Where is God when our leaders fail?

 Newspapers in the area have vehemently picked up the story of another clergy member abusing a minor.
One story of abuse is one too many, but the instance is exceptionally disturbing when the perpetrator