Pretty Motives

I learned a lot in India. I especially enjoyed learning about Hinduism. Some things that I thought were just cultural oddities have spiritual significance. For instance, the dot on the forehead. I never knew what it meant. I'm sure it has developed many meanings over time. But the basic spiritual significance involves Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction. He does not sound like a kind entity. Shiva has a third eye in his mythological illustrations and representative figures. The third eye is closed. If Shiva opens his third eye, horrible things will happen on earth- destruction. Wearing the bindi on the forehead pays tribute to Shiva in hopes of appeasing him so he will not open his third eye. This is just background info.

While in India we visited and even participated in quite a few church services and special events. In several churches I saw women wearing this symbolic dot. Of course they may have been Hindus who wandered into a church. But in one instance, I'm certain this was not the case. We participated in a service on Sunday and followed with lunch with some of the church leaders. All this was followed by chai time with a lady from the church. As we were leaving the area, a woman and two children stood by the church and spoke little English phrases to us to send us off. The women had the typical dot on her head. Yet she said to me "praise the Lord." This was a typical exchange between the Christian Indians and us.

As we got on the bus, I asked Suyash if he was sure that the dot was for Shiva. Of course, he knew what he was talking about. My teammates and I discussed why a perceived Christian would still wear the bindi. Our best guess was that since Hindus worship many gods, perhaps Jesus was just another god to them. Maybe they trusted Him- not alone but also.

As I have reflected on this whole situation, I think it shows us how the church has messed up. This woman appeared to be readily welcomed in the church, the building and the family, even though she had clearly not gotten it all figured out yet. Would this woman be repeatedly welcomed in your church?Perhaps we think she would definitely be welcomed in our churches at first. But what if she continued coming and participating in church events? What if she sang your worship songs and continued to offer tribute to Shiva with her accessories? Would she be asked to leave or indirectly un-welcomed because she did not fit the church mold, even the Christian mold? I have been in some churches where I think this woman would be ruled out. I don't mean ruled out in the context of a court. I mean it in the way that we Christians have rules of behavior and appearance that everyone should immediately follow in order to be godly.

Let's figure out an American equivalent of this woman. An unsaved girl with an eyebrow piercing walks into church. We can definitely expect looks from across the congregation. But perhaps the people are welcoming even if with hesitation. But I bet if she continued coming back, someone would eventually ask her to remove her piercing, whether directly or by suggestion. She doesn't "look Christian" after all. If she accepts Christ as Savior, someone will still openly or discreetly disapprove of her facial accessories. This is even less offensive that the bindi because as far as I know, a nose piercing is not a direct tribute to a false god.

I have been in churches where this girl would be pushed out of the church by rules if she does not quickly abide. Many of us have made Christianity into a behavior modification program. We have forgotten grace as we created a Christian image. For some the goal is no longer salvation of the lost. The goal has become the creation of a picture perfect church where perfection is skin deep and often compared to man-made standards. Beneath a picturesque surface is a rotten heart that looks nothing like the Light of the world.

I want us to evaluate our motives. If we push this lost person to remove the piercing or the symbolic third eye, are we seeking their salvation? If read the Gospel correctly, these modifications do nothing for our souls. I don't think we are seeking the lost to be found. I think we are trying to create a world that is less offensive to us.

Listen. If that Hindu woman removes the dot from her head, what has changed? If the girl removes her nose piercing, is she better off? No, they are not. They are still going to hell. They may look better to you. You may feel better about your world. You don't have to feel uncomfortable. Your environment looks so much better. Good job. No. They are going to hell. We have wasted our own salvation if we live for anything other than the redemption of hearts and eternity.

We have to check our motives. What are we aiming for? Christ left His comfort to die for us. We cannot dare to ignore doomed souls for our own standards. I am going after the Hindu woman's soul. If she does not grasp the significance of the bindi on her face until years after her salvation, that is ok. If the girl does not see any discrepancy between her piercing and her new walk with God, I am not going to shove her out of my world. Sanctification is a process. It will be complete in heaven. It's not gonna look perfect to us-ever- on earth.

The Saul to Paul life change did not happen in a day. Sure, his name changed. But he changed for the rest of his life.

Don't lose the lost trying to make your world look pretty. It's gonna have some ugly in it until we are with Christ. Pursue people for their hearts. Christ Himself came only for that.

What Now

I just returned from 2 weeks in India. I am certainly glad to be home with my family for Christmas. But I almost feel absent. My mind is replaying India. My heart is still lingering in Mumbai. I saw so much. The scenes flash like a broken movie reel. I am going to begin trying to work through this experience. I want to squeeze every drop of divine revelation out of those two weeks. This cannot be a good trip that does not affect the other sections of life. I have to change. Christ must complete His change in me or I have wasted what He gave me. What will I do with what I have seen?

The Spot Worn Bare

Well. I have not written a while- a too long while. So I'm going to write in circles that eventually find a good destination. Don't bother reading this unless you're really that bored.

In the past when people have asked me what I thought my spiritual gifts were, the first thing that popped in my head was compassion. Without fail, I knew I could see and feel others' pains, and I wanted to help them and just to feel their pain with them. I used to be really thankful for this. I knew it made me different. I could easily see that many people are not moved by seeing someone hurt.

Now I have been thinking that I don't like this gift as much as I used to- because it hurts. I have experienced a lot of loss in my life for a 21 year old. The last 4-5 years of my life have been marked by much tragedy. Death and heartbreak- the usual. It seems that each individual hurt was not enough to kill me, but the cumulative remnants of untended wounds seem to be drowning parts of me.

I can still full well recognize the God-given tendency to hurt with others, but I also see my recent self-willed reaction. I want to swiftly say "Yes, that is hard. Let's move on to the solution." I convince myself that giving a quick nod to disappointment and tragedy alike is sufficient for all the stages of grief. I do this to myself in regards to my own pain and the pain I feel when others hurt. I would prefer to skip the actual pain and just heal.

Pain hurts. This is probably not a revelation to you, oh persistent reader. But even saying that something hurts does not cover it. We have to experience it. I heard a song today:

We pray for blessings, We pray for peace
Comfort for family, Protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, For prosperity
We pray for your mighty hand to ease all suffering

And all the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things

Cause what if your blessings come through raindrops
What if your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise?

What if my greatest disappointments,
What if the aching of this life,
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy.
What if trials of this life,
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are your mercies in disguise?

I am brought to tears reading the lyrics. I know what my reaction has become. God, ever gracious, allows me to experience pain, and I pull my arms to my chest and fight tears and say "no. no more." "I will not feel this loss." "I will not shed another tear." "There is no need to hurt anymore." I remember telling so many people after losing Lili that I would often lay in bed and weep in my hurt, but I had never felt God so close. He was undeniably near in my greatest hurt. I know He is the same God now. But I know my heart is less willing to hurt. I am willing to have loss, but I don't want to feel loss.

I can taste my own resistance to breaking. Oh how badly I want to just cry when it hurts. And oh how badly I want to just get through it. I am torn between having an honest and tender heart and living in my perception of His victory and strength. He is the Healer. I think Christ claims this title with pride. I don't think He says "I have to be the Healer because this pathetic people won't stop feeling pain." I think He is glad to be our Healer in a world where we are never out of pain's reach.

I have learned quite a few relationships that are unsafe for brokenness. But He has never failed to be a refuge. I don't know what good my brave face is doing in front of Him. He sees straight through to my trembling heart.

I know that somewhere between the self-adopted pit of mournful defeat and the self-built walls of cold defense is a spot worn bare by the knees of saints before me.

I have not found it yet, but when God leads me there, I pray I build my house on that spot.

Chavash

I have been doing a Beth Moore Bible study with a group of girls. Breaking Free.

Last night I was doing Day One of Week 5, entitled Binding Up the Brokenhearted: Straight to the Heart.

In the first paragraph she says that if she asked us to remember our heartbreaks, we would likely remember every detail. I'm already feeling threatened. "Ok, Beth, don't go there. Just stay away from that topic. Please don't make me remember and reflect on anything today. Can we discuss something else? Maybe skip to Day Two?"

And mercy. What does she do? She asks us to remember our worst heartbreaks. Oh how horribly easy it is. Pain is life-changing. I know full well that pain can be terribly personalized. The type of personality or disposition you have so heavily affects what hurts you and how much you feel it. I know my own sensitivity, and I know the depth of pain that I have felt in 21 short years. There are some things that I know I will never be able to capture with words. Emotion and thought so intense, so severe, that I consider those moments to have been only me and God. No one else could know. Only Him. Sometimes I wish I could communicate those moments to others, but I treasure those moments because it fuels my faith that He is a personal God and can be where no one else can.

