegetable gardens, a chicken coop and a stream cutting through the middle of it all. The first thing I'd do once I arrived was run down to the stream to see if it had been raining and the water level was high. Floating boats down the stream was the best way to spend the afternoon.

There were sticky pads in her tub the shape of flowers. The carpet in the living room was orange and all the appliances in the kitchen were avocado. She kept potato chips, bread and ice cream sandwiches in her freezer and we never left her house after a visit without a bag of skittles and m&m's for the car ride. She used to say with complete conviction that ice cream is good for you because, of course, it's dairy. And she is the without a doubt the reason I love coffee ice cream.

I've never thought much about legacy. How when we die we leave a little of us behind in the people that we love. But she definitely did - children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren that long for the Lord largely because of the beautiful way in which she loved Him.

It's hard to write about her and feel like my words hold any meaning in regards to how deeply and how fiercely I miss her. She was there at the beginning of me and she is part of the reason I've known love. But for ten years I've longed for this day, in a lot of ways. And finally, the disease hasn't won. My grandmother is Home.

love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.

In books, when it rains or a big storm hits it almost always means the main character is changing. The rain signals renewal. It has rained a lot in the last couple days and I have found myself hoping that the Lord works that way - that he has written my story like a book and with the rain my heart will soon soften and change, at least a little.
_____________________

Sometimes, I can't help but wonder how much my theology has crippled my understanding of God.

It is easy for me to convince myself that my God is too busy for me, especially when I pay attention to all the ways I don't deserve Him. The truth is that He is involved in every happening in my life. He is there. But I see him too logically - I can't see how a God big enough to cup the universe in his hands cares enough about me to craft the moments of my life into a specific story. But I couldn't be more wrong.
My God is a poet.
My God is an artist.
My God has the time.

Still, this break down in belief can set everything off balance.
I get to believing that I owe God something in return for his son's death. His son underwent the worst human suffering in existence because of me, and I have the audacity to believe in His spare time He planned out the details of my life. Well, I am called to believe that.

But most times I believe I owe Him my happiness.

A number of years ago, I drove to Birmingham to attend a staff reunion for a camp I worked at the previous summer. Late one night, one of the girls I was good friends with asked me if I was happy. I replied, "I'm not convinced I am supposed to be." She laughed and said that was a total "Anna" response and the conversation moved on. But I still haven't forgotten it.

I honestly do not remember a time that I did not fight against my desire for happiness as if it was a weakness or a disease. Happiness seems needless and naive as I read scripture about persecution, suffering, and the inevitable hatred of those dedicated to the cause of Christianity. During the darkest times of my life I have known deep joy that is not of this world. But it is still nearly impossible for me to grasp the authenticity of joy apart from suffering, as if joy cannot exist without its opposite - despair. So... what happens when everything goes right? When I get the job I've have been praying for or I find out that I'm healthy? I feel guilty. Guilty for a life of comfort that my Lord never experienced on this earth. Guilty because I don't deserve it.

What I miss here is that the beauty and depth of Christianity lies in the distinctive ability of believers to feel joy and genuine happiness during times of suffering, persecution, and despair. That is why there is an emphasis on joy in suffering, not because it is the only authentic source of joy. You know, maybe joy can't exist without despair. But it does not have to be my despair. I don't have to earn my right to happiness. He died so I could have it for free. It breaks my heart...but it sets me free.

I rely so much on the beauty and joy in suffering that I forget the beauty and simplicity of blessings. I allow my theology to confuse my perception of the Lord's desires for me, and I get to thinking that when things are easy, when it isn't a battle to believe and to hope, the Lord has given up on me. I start to believe he only teaches me through suffering and during times of rest He has abandoned me.

We have a God who has called us on mission for him. But he has not called us into suffering to pay back the death of his son. He has called us there to experience the joy of his son's victory. And sometimes, he calls us into times of great joy and celebration for no reason other than that he loves us.

There is no shame in peace. There is no shame in claiming the blessings my Savior died to give me. The greater shame lies in denying them.

My God is a poet.