Speaking of those moments, Beth says "A heart is almost always broken in a specific moment over a single action." I wept last night as my heart screamed a resounding "yes." I remembered those moments readily.

Watching your family cry over a casket, some of them unable to stand. Collapsing inside as we suffered a loss too young to imagine.

Getting an early morning text message that says "Chanel, she's gone." Then being picked up off the floor because you cannot bear the weight of your heavy heart.

Sitting on your bed weeping and praying with literal open hands as you hand over a relationship that you don't know how to live without.

Hearing the words "I just don't think it's gonna work out" and realizing that you've been lied to, and you believed every word. Sobbing until you finally get a few hours of drug-induced sleep. Only to wake up and whimper "Oh God, no. Just put me to sleep. Please make me sleep."

I remember these moments and feel the literal punch to my heart. And all over again I feel my soul leaning into God with such intensity that I feel I might suffocate. Can you relate? Have you met a brokenness that makes your heart scream? Do you know that dark night without sleep filled with cries that leave you breathless?

Oh but praise God- we do not forever inhabit this night.

Isaiah 61:1 says "He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted."

Praise God this is one of His purposes. But look deeper. The word used for "bind up" is "chavash." It means "to compress, to stop." God did not just send His Son to soothe an aching heart. He sent Him to stop the bleeding of the hemorrhaging heart. We have been so wounded. And He presses His scarred hands into our marred and bleeding hearts. He compresses the wound to stop the bleeding. Oh what a Healer. what a Healer. Have you noticed that brokenness seems to intensify before it gets better? He puts pressure on our wound, but eventually- the bleeding stops. Oh the times He has pressed His hand into my weak and bleeding heart. He was there. He healed me. He came to heal me.

In Jeremiah 18, God tells the Israelites that He wants to make them into a beautiful vessel even though they are like marred clay. But He is the excellent potter. They have been broken, often by their own decisions, but He wants to remake them. But how do they respond to the invitation? They tell God "It's no use." Do not choose the same response. No pain, no mistake is too much for this Healer. Stand up. Rejoice. He came to heal. He came to chavash.

Father, you are beautiful in our pain. You are good in our pain.

Who Is Following

Tonight something kinda scary happened. It may not seem alarming to you, but it made me want to press pause on life and get myself "together."

I was watching the 6pm NewSpring service live online. Carson (little brother) came and sat beside me. He didn't seem that interested during the music and got up and left. I was a little disappointed but no big deal. I certainly didn't expect him to come back- with a Bible. It was almost time for Perry to start speaking. I had my iPod in my hand with my ESV Bible app open. Carson said "I want that." He went and got Mom's iPad and downloaded the app. No big. The kid likes technology.

I had my prayer journal so I could take some notes. I just got a new one, and I'm really excited about. (I know I'm easily excited.) I said "Carson, did you see my new prayer journal? Isn't it pretty?" He nonchalantly commented that it was cool. A few seconds later he asked "what do you put in there?" I said "I just write whatever I pray."

Perry starts speaking. I'm taking a few notes here and there. Carson gets up and leaves again. Ok. A message on greed may be boring to a ten year old. He comes back. With a notebook. At this point I'm like "Aww. That's precious." Perry is preaching, and if you've ever heard him speak, you know he talks with some speed. lol. Quickly spoken, mature vocabulary is causing Carson to struggle a little bit. Sometimes he needs a repeat or a little extra explanation. That's fine. It's awesome that he's listening.

I glance over at Carson's notebook. He has written nearly everything I have written, being careful to get every Scripture reference just right. I start to notice him leaning a little closer to me so he can see as I write. The sermon goes on. I check later to see what he's writing. He has copied my words exactly. "The church will still be here when the world's economy has failed." He's ten. He doesn't know what that means. But I have written it, so it must be important. He doesn't realize the significance of the statement. He does not know why I wrote it, but that doesn't matter. He wrote it because I wrote it.

The gravity of this moment is overwhelming. Would it be reasonable to suppose that he probably will do some things I do- not because he knows why I do them but simply because I do them? Oh Lord, don't let me falter. The thought of my brother making any sort of decision based on the way I have previously made those decisions is so scary. There are times in my life that I am not proud of. Praise God that most of my pre-Jesus life was before Carson existed. But I still mess up on a daily basis. Little choices throughout the day that reveal a lifestyle to his young mind.

I am fiercely protective of my little brother. Last semester some brat was mean to him at school. Physically mean. When I saw that brat, I wanted to break his arms. I know that's harsh. morbid. Do not mess with him. When I see celebrities that Carson watches, I get very angry. Justin Bieber. I do my best to convince Carson that Justin is an absolute loser, but when Carson says "hey watch this video," I want to scream at that overrated little boy that he is misleading my brother, and I don't appreciate it.

Then to think that I could also mislead my brother just as easily as the media idols, I am broken. It is terrifying.

God, thank you for that moment that brought me humility. And I thank you more that you love Carson more than I ever could. I trust your sovereignty in his life. Please lead me on with intense awareness of who is following.

Cherry Garcia Christianity

I know this post is going to make some of you laugh and think that I have spent too much time in my textbooks, but there is truth in this. And I like it when God speaks to me through strange things. lol

Cherry Garcia. A Ben & Jerry's ice cream flavor. This is one of my greatest pleasures in life. I mean- I am in a splendid world while eating this stuff. As I was enjoying some tonight, I thought about how I was introduced to Cherry Garcia. I was at the beach with my immediate family and my aunt. This was in June 2010. We went to the grocery store to stock up for our week there. We walked down the ice cream isle. I grabbed a personal size of the Skinny Cow Dulce de Leche ice cream. It's only 100 calories. I was right in the middle of P90X so I was not about to waste calories on non-diet ice cream. I wanted the perk of eating ice cream with as little cost as possible. My aunt grabbed a bucket of Cherry Garcia and rambled about how it was the best thing in the world.

Anyway, a couple of nights later, we decide to treat ourselves to our ice cream. I begin eating my calorie-cheap treat. It's not the most delicious thing I have ever put in my mouth, but its sweet and its 100 calories. Meanwhile my aunt is in her happy place with Cherry Garcia. She asks me to try it. I have never tasted it before, and it's only one taste. What's the danger in that?

My perspective quickly changed. Cherry Garcia is worth every calorie. Poor Skinny Cow and its conspicuous Splenda flavoring got thrown in the trash. I have never been the same :)

This is what happened to me with Jesus. I lived a good portion of my life so far seeking the "perks" of Christianity without paying the price. I went to church and youth group events. I followed most of the spoken and unspoken rules of the "Christian walk." I acknowledged God as God. I said Christ was my Savior. I read the Bible occasionally. I was a good girl. But I never laid my heart prostrate before a holy God. That was intimidating and potentially costly.

Then I tasted Christ. I had one encounter with Him that changed me forever. Just one accepted invitation to open up to Him. I thought it would be no big deal to really experience him. I was wrong again. Cheap Christianity is indeed cheap. I'm no longer interested. I desire to know Him more than anything. I want Him to be more real to me than the person standing next to me. I want to live the life He has planned for me. I want to be completely satisfied in Him every moment of my life. I want to seek Him with unnerving intensity for the rest of my life. I want to know and do what he has for me. I love Him, but I want to love Him so much more. I cannot go back to cheap Christianity. I need the real thing. I have been wounded in this lifestyle. He has led me to walk in some terrifying situations. But He is my greatest joy, and He is worth everything.

The Grief Child

I'm rolling off of what was shared in chapel tonight. Matthew 18:23-35 in case you weren't there: the parable of the unforgiving servant. Tonight's speaker focused on restoring relationships that had been damaged by someone's actions. Her message sent my heart racing. In a good way. I'm going to focus on a few statements she shared and run with them.

She addressed our responses to hurt. Vengeance. She really pointed at girls on this one. And boy, do I know why. Have you ever been dumped? Lied to? Cheated on? Blind-sighted? And you know the first time you see that guy, if you had a rock in your hand, a good arm, and solid aim, you could take him out. I know, ladies. I know. I have been there. And worse, some guy hurts your best friend. Game's over. He better watch his back. The point is that we turn to vengeance all too quickly sometimes. I know that it's a natural response. But I also know that God did not instruct us to live by what's "natural." He said to deny ourselves, flee the flesh, and die to ourselves. He said pursue Him, and vengeance is not of Him. Isaiah 49:25 said He will contend with those who contend with us. Now don't take this out of context. He did not say He would be on our side if someone hurt us. That verse applies to the Christian who hurt you too. He is saying He is our defender. The person who wronged us will have to answer for their behavior, and we will too. So be very careful. Take peace in the fact that He covers you. Don't let your mind be consumed with vengeance.

Drinking. She just addressed this briefly. While she was mentioning the issue, I was thinking to myself that this is probably not the most common coping mechanism used on this southern baptist campus. But I'm not so naive to think no one was identifying with her words. I know I was. And I know that if I was, chances are someone else was too. I'm no alcoholic, but it has been an issue in my life before. I wasn't bar-hopping at 14 or anything, but I have tasted that fruit. I know what it feels like. And I know that as I faced intense hurt and grief in the past months, I thought about finding something cold and good to take the edge off. I didn't do it (just in case NGU authority reads this lol). The point is no matter how far removed we are from an old coping mechanism, it can return like it's never been gone if we are put in the position to need a moment of relief. But this is just a substitute. Coping is not synonymous with healing. Coping is cheaper in the short run and probably quicker. But coping soon becomes running, and you'll be running for the rest of your life from a problem that you could have healed from.

Grief. I'm gonna stay here for a while. The fact that we are to forgive others for the things that they do to us does not change the pain. It still hurts. We can't develop a super-psyche that makes us untouchable. Tragedy happens. Pastor Perry said Sunday at church that we don't get to decide another person's tragedy. Amen. Amen. We don't get to designate how much something hurts another person. Pain is real, and grief is a process. Grief IS a process. And I am in no way minimizing that. Please don't misunderstand. But I have some things to say about this, and I pray God would shed His piercing light on you and expose this issue if it exists. This process has a goal to be reached, and that is healing. This process is not one to sit down in. We can so easily get stuck in it. No, not stuck. We just sit in it.

Let's look at David. Perry spoke on this passage Sunday. I Samuel 17:34-35. David is telling Saul why he can go fight Goliath. He says that he has hunted down and killed lions and bears when they came and took one of his sheep. David was a shepherd. This was not just your everyday vocation. There is a reason that Christ is referred to as our Shepherd, and we are called his sheep. Shepherds LOVE their sheep. They are responsible for this group of basically defenseless animals. They care for them. The Bible tells us that the sheep know their shepherd's voice (Jn. 10:27), and he calls them by name (Jn. 10:3). This is an intimate relationship. So picture this loving shepherd, David, in the fields with his sheep. A lion comes and takes a sheep. Now I'm certain the lion did not casually walk up, subtly put a sheep in his mouth, and sneak away. I have never met a lion, but I saw "Earth." Their hunting methods are not so clean. This lion stealthily watched the group, picked out his ideal target, made a run for it, and snatched the sheep violently in his mouth. It was probably bloody. It was probably fast. This is tragedy.

This is a big deal. Yes, it's only one sheep, but Matthew 18:12 says that the shepherd would go and search fervently for the one lost sheep even if he had ninety nine others. How heart-breaking. David watched one of his helpless sheep get snatched up and carried away by a monster. What would you do? I think I can make a good guess at what I would do. I would be shocked and terrified. I would cry, sob. For a while, I would try to figure out what I could have done differently. I should have been more aware. I should have tried to keep the sheep closer. How could this happen? David could have done the same thing. This tragedy could have defined him. He could have become "David, the Mourning Shepherd." We could have heard of him like that in Sunday school, and by earthly standards, he had every right to own that title. But we don't know him as that. We know him as "David who defeated Goliath." That's a big difference in outcome. Why?

David did not sit in the sheep pen and cry. He did not ask "Why?" He acted. I Samuel 17:35 says that David went after the lion, struck it, and rescued the sheep. There's more. If the lion tried to attack David, he killed it. David went after what was his. I imagine a lion with fresh prey is not an easy thing to catch, but he did. Because that was his sheep. He did not give up. He did not mourn his circumstances. He got up and slapped that lion and took what was his.

Oh that we could truly understand the gravity of our responses to tragedy. Not just for the sake of the lost who are watching, but for ourselves. For our fight. For our race. Hard things happen, and we have a tendency to hold this grief process like a child. Like its our baby. Grief is a process. And raising a child is a process. But grief is not meant to be something that even comes close to defining us as having a child would. Something happens in our lives to hurt us, and instead of having a phase of intense pain, we start to live with a pained mindset. Phases are phases because they end. Grief is not meant to be the permanent wound that forever bleeds all over our life. There is victory to take part in. There is healing to be had. This is not the end. If David had not fought the lion, he would have been sitting in the sheep pen loathing his existence instead of defeating a giant for God's glory. What do you want to be the message of your life story? "Life sucks, so we all need to live for as much sympathy as possible." or "Life sucks at times, but setbacks and tragedies are just stones for us to step on our way to the banquet."

Isaiah 61:1
The Spirit of the sovereign Lord is on me because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound.

2 Cor. 10:4
For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds.

Don't be a captive. Ladies, I know we have maternal instincts, but that hurt that you are holding on to is not your baby. Stop coddling it. Don't feed it. It's a demon. It's a stronghold. But don't run from it. Go after it. Look at your hurt right in the face. See it for what it is. It may be huge, and it may be small enough to shame you for wasting your energies on it. Either way. Look at it one good time. Slap it for taking interest on your heart. And realize that Christ came to set free and to heal. Stop insulting his mission. Live in the freedom and abundant joy He paid for. This does not give you immunity from hurt. It gives you healing so you can defeat the giants in His name and power.

Drop the grief child, and get to living the life He paid for.

In It

In chapel today I was thinking of a common phrase we (Christians) say when life gets hard: "God is good despite _____." Despite my problems, despite my circumstances, God is good.
It seems in my heart that that is not enough. I no longer think I could look in the face of a holy God and say "despite my heartbreak, You're still good."
Something about that seems insulting. Like we are robbing Him of due glory.

Despite my cancer.
Despite his affair.
Despite the financial situation.

We are trying to separate God from the bad things. Like He has nothing to do with them. Certainly, He does not cause these things, but we know He must allow them. His sovereignty does not allow for anything to creep in our lives unnoticed. And we know that He can and does use all things for His glory and our good (Gen. 50:20). Can we really separate anything in our lives from God? Isn't that what we are doing with that statement? We are trying to make God's greatness independent of circumstance. Which in one sense is true- regardless of the way things look, He is still good. But when speaking to God about His presence in our lives, we cannot separate Him from any circumstance like He has nothing to do with or about it.

What if instead of saying "God, even though I am faced with this situation, You are good," we said "God, You are exhibiting your greatness in this situation."?

God, You are good IN my heartbreak.
You are good IN my cancer.
You are good IN this death.

He is working all things for good (Rom. 8:28). Not just the good things. He is also working the bad things for His glory and our good. He deserves that credit. Let's not rob Him of it.

You are not good despite it.
You are good IN it.

Get Dressed

This post is unashamedly written from a female heart to all women. Much inspiration and examples from Beth Moore's So Long, Insecurity

I am becoming increasingly and disgustedly aware of my own insecurities, of our own insecurities. I am going to think through a typical day of mine and include some of the thoughts that have ever had a tendency to go through my head. See if you can relate.

As soon as my mental consciousness resumes, "I despise mornings. I'm exhausted. I won't be worth anything today." Then "Chanel, don't think until after you get out of the shower. Just shut up and walk."
In the shower I recount all my failures from yesterday and think about how I will do better today. While putting on makeup, "Is that too much? Is it obvious? Why does it never look like the girls on TV? I'm trying to accentuate my eyes, but it looks like someone beat me up. This mascara said 'volumizing'. Bull. Why are my eyes so small? I look like a rat. I swear _____ just wakes up gorgeous."
Let's move on to hair. "Really, did all of you decide to frizz out today. Today? I have a presentation. Straightener. And now I have no volume whatsoever. It looks like 7th grade all over again. Make the poof. Uneven. Try again. Too big. Try again. Uneven. Give up. I'll just run my hand through it every once in a while and maybe accomplish the Jennifer Anniston look, Better yet. Pony tail."
And boy, does it get fun when I try to find something to wear. "Oh my word. I am an elephant. The only smooth thing about me is my milkshake addiction. Chanel, you are disgusting. You make yourself look like this. It's your fault. You have no discipline or self-control whatsoever. Just pick something and put a jacket over it. I hate myself."
Finally I get to class. "I love these shoes. Am I slouching? Am I wobbling? Are my heels making too much noise? Are they staring at me? Act confident. Don't make any eye contact. Smile a little. I feel like a giant with this bookbag. Don't trip. Sit near a wall."
Then these thoughts are fertilized at lunch in the cafeteria. Before I even get in the door, I am calling friends like a maniac to see if anyone already has a table. "Where are they? Look busy. If you don't see anyone, just put your stuff down and go get food. Take your phone. Text. Occupy your mind. This floor is very slippery. If I fall and drop something, I may die. Awkward conversation at the salad bar. Sit down. No one is here. Grab a book. Study something. Look busy."