To Live Fast and Die Young

Before reading, play this song: . Maybe don't watch the video. I mean...you could. But it's really just for the musical experience, ya know. And the video is a lil strange.

I should have written this months ago. At dinner last night, MGMT came on in the background and Liz, Rae, and I were all reminded of our wonderful 14 day road trip blitz around the US. Every time we rolled into a new city we blasted "Electric Feel" and fist-pumped for the entirety of the song.

We left the morning after graduation. I was unsure whether I should go the night before and even as our car crossed the border into South Dakota three days later I was still a little shaky about my decision. But now, of course, I wouldn't trade those 14 days for anything. Well, yeah...pretty much anything. I mean, we all sacrificed summer jobs in Athens for it. That's commitment.

I'll write it out by city real quick so you can get an understanding of the rate and scope of our adventure. Athens. Chicago. Sioux Falls. The Badlands. Yellowstone National Park. Mount Rushmore. Seattle. Portland. Napa Valley. San Francisco. Los Angeles. The Grand Canyon. The Vegas. Phoenix. Austin. Dallas. St. Louis. Atlanta. Athens.

Epic.

Traditionally, I rate the success of any and every given day by the amount that I learn from it. And the reason I haven't commented on our epic quest via my blog is because I never quite figured out what I learned. I thought it needed to be about God and it needed to be life-changing. Buttt... although I had some wonderful conversations with God on the trip - one in particular on the rim of the Grand Canyon that I hope to never forget - He didn't shatter anything or bend my heart in a different direction or anything like that. Instead, I watched and listened for 14 days. I watched the United States fly by through the window of Abby's car and I saw...beauty. I remember realizing how stinkin beautiful the States are and thinking that the sunsets of Italy finally had a rival in the wide open skies of Wyoming, the cliffs of the Grand Canyon, and the mountains of Northern California.

I have always thought my older brother was strange for his disinterest in traveling to other countries because I believed that the most beautiful places in this world are not within the borders of the US. I was wrong.

Rachael says that she realized on the road trip why the US is called America the Beautiful. So true, Rae, so true. Maybe that's all I learned, and I'm okay with that.

Oh...but we did learn never to cram a stuffed earth tot inside the gas chamber on the dashboard. That makes it difficult to remember...ya know...not to run out of gas. Especially when you're rocking out to MGMT.

Hope does not put us to shame.

If I hope all my life for healing and never receive it, am I a fool? Some would say yes. Last year I probably would have said that that kind of hope is a waste of time. That it is easier and wiser to expect little and then be surprised if something great happens. But that is unbelief. Why? Because the Lord delivers. Even if the world thinks we are fools for hoping, who is the world to us anyways? We were saved from the world a long time ago.

When I was sick, I was afraid to say that the Lord would heal me because I was afraid to give off the impression that I had an understanding of the Lord's plans. I thought it implied that I knew what was best. Because to me, claiming healing was me looking God in the eyes and saying I deserved healing and needed healing. Neither were true.

I mention this now because all of these emotions have resurfaced this week as I have been caring for a young woman with an autoimmune disease. A disease which has left her bed ridden for over a year, and sick for over six years.

I see in her what was in me last year. A fear to dream. A fear to hope because so many times she has gained enough trust and energy to hope that her next treatment will work, only to be tragically disappointed. Her symptoms get better and worse with no logical explanation. Who would expect someone to hope in a situation like that? As I was thinking that very thought last night I remembered . . .Jesus expects that.

As we were talking late into last night, trying to get her mind off of her pain, I could not help but think of Romans 5:5, "...hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." Hope does not put us to shame.
I felt silly wanting to tell her to keep hoping. It seemed so right for her to give up already. I mean. . .it has been years since she was healthy, so giving that sort of advice made me feel naive.

But there is no shame in believing against great odds that the Lord will. . . Provide, Heal, Comfort, Restore. Still - I am so human. I look at what is around me and judge the odds on that. I forget that what is inside me is much more powerful than what is around me. Every doubt and darkness pales in comparison to the power of the One inside me.