I am only half way through this hypothetical day, and I am already exhausted with typing all this. Which probably means you are tired of reading it. You get the point. We question ourselves all day.

We constantly doubt our basic social functions. I know where this has left me. Exhausted. and so fragile. Listen, I know that women are generally more fragile that men, but 2 X chromosomes and extra estrogen does not mean we are walking on broken glass.
We do feel some different pressures than men, but they don't have it easy either. And granted, some of our insecurities are rightfully earned. A magazine for a renowned women's store came in the mail the other day for its semi-annual sale. I love this store, so I glanced through the pages. There were a lot of pages and by the end, I handed it to my mom and said "You can throw this away along with my last shred of self-esteem." That is what we stand up against- an unattainable goal if you have anything less than a cook, trainer, and photographer highly skilled in airbrushing. But it still just makes you feel so "less than."

Some of our insecurities have come greatly from culture, but others we need to own. We have made them for ourselves right out of our own pride. Let's be honest with each other. How many of us have not gone to the gym (despite our honest desire to work out) because we don't want people to see us? I know I have been a straight-up master at that one. How about this- has your confident mindset ever taken a dive because someone gave a presentation right before you and it was great? Do we ever get a little irritated because our guy-pals found the new girl and have shifted their attention? The guy we used to date walks into church with a gorgeous girl. You met someone you really admire, and you said something really stupid. All our improper responses in these instances are the results of us twisting a God-given desire. We want to be noticed. We want significance. We don't want to be "a" anything. We want to be "the" all the time or at least in something. We want to be the fittest, funniest, prettiest, friendliest, or "the" something else. There will always be someone better than us, and that realization sends us into self-loathing because we can't meet our fabricated expectations. That's pride. That's our doing. We let that pride rob us of so much. In fact, it often robs us of what it promised us. The desire to give the best presentation leads us to make a blubbering fool out of ourselves after we freak out because the person right before us did an amazing job. The desire to be the most fit never allows us to get in shape because we don't want to be seen until we are the most fit. Pride is a liar that gives you insecurity instead of security. "Pride is dignity's counterfeit." However, the desire for significance was put in place to drive us to our Creator. He has already defined who we are. He has set our value, and it's more than our minds can handle.

We have every bit of strength and dignity, and it came right from the God of the universe. Strength and Dignity. We are clothed in it (Prov. 31:25). But we often take off our robes of strength and dignity. Instead we lay naked in the cruel streets of society where we take hard hits and assume "victim" as our identity. No, ladies. Enough. Stand up and get dressed.

Culture is hard, yes. We may have backgrounds that offered us little security if any. Our hearts may have been trashed by someone we trusted. And we may have twisted our God-given tendencies into hungry and deceiving lies. We were not created to be wounded creatures. If we have been redeemed, we have the power of the risen Savior inside of us. How dare we say we can not be healed? How dare we say that life has dealt us a rotten hand, and we can't recover? Life hurts. I have spent countless nights sobbing over hurts that were beyond my control, and I know that you have too. God is greater. Christ is stronger than the blows that I have received. Christ is more piercing than the lies that I have formed. He runs deeper than the expectations I hold for myself.

Enough lies. Enough resentment. Enough seeking "perfection."

We are lying naked in the dirt. Filthy and blood-stained. I can see Christ in my heart. Kneeling in the filth. Holding the robes He made for me. "Sweetheart, you dropped this. Get up and get dressed."

It's Time the Bride Spoke Up

The Bride needs to open her mouth. Satan has sent his whores into the church and whispered lies of loyalty and reputation. I am ticked. I'm mad at the prince of darkness. I hate him. I CANNOT WAIT until he burns in hell for eternity with no allowance to come near us. But I am also mad at us. I am mad at the Bride. I am mad at the church. We have built cages in our pews. Our Sunday school rooms have bars on the windows.

How? Because we have decided that church should have this image. The Bride should look like this. The Bride should talk like this. The Bride should be involved in these things but not in those. In all, we have decided to close our mouths. What am I talking about? I am talking about what we are afraid to talk about.

Sin. Sin in the church. Brokenness. Brokenness in the church. Bondage. Prison in the church. In the past few months, I have heard this several times: "We have made church into the Christian prom." I am understanding this to new depths every day. So many churches expect things to run according to the designated plan. People come in- with problems. We all have issues. We sit down and listen to the message. We talk with friends in this alleged community. If we are convicted in the message, we deal with it and never say anything. We try to make our repentance as quiet as possible. How often do you hear a deacon say "I have held so much bitterness in my heart, but God really convicted me today. It hurt, but praise Him for it." I have not heard it oft

If we are changed during church, we don't talk about it because we don't want anyone else to know we didn't have it all together when we walked in. We just want to be the faithful. We just want to be a role model. We don't ever want to be "the one who got healed." We don't want to be the ones on our faces because we have lived according to a lie. We don't want to be the one with unbelief. We don't want to be the apathetic one. We don't want to be the one with an addiction. We smile and sing. We deal with our sin on our own. Because getting help would require someone to know about it. We trade accountability and support for reputation and shame. So we keep up an appearance and fall into this Christian prom. Boy do we look nice. On the outside, we are stunning. Just as we think the Bride should be. Good job us. No. Fail.

So what's really going on at this prom? People are struggling with a sin. It feels habitual. It feels like they will never get over it. And we feel likes failures because honestly, sometimes we don't care. Sometimes apathy has got a hold on us. Sometimes we don't feel what we think we should. That leaves us stuck. We think we are terrible Christians. "How can I not choose Jesus?" "I must not love Him since I can't defeat this." "I am living a lie." No. You wanna know who's living a lie? All of us who parade around with our Bibles and say all the right things without saying the truth.

We need to open our mouths. "I am not perfect." "I gossip all the time." We need to start calling ourselves out. "You know what? I'm gonna stop in the middle of that statement. That's a rumor fueled by jealousy." Catch that unforgiveness. Who cares if it got half-way out of your mouth before you realized what it was? Call it what it is. Don't try to play it off as a prayer request or a "I just needed to vent" moment (Prov. 29:11). That's how we end up confused and trapped in habitual sin. Call yourself out in public so the rest of us humans can know that sin actually does exist in the lives of Christians, and we can recognize it.

Then there are those sins that we don't talk about. This issue has blown my mind over the last 6 months. I have grown up with this mindset: "There are some things that we just don't talk about in church." I really believed that was right. "That's not what Christians discuss." Now I am understanding- why the heck not? So let's go there right now. Pornography. I grew up just hearing allusions to this in sermons "Don't be looking at things you shouldn't." And that's about as far as it got. Even hearing the word porn made us squirm and blush. Listen, we are not Amish people with no access to that stuff so the topic seems awkward. Porn is everywhere. Even daytime TV is enough to lead your mind in that direction. But not in the church. Of course not. You know what's heartbreaking? To sit next to a college age guy as he fights tears and shame over this issue that he has fought for years in secret. And this guy was raised in church! Shame on him. No. Shame on us. We helped place those chains around his hands by acting like the problem would never be an issue for a Christian. As if pornography is some ultimate sin that anyone involved in should be ashamed to even mention. We have been keeping secrets and keeping chains. We don't let the youth pastor talk about pornography or masturbation, but when we find out our kid is struggling with it, we drag him to counseling and "make the pastor fix it." Oh what hypocrites we have been. Then Sex. I am so speaking to myself here. Historically it has been one of the most uncomfortable words in my ears. In my experience, this word was NOT spoken in church for any reason. Again silence brought with it shame. I look at myself and some girls I grew up with. At some point in our lives, we have been trapped in sexual sin, but we never said anything. We kept our image together. We just bat our pretty eyes and speak with an innocent naivety. Get real. We are not naive. But the Bride should be pure so we act innocent instead of begging to be remade. This show is a joke. It's a lie.

Our silence has left us terrified and paralyzed. We are not making war with sin. We are making truce with it. "I won't address you, so you won't come after me." Then when we find sin siting in our laps, we can't scream for help because everyone else has taken the same vow of silence. So we spend the rest of our lives trying to quietly ask this unwelcome guest to please leave. We should be getting ready for battle and preparing for bloodshed. Instead we are in prom dresses trying to dance the night away without letting anyone notice the shackles on our ankles. Bride, we may spend the rest of our lives keeping the surface of the dress white, but underneath the filth is building up. And we are leaving tracks of mud for the next generation to walk in. It's time we take off these dresses for some serious cleaning. Yeah, everyone will now see the filth, and we'll all see how dirty we are. But we'll never be clean if we wear the dress every day and never get it washed. Christ is not pleased with our prom. He is not pleased with the superficially white dress. He sees the shackles. He sees the filth. Our act has never fooled Him. We may have fooled ourselves, but truth still sets free.

Bride, let's open our mouths.

I Was Questioning Love

Sometimes things just don't make sense to me. And it generally seems like either I'm stupid and everyone else gets it, or everyone else is looking over it.
Love. How do we do it?
Church folks, holla. I Cor. 13.
Ok, so I know that we should learn love from God. I got that part. His love in perfect and endless and honestly, illogical. I don't know about you, but if I have learned one thing about this world in my short 20 years, it's that we live in a world full of people not like God. So here was my issue. No one on this earth is ever going to love me like God loves me. I'm not much for fairytales. These sorts of stories paint the image of a too close to perfect man coming in and rescuing our fainting hearts and protecting us from every enemy for the rest of our lives happily ever after. Nice story. Not gonna happen in this humanity. No human male can fulfill all the roles our female hearts create for them.
So how do we respond? I really don't think that we should live in blissful ignorance: loving like God while expecting His love to come from another person. But I have lived on the other extreme, and it's not so pleasant. We can't curse human love and and expect to still dwell in God's love. There is an extreme disconnect there since God died for the humans.

so all these thoughts brought me to this discourse with God:
"Ok. God, so I readily recognize what my own heart's tendencies tell me. We were made to love and be loved like You love. That will never happen here. So again I realize that we were not made for this world, but we are here for now. So how does this work? It sounds like a set up for repeated pain."

I felt kind of mentally stuck for a while, but after some time God has revealed the solution to my feeble mind. We must recognize that He is the only one whose love will continually and faultlessly satisfy us. I want to be completely fulfilled in Him, including emotional fulfillment. And praise God, this is possible. Paul said he counted everything as loss for the sake of knowing Christ. I want to say that. To really say that. To be so tangled up in Him that everything else is loss compared to Him.

My response to God's love and the world's "love" should be to love like God but not be destroyed when humanity doesn't reciprocate that love because I am fulfilled in Him. Moreso- I should not only not be destroyed but also continue thriving in Him.

Ok. It's starting to get clearer. I love when my Father speaks right into my thoughts.

What Are We Fighting For?

I have recently (as in the past 6 months) been chewing on a concept. It has taken repeated exposures and considerable meditation to get to any of the words I will write here. There is much more to be said. much more to be experienced. which is really the point of all of this.

We are in a war. Every person is included here, but we may not be fighting under the same leadership. Anyway, this will be directed to Christians. We are in a war. In the most base words as possible, what do we fight for in our daily walk?

I do not want to make my experience to seem as if it belongs to every man, so I readily recognize that my false perceptions may be different from someone else's false perceptions. Nevertheless, let's recognize falsity and trade it in for truth.

After some thought, I have decided that I have thus far lived the majority of my Christian walk fighting for obedience. I have been fighting to do the right thing. Now to some, that may sound admirable. My friend, I believe the same lie has tripped us. Now I am certainly not robbing obedience of it's place in Christianity. (There are 10 commandments, for crying out loud, just for starters.) I am simply going to remove obedience from the center of my relationship with Christ.

First, I will explain how I believe obedience became my main goal. Then I will suggest an alternative, which is really more than an alternative. It's biblical, so by alternative I mean "you should live this way."

I grew up in a conservative church/ school setting. I thank God for allowing me to grow up in this environment because it has been a blessing I still do not fully comprehend. However, I did gain some misconceptions there. (I take responsibility for these misconceptions. All teaching I receive may not be accurate, but I am not without a Source of ultimate truth.) Obedience was a big deal at this institution. I still remember looking at detention slips (not mine, mind you) that had the box checked for "direct disobedience." Obedience to God's Word was a high priority as well. One lesson that I gained from my experience there was "even if you don't feel like it, do it anyway because it's right." And this IS a good lesson to learn. Sometimes we don't want to do right, but we need to anyway simply by its virtue of being right. However, this lesson transferred over to my relationship with Christ in the following ways:

Even when I don't want to, read the Bible every day.

Even when I would rather sleep, go to church.

Even when I'm not interested, get involved in Christian groups.

etc...

I agree that there will be times when we won't desire these things, but we should in most cases do it anyway. To put in plainly, these instances should be the exception. But after hearing this lesson so many times, these became the rule, and obedience became the focus. Desire was not the main issue because that will come and go. But we can control obedience. We should fight to act not to feel.

Scripture says otherwise.
Hebrews 12:2
Looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross...
Joy.
He endured for the joy. Not the sense of duty. Not the need to obey. For the joy.
Joy is the focus.
If Christ endured for the joy of relationship with God, how can I expect to survive by any other method?

Looking at that verse, can I really convince myself that a list to daily fulfill will carry me through a faithful Christian walk? No, not at all. Obedience is not going to be enough. It has got to be joy.

In some ways, this is incredibly freeing. Imagine a soldier at war. His general says to him, "Soldier, nevermind that list you have in your hand. You will lose your fight by following that. What I want you to do is to know me as your leader and take great joy in my power. You will win if you do this." What a relief! All I have to do is enjoy your leadership! This should be easy since you have never lost a battle.

Then this freedom takes on a starkly different appearance: horror. We don't enjoy Him. Suddenly, we wish we had the list back because we could do that. We have developed the discipline to obey the rules. But we have not developed the relationship to experience the joy. And this is what it takes to win the war. What if we started living like our very survival depended on our joy in God? I daresay our lives would work differently. The focus would shift.

I will go so far as to say that our survival does depend on our joy in God. We have made Christianity into a relationship of executive and mindless personal assistant or master and slave-driver. Really? Do we honestly believe that's what God wants from us? mindless obedience? "You don't have to like me. Just do what I say."
How is that honoring to Him? We have settled for a job instead of fulfilling our role in a relationship. I think God wants us to genuinely adore Him. And if we really knew Him, I think that would be difficult to avoid. Our joy in Him glorifies Him. If there was a well of living water, what more could glorify it than people having all their needs and desires met in that water and calling other people to experience the same joy?

God is realigning my thoughts to His Word. I should be fighting for joy, not obedience. I was not called to obey. I was called to know and love and from that love, obey. I have cheapened Him. I am broken over that. I have cheapened His worth in my own life. I have not joyed in Him. I have turned Him into a list. No longer. No longer.
I am fighting to know Him. I am fighting to joy in Him.
This is what I was made to do.

Father God, I love you, but I long to love you more. Call us back with your grace. Forgive us for responding to you with apathetic obedience instead of the joyous love you deserve. Change our hearts. Make us more like you.

A Formal Introduction to an Old Monster

These are fresh and raw thoughts. I realize here that my only reader is probably my mother, but I still feel the need to throw in a disclaimer. I am not God and therefore have the capability and perhaps propensity to spew out untruths. This is not intended to be read as anything approaching absolute truth. That being said, I will not intentionally be careless with my words. These are just reflections. But I have faith in a God who often takes a sinner's thoughts to expose others' needs and catalyze beautiful reactions. (Excuse the nerd-burst.)

Tonight I started reading a book. So Long, Insecurity. by Beth Moore. This is the first thing of hers I have ever read (which is ironic considering I would love to be her successor). My aunt originally told me about this book this summer insisting I read it. So the title went on my proverbial list, and I continued life. Then this winter break, my mother and I were in a Christian bookstore when she remembered the title and ever so subtly purchased it with me by her side then wrapped it and put my name on the gift tag. lol.

I was thrilled though not surprised :) to open it. It went on the shelf. I had many books to read over break. Tonight Mom asked me when I was going to read it. So as the obedient child, I grabbed the book, looked at the page count, counted how many days I had until classes started, and calculated how many pages a day I needed to read in order to finish it before the semester came in full force. That whole scene says more about me than I care to admit.

Anyway, I start reading. I approach this book knowing that I am insecure. I recall telling a previous boyfriend "I think I have serious self-confidence issues." I'm not sure what response I wanted from him, but he agreed. Looking back there is something comforting about the conviction I felt hearing that response yet saddening that my issues are so obvious.

As I flip through pages I begin to think that Beth has cameras in my heart and soul, and now she is writing a book about me. Conviction, yes. But also horror. First, there are broad questions that resonate with me. "If no one ever gives us the affirmation we need, can we still be ok?" Then one sentence blows my cover. "Somehow I convince myself that if I could just develop a healthy enough psyche, life couldn't touch me." Boom.

I consider myself a person of extremes in some ways. I am not particularly gifted in finding middle ground. And this is true in my emotional being. I dash back and forth between a fairy-tale-like wonder of emotions and the mindset that I can build a fortress that will protect me from every hurt. I am learning that neither works. The fairytale is a beautifully painted lie with a crash of an ending. The fortress is lonely.

These thoughts start to expose my insecurity. I knew it was there, but seeing how it tangibly affects my life is a little discomforting. Then she includes an old-school definition of insecurity that includes phrases such as "self-doubt", "lack of confidence in ourselves", "anxiety about our relationships", and "deep uncertainty about whether his or her own feelings and desires are legitimate." That last one stings a little bit. I am ashamed of the times I have sat and wondered if what I'm feeling is even real. What about myself can I even trust?

Then more pointed observations to identify an already blaring problem:
"If someone gets angry at me, do I have a hard time not thinking about it?"
It would be all too humiliating to have my thoughts read aloud when someone I love is upset with me.
"Do I sometimes feel anxious for no apparent reason?"
Some sort of shouting choir should Amen here.
"A fissure in a relationship might sting one person but devastate the other."
Now I have had some strong times, but I do believe I belong on the devastated side of this population.

"She keeps confusing her insecurity with humility." OUCH! That is painful and humiliating to think that in my arms I have been coddling a demon wrapped in a blanket monogrammed with "humility." But I know its true. How easy it is to take my most deceptive enemy and disguise him as godliness so I have one less thing to fight. It is scary what we can convince ourselves of. I certainly am in need of God's piercing light now in my life to uncover the lies I have fed myself. These lies helped to numb my pain at the time, but now I'm confused. I don't remember what I lied about.

At this point, my insecurity is like a neon sign in otherwise darkness. I am pained. I am shocked. I am afraid. I am broken. I want to declare war on this monster. I want to beat it. But my own lies resurface and question that possibility. Security seems idealistic. Is this issue even real, or is this an emotionally-charged women's read? Insecurity again. Witness my cycle.

We tend to stereotype the insecure. Perhaps it would be easier to characterize who we think are the secure: thin, in love, receiving love, beautiful, smart, successful, and talented. Certainly no one has "it all". Some people just seem to have almost all of "it." So if having it all is unreal, then keeping it all must be something beyond unreal. The pressure is huge. Beth says "She wouldn't know the concept of carefree" if it hit her in the head, sometimes "believing to her dying breath that if she could just do this or control that, she could quell that ache inside of her."

I'm going to be very open now. I could substitute my name in those sentences without even a hint of dishonesty or exaggeration. I have struggled to this intensity with 2 main issues in my life: body image and grades.
I realize many of you identify with the first, and I may be quite lonely with the second.

Body image. I'm not sure when this started, but I can remember starving myself as young as 13. At that age, my starvation didn't last for very long. But as I grew in age and obsessive hatred for my body, I became more enduring. Hunger would go through stages of dull desire to pain to nothing. I honestly cannot remember what it felt like after the pain was gone, but I knew if I waited long enough, it would not hurt anymore. Then I was home-free. I really became quite good at this pattern. Then I did lose weight. I went from a size 7/8 to a 3/4 in about a year and a half. Maybe this does not seem so dramatic, but in my mind it was glorious progress. And yet so unsatisfying. I remember wearing the size 3 and thinking to myself "When is it going to be enough?" "When can I stop?" "When will I be happy?". The answer: never.

Now the seemingly more bizarre obsession: grades. I do not know when this started, but I know I have only recognized a problem in the past year. I have made straight A's in college so far. That is a praise to God, not me. That's all fine and good until the likelihood of a B on the horizon makes you have a nervous breakdown. Even without that possibility, I find it very easy to fill every second of my day with school work and studying. I realize the oddity in this. Oh well. Someone once said something to me that really hit the nail on the head: "Are you ever finished? Or do you just work until you have no time left?" *clears throat* umm... well... I must say I have never asked myself that question, but they were completely accurate. I am never finished. I have no idea where to draw the line.

"If our pursuit has moved from reasonable attention to a veritable obsession, however, we'd better search our souls for what's driving us."

Another bullet. Shot in love, of course. I remember having my eyes opened to this issue during church one Sunday. Singing a worship song that included the words "It's all for you, God." This Sunday was at the end of a semester surrounded by projects, tests, presentations, and that threatening B that robbed my sleep and peace. As soon as those lyrics left my lips, I heard God in my heart: "Is it really all for me?" Don't things get interesting when God interrupts our worship? Then I had to ask myself the same question. Who was I really working for? Wasn't this obsession for myself? Time for a reality check.

I have inhaled a couple of lies that brought me to these points.
A fit, thin figure will make me secure.
A successful and admirable academic career will make me secure.

These lies coupled with my imagination have handed me over to a multitude of fears. And statistically, most of what we fear never happens. Those who know me at all are laughing at me right now. So these lies of false security are leading me on a road filled with fears that often don't produce reality and leave me looking like a complete lunatic after I have reacted to my imagination.

I don't want that kind of relationship with anything.

So this is war.

I recognize that the woman who responds with graceful strength instead of hysteria during tragedy seems to be a stranger right now, but I will become that woman by God's grace.

Thanks to God and Beth for this formal introduction.

It's a cross- not a couch

Somewhere along the way, America has turned the cross into a trendy symbol for peace and love. You see a cross, and you've been trained to think "Christ came. Victory is mine. Everything is ok." We all smile at church. We aren't allowed to let out our honest, desperate cries because everyone else has it all together. Cover up your pain and sing in the choir so everyone sees Christ in you. The cross paid for it all, so its all good. This semester I have frequently heard the statement "Church is the Christian prom." At first I only understood it a little bit. But my eyes are opening.

I am heart broken. I am in pain. I am disappointed and confused. I am in a hard place. I don't have cancer. My parents aren't getting a divorce. We have not gone bankrupt. To those facing these situations, my issues would seem light. But that does not erase my pain. Christians are not here to sit around and compare sufferings and try to make each others' pain seem pathetic. "There is always someone worse off." That's true. But that does nothing at all for everyone else who hurts. I want permission to experience grief. I find myself longing for the church that I am unable to attend currently. Why? Because I want to walk in the house of God with my pain and freely and corporately worship with people who also have issues. Why do I feel the need to heal from my heartache before I attend my home church? Is it because I know I can't fake a smile good enough to fool them? Or because the honest expression would be shocking and uncomfortable? Is it because if I go to the alter and weep, the assumption is that I have fallen away and am overcome by the desire to be back in God's will? How can that be an assumption? A Christ-follower shouldn't even be blogging about this issue because the issue is senseless when we look at the cross.

Jesus said we would have trouble in this world. Jesus said we would suffer. Our hearts will be broken because this place does not work according to the design within us. Should pain not be expected? Where did we get the idea that following Jesus meant sunny skies and fulfilled dreams? Driscoll said "Many of us come to Jesus so we never have to go where He went." How did we conjure up that logic? Jesus suffered and said "follow me." How does that request come to mean "live my victory, but not anything else"?Somehow we have been deceived. I mean- He lived that life as an example for us. Why would He have His life recorded if the principles were not going to be applicable. If we are going to follow Him, we are going to face pain just like He did. So let's stop acting like church is "Show how easy life is with Jesus" time. Let's worship Him in our pain. Let's worship Him in our joy. Let's worship Him in our confusion. Reality is that we signed up to live a life following the guidance of a man who knew sorrow well. We did not accept a Savior who offered a comfy-cozy existence until heaven. I want to worship Him honestly. I did not know I would feel the heartache I am now. And I don't know the heartache that will come. But I need to recognize that it will come. And He has to be enough. He has to be enough. I don't have to paint a whimsical facade of a victorious life. My life-portrait will include my own failure, my heartbreak, my doubt, my fear, and my trials. But its not about me. It's about His radiant and unending beauty. I don't have to pretend that I'm there, because I'm not. I cling to a blood-stained cross, not a velvet couch. Church, we cling to an object of torture. That's our symbol of hope. Let's drop our masks and worship.

Light from Darkness

Last night was the Walk for Life for the Crisis Pregnancy Center! I so loved being a part of it. Towards the end of the evening, everyone took a silent lap around the track. It was dark, but we found our way due to the luminaries. The inside of the track had ~200 luminaries representing the number of babies that had been saved from abortion due to the Center. The outside of the track was marked by ~400 luminaries representing the number of abortions that had been performed in Gaston County in 2008.

Small candles in white paper bags. Light. Lights, each existing due to darkness. Every candle burns to memorialize a moment of darkness. I took my lap on this outside edge of the track, walking and praying aside every burning token of human life and human sin. People who never lived outside the womb. Children who never saw Jesus's fingerprint on a flower. Infants who never had the chance to change their mothers' worlds. Souls who never encountered situations created for them. My throat tightens at the overwhelming deception in our country, our world. God made every single life. He knows everything about that person. He made them with tendencies and quirks, all designed for that individual's path to sanctification.

Still even in darkness, God is light. Even after sin, there is a candle. Even what was meant for evil, God can use for good.

Each flickering tongue, a life halted by sin, yet no less precious. We pause to remember these lives. Slain innocence. Still the Light shines.

Father, you are beautiful, and I long for you.

Letting Them Go

Last night I was telling my friend Stephanie about counseling people at the Crisis Pregnancy Center. It is so rewarding. It is terrifying and thrilling all at the same time. I told her about sharing the Gospel and women getting saved. It is so outrageous to be a tool in someone's salvation and to get to witness it! Then we talked about what happens when a client doesn't accept Jesus. What do you do?

She said, "I would want to just keep them there forever."

I said, "I know! Its so hard to draw the line. You can't make the decision for them. You just have to do your best to help them understand what an important decision it is and urge them towards Him. You know? You can't beat them in the head with the Bible. Sometimes you just have to say 'OK. Could I pray for you before you go?' and let them go. But honestly sometimes I want so much to lock the door and not let them leave until they choose Him."

I was mentally replaying this conversation while I was in the shower this morning. When this situation happens with clients, my heart goes crazy. "Don't you understand? This is your eternity in the balance! This is Jesus! He loves you!" It is downright torture to watch someone walk away from His love. But I have to let them go. I started thinking, "Why? I wish I could choose it for them. Its the best thing for them anyway."

Then I hear God's voice, "It's love." Spiritual smack in the face. These clients aren't even walking away from me. They are rejecting Him. How much more must He be tortured when a soul continues without Him! But He lets them go. It's love. It's been this way since the Garden. He let Adam and Eve choose because He loved them. Then I recognize what torture He must feel from me. Yes, I have accepted Him as my Savior, but I sin every day. At some point during my day, I choose evil. I reject His ways. And He lets me! Even though He knows what is best for me, He lets me reject Him. How painful. He's made His point throughout eternity. His Word is always available to me. He has already said how important every decision between good and evil is. But He doesn't choose for me.

He lets me go. Of course, He is ever pursuing me, but He lets me have the option to choose Him or me. Love is crazy. He endured the torture of the cross. But He still endures torture everyday as He chases after us even when we don't choose Him. How much He must love us!

How deep the Father's love for us
How vast beyond all measure
That He would give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure

Jonah

Jonah 3:1-2
Then the word of the Lord came to Jonah the second time saying, "Arise, go to Nineveh, that great city, and call out against it the message that I tell you."

The second time.

God's message and purpose is unchanging. His plan had not changed. He wanted to save the Ninevites. God was incredibly patient to go to Jonah a second time, to allow him to still be a part of this plan. Maybe Jonah wasn't asking to be used by God before refusing the marching orders, or maybe he was. I don't know.

First of all, this was not Jonah's mom telling him to get his goats out her flower bed. This was God speaking. Jonah should really not have to be told twice.

Next, I realize that the verse does not say "Jonah, would you like to do something for me in Nineveh?" But while God is certainly telling Jonah to go, he is allowing Jonah to be a part of something great. God doesn't need Jonah to do this. He could send whoever He wanted to, but He chooses Jonah. Even after Jonah runs, God pursues him. He wants Jonah to be a part of this. God's patience is beautiful to me in this passage. So the situation probably didn't seem beautiful to Jonah- go tell a fiercely violent enemy that they are going to die. I imagine it looked absurd to him. But as I read it, I was thinking "Jonah, God is gonna use you to bring a people to Him! Go! Go! You get to be a part of something wonderful! God is being so good to give you another chance. He wants to use you."

And then the sword aspect of God's Word comes. Stab. I wonder how many times God has had to tell me something twice. Not only I am completely arrogant and retarded not to obey the first time, but I'm also just as narrow minded as Jonah. I can sense God leading me in a direction that's scary and uncomfortable. And since that's all my shaded eyes see, I hesitate. God tells me twice and more. He is so patient not to blow out by obstinate life candle right then. He is also so kind to offer me a position in His plan, even after I say "No thanks" or "I'm sorry. What?" I remember several things in my life that I would have never chosen to go through, but He led me through them anyway. Even when the situations were terrifying and painful, I was a part of something beautiful. How different could my perspective of pain be if I recognized the everlasting beauty of God's plan and His goodness to include me in it.

I have to stop and thank God- For everything I've been through. For what I'm going through. For what I will go through- because although it may not be appealing now, I can sense His voice echoing my comments to Jonah: "Come on, Chanel. I know it's scary. But I'm gonna do something incredible here, and I want you to be a part of it."

The Walk

On June 29th I took a long and wonderful walk down the beach. I was by myself. I walked at the water's edge where the ocean lessened the summer's heat. I have no idea how long I was away from my family. I lost all track of time. I was just walking- sometimes thinking, sometimes not. Just walking- and it was wonderful. Occasionally I would look down and spot a perfectly beautiful seashell and snatch it up before the waves reclaimed it. I would be perfectly excited about my new found shell for the following few minutes. I wasn't looking for shells. I just happened to notice them and pick them up along the walk. Upon my return, I gave the shells to my aunt because she collects them. At this point the shells didn't mean much to me anyways. It wasn't about the shells. It was about the walk.

This incidence spoke to me tremendously. My close friends and family can testify that I am a work-a-holic. I am so easily consumed by work and by preparations. I shamefully admit that my tendency is to be completely focused on preparing for the next step. And this focus is not enjoyable either. I work so hard all the time saying that it will be over soon and will be worth the work. I treat the completion like a milestone that must be reached. Then that moment of completion finally comes. I am satisfied for a moment then begin to miserably prepare for something else. I hate myself when I recognize this tendency.

God showed me something through that beach walk. Life is not about my self-created milestones. The walk was not about finding the next shell. Just as I found beautiful shells without the search for them being my focus, I can complete tasks and reach new levels without driving all my energy into accomplishing those things. I painfully admit that at the end of my life, I will not sweetly recall my GPA, my research hours, or my exercise regimen. These are the shells. I will recall my life as a whole, the walk. And again I recognize that my life will probably be 5% shell and 95% walk. So it seems I need to change my focus. Certainly the shells are beautiful and unique. But there's joy to be had in the walk.

Father, teach me to joy in the walk.

Love Story

SPOILER WARNING: READ THE GRACE BY WHICH WE STAND (BY WENDY DUKE) BEFORE READING FURTHER.

I just finished reading a book about a little girl, Savannah Duke. I know the girl as an acquaintance because I attend her parents' Sunday school class during the school semesters. Savannah has a very special story. While in utero, doctors found through an ultrasound that she only had one leg. As you can imagine, this was horrifying news to her parents who had fought many awful battles trying to get pregnant. I can't tell the story like her mother, Wendy, does, but I want to reflect on the love story God has written thus far.

During an amniocentesis, Savannah's fetal hand reached up and grabbed the shaft of the needle. God speaks His awesome power through an unborn child on a tv screen.

Upon Savannah's birth, doctors discover a tumor is the cause of her underdeveloped limb. After a hopeful period, doctors determine the tumor is malignant. A baby with cancer- before she was even born. Following chapters detail heartbreaking disappointments, torturous hospital visits, and a mom who is losing the battle. Several times she speaks of collapsing into her husband's arms and weeping. She talks about him giving injections to their daughter when she couldn't. Her husband prayed when she was curled up so tightly in her defense that she did not know how to trust this God that she had proclaimed for years. God speaks His sensitive strength through a heartbroken husband.

Crushing blow after crushing blow, the year and a half after Savannah's birth contained a few glimmers of hope that were quickly followed by seemingly endless tragedies. Mom is fiercely protective of her angel. Mom is dying inside. God sends people- lots of people. Organizations and individuals hold fundraisers that bring at least $30,000 (if i kept count correctly) to the Dukes' doorsteps. Three months of a calendar is filled with people scheduled to provide their meals. A fellow mom of a young cancer patient takes from her own fund to give to Wendy. People who don't even know this family sacrifice more than money to help a little girl. God sings His beautiful lullaby over a drowning family through people unaware of their own impact.