We are free to be undignified. We are free to hope when all worldly signs say we are foolish and naive. If we hope but never see the restoration we long for this side of paradise, we are still incredibly blessed. Look at Joni Eareckson Tada or any other number of believers that are suffering from chronic illness. I believe that those people see a side of the Lord's mercy and grace that those who are healthy may never see - and it is truly beautiful. And on the other hand, if we hope and are restored...well there is no other joy on earth like that. Believe me, I have felt it.

We will never be made a fool by believing in the God of creation. Hope does not put us to shame. I have to constantly disconnect what I see on the outside to what I know on the inside. If I forget,  my humanness takes over and it feels like there is nothing strong enough out there. Remember Abraham, Noah, and Mary - to name a few. Their hope against all logic, hope against all hope, did not put them to shame. And we serve the same God today that they served then.

Five things I learned from Nouwen

1. Loneliness is a precious gift. The Christian life does not take it away but cherishes it. Christians know deeply and intuitively that there will never be a friendship, community, man or woman that can satisfy our desire to be released from our lonely condition. Loneliness can be claimed as a source of human understanding because, "It is very difficult if not impossible for a healthy young man to realize what it means when nobody cares whether you live or die."  It connects us with the human condition.


2. "A Christian community is therefore a healing community not because wounds are cured and pains are alleviated, but because wounds and pains become openings or occasions for a new vision. Mutual confession then becomes a mutual deepening of hope, and sharing weakness becomes a reminder to one and all of the coming strength."

3."Perhaps the main task of the minister is to prevent people from suffering for the wrong reasons."

4."Hospitality is the ability to pay attention to the guest."

5. "We can only love because we were born out of love, we can only give because our life is a gift, and we can only make others free because we are set free by Him whose heart is greater than ours."

Henri Nouwen is unafraid to bring the personal, gritty parts of life to the surface because he fully believes that, "what is most personal is most universal." He made his life available through his writing and he is the only author I have read that rivals my dad in the amount of grace, poetry, and humility woven throughout writing.

"Have no fear of perfection. You'll never reach it. - Salvador Dali

I've been avoiding my blog because I haven't been able to live up to my post about accepting failure and living in freedom. But, if you tarry till you're better, you will never come at all.

One thing I definitely know is that there is good in everything. As I've been searching for the good in my failure I got to thinkin'. . .We have to let ourselves change. We have to let ourselves believe truth. Live, breath and walk in it. Especially if it is a truth we have never believed before. Because belief is what changes us - sets us free.

I held a 5-month old baby in my arms this week. I have probably held 3 babies in my lifetime and when I looked at her I couldn't help but think about how she was blank. Unscarred. Whole. Healthy. She doesn't yet know of the darkness of this world. It made me think of something I read recently about how we are as helpless before God as a newborn baby is to her mother. I think the analogy got me thinking because I am at a stand-still with job searching and I am not completely sure what I want to do - much less what I'm good at. It's comforting to remember my helplessness. And even better - its humbling. After graduation, there is so much talk and thought put into "what do I want to make of my life," or "where do I want to be in the next few years" that I start to think I really want to choose. When really - I'd rather He chose. I'd rather admit my helplessness and take the first open door and let Him guide me if it all goes wrong.

Perhaps depression is more common in the world today than it used to be. Now. . .I don't know a whole lot about it - but I do know that some people see depression the same way they see ADD: over-diagnosed. A fancy term for when people are sad and too lazy to figure things out. But I don't see it that way at all. I think it is a term to describe when the awareness of my helplessness becomes perverted by my pride. Helplessness which leads to hopelessness and then to darkness. A darkness that enters the soul. Many people (perhaps the people who think depression is over-diagnosed) are able to cut off their helplessness before they lose hope. Whether they lean on God or not, they can distract themselves from their doubts soon enough that they don't give up when they feel overwhelmed by their helplessness. But a whole lot of people can't.

We are supposed to feel helpless. On our own, we are lost. Our complete reliance on God is not weakness, it is beauty. It is grace. If I don't breath in every single day what it is that I believe I get to thinking that my helplessness is a flaw. And all my efforts send me inward into an attack of self. A loss of hope. A world of darkness. A deep depression.

I am a wreck of a person.
But I have a hope beyond myself.