I cry with every episode of Wendy's desperation. "Where is God?" she cries to her husband is a moment filled with darkness. She is struck in the face with her own inability to save her precious offspring. A horrific reality I can't imagine. Even when she stubbornly blocks Him out, she says, He was still following her waiting for her to turn to Him. I wish I could put into words what this picture does to my heart. I have faced horrible events. I have clung to Him for life even when I didn't want to live anymore. I have never faced losing a child, but I feel my heart ring with the genuine pain and desperation in her written word. There are dark, dark moments when only God is there. Wendy surrendered her will in a hospital, after walking out on a doctor's report I believe. She fell on her knees. She wept. She gave up. She stopped trying. She let go. She had pulled away from Jesus trying to deal with her pain. He was right there, she knew. She says she high-fived Him in the good times and doubted Him in the bad. But not anymore. She trusted Him. She said "You can have it all, but I need you to help me." God speaks His pursuit through a suffering,stubborn mom.

He loves us. so much. It's overwhelming. It the worst circumstances imaginable, He is there. At the climax of pain, He is beside us asking us to trust Him. I have been wanting to experience more of His love. I feel like dirt saying "God, could you show me your love?" Ironic, since i was made from dirt. I would think this. Then, i would think "Look at the cross, you idiot. What more of a love display do you want?". Apathy is a disgusting thing. I hate it. It's like accidentally walking through a spider web. You didn't see it coming. Then all of a sudden "Ah! Ew! Get off!". You pick at it and vigorously wipe your arms, but you can still feel it there. You can't do anything to get rid of it completely. I have been asking to be consumed by His love. " I know that you love me more than anyone ever could, but I want to know it more." Hence the name of this blog- "Jesus, I want to rest in your romance." My closest moments with God have been the ones where I was in the most pain or in the most different situation. Please don't misunderstand- I seek God in good times too. There is just something awesome about a moment when you have nothing but God. When everything else is removed..

These thoughts take me back to Lili. Lili Bryson. She was the step-mother of my boyfriend at the time. She was beautiful. She was God's love. She was joy. She was kindness. She spoke truth to me when I was clouded by darkness. She was a light in my life. We were very close, and I cherish every memory I have with her. She had a son, named Christian, who is very near to my heart. I babysat Christian a lot. Some of my funniest memories with Lili are late nights when she would return from a business dinner with Mr. Bryson and all "those snobby people." We would laugh at how uncomfortable she was and how she would rather be anywhere else. I loved Lili very much. She was always light.

December of 2007, my family was at the Brysons' house. Their family was going to visit Mr. Bryson's parents in SC. Then Mr. Bryson, his dad, and Blake (bf at the time) were going to spend the holidays in Australia. Lili and Christian would spend Christmas with Lili's parents in Mexico. I remember the day very clearly. I sat in the floor with Blake and Christian looking at a gingerbread house they made before we all said goodbye. When we were getting ready to leave, I had a very urgent feeling come over me. I remember feeling almost worried about something. I felt very emotional very quickly-something was wrong. Nevertheless, I tried to ignore it and not be ruled by emotions. I hugged Lili, for an extra long time for some reason, and told her I loved her. I said "I'll miss you." We all said our goodbyes. I got in the car, choked up for some invisible reason. That would be the last time I saw Lili.

Lili had planned to have some medical procedures in Mexico. Few knew about the plans. Medical care is indeed better here, but that's her home, so she felt more comfortable there. Lili got an infection from the procedure. All this being around New Years, I was at a retreat with a friend's church, unaware of the circumstances. When i got home, my friend Katelyn called me and said "Hey, I was wondering if you had any more news on Lili? I can't get much info." Of course, I had no idea what she was talking about. She told me the few details she knew. I immediately emailed Blake in Australia. They also were unaware of the situation.

I know this was a perfect situation to cling to hope. But this was different. I knew she was going to die. I remember sitting in bed and just knowing. I wasn't being negative or hysterical. I knew that was God's will. I remember sobbing and saying "Ok. Father, if this is your will, then take her. But please please bring us through it." I wish I could say that the next couple of days were filled with His peace. It wasn't exactly like that. Calls to and from Mexico. Emails to and from Australia. It was a confusing and desperate attempt to get information to the right places. Bless my mom's heart-she tried to get me out of the house. She told me to pray. She said not to drown in possibilities. But I knew. I felt God holding my hand in a black time in my life.

Mr. Bryson got the soonest flight to Mexico. It wasn't soon enough. I woke up one morning, January 3rd, to a text message from my friend Carina. Her mom had been in touch with the hospital in Mexico. Lili had passed that morning. Her body could not handle the infection. Just like that. An early thirties beauty- gone. A 3 year old son without a mother. I went into the kitchen to tell my mom. I just said "Lili" and cried. The pain of finality hit hard. The days run together after that. I remember crying on the phone to a friend who called to offer some encouragement. I got out of bed and showered, trying to wash off the pain. I barely got dressed before I collapsed in the floor sobbing and gagging. My parents rushed in the bathroom. I remember my dad picking me up. I don't remember anything after that. I was at the end of myself. My very existence was battling an assassin. The following days were agonizing- my own pain, knowing Blake and his family were hurting but not being able to get to them.

Blake called on their way back to NC. He wanted me to get all of Lili's things out of the house. Me? I did not want to do it, but at the same time I could not stand the thought of someone else going through her things. Helped by Mom and a friend, we packed away her things. We laughed at Lili's collections of one shirt style in many different colors. Giggled at the shoes I know she never wore. Finishing up for the night, I found her Bible on a shelf. Inscribed on the front was her name and her life verse- Jer. 29:11- which also happened to be my life verse. I didn't know we shared that. I opened the front cover. There was a single sheet a white paper. Hand-written in Spanish. I began to translate aloud, "My name is Lili Diaz Bryson or Lili Bryson in the US. I was saved at 6 years of age in Iglesia Bautista Buena Vista..." Her testimony tucked away in her Bible. A beautiful treasure, scribed for my finding. I felt God right there. He said "I'm right here. It's ok." I don't know why I opened her Bible, but I'm glad I did. I have a copy of it. I plan to keep it forever. It's a piece of her heart. It is a priceless treasure to me.

Finally, they came home. The people my heart had so longed for- but now in their presence I had nothing to say. I didn't know what to do. Blake and I hugged. Without words, i felt our hearts press together, beating with a similar pain. I began trying to find my place in this now all male family. It was not the same anymore. I tried to help them as best I could. I did laundry. I sorted mail, separating things addressed to Lili. But I felt like dying when Christian cried and prayed for mommy to wake up. Innocent heart. I would pick him up from school sometimes. I remember walking with him through a grocery store. I don't remember the surrounding conversation, but heaven came up. He said "Ms. Mamel, that's where my mommy is now." I responded with a smiling "That's right baby. She is." but my heart was anything but smiling. I would practice Spanish with him while taking him home. I knew Lili would be upset if he lost her language. Little by little I heard God saying "I've got him. It's ok."

In the midst of all this, I had to return to the second half on my senior year of high school. I would often show up crying, and if I was composed at the beginning of the day, I would eventually lose myself to tears. I remember one day leaning into my open locker crying. My good friend, Josh Firkins, came by and just put his hand on my shoulder. I don't remember what he said, but I felt his love and again heard God say "Still here. Hold on." Later a friend, Jake Justice, told me "I'm sorry I didn't say anything at school. I don't know what to do when I see someone I love hurt so much." That was God saying "I see you. I know it hurts."

One day during Spanish I left class and went to the restroom. I fell in the floor and cried. One of my sweet professors, Mrs. Baer, came in and sat with me and prayed. "I'm holding you up."

I remember distinctly, throughout all this, continually seeing the image of a partially filled tapestry. Right now sweeps of color were being added. They were deep and dark strokes of color that I can't describe. Reds. Blues. Blacks. Purples. Nothing I know of captures what I saw. I don't remember a hand or a paintbrush. Just strokes of the darkest, most intense colors I have ever seen. As every stroke went on the tapestry, my heart broke, I cried. The colors made me gasp. My mind and body tensed. There was something awful and awesome about it all. "I'm writing your love story." I know it's going to be beautiful.

Monsters and Heroes

Eph. 2:2-3
"... The prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience- among whom we all once lived..."

Satan once had power over me. He had access to me. I was loyal to him in my ignorance. Deception. Hate. Murder. Blood-thirsty monster. He hates me. He kissed me as he led me to death. He was leading me to eternal fire. I can imagine his song- so enticing but something wrong about it. A beautiful creature stroking my hand with promises. How deceived I was.

Christ, with piercing light, revealed that darkness. I said "I believe You are God." You bathed me in blood so holy that evil claws released their grip. You resurrected me to truth. You held me closely as I cried in shame. You sang to me songs of a forever love. You are perfect. You satisfy. Your promises never fail. You rescued me from darkness. I forgot where I came from. The memory chills me. Thank you, my Savior. My Hero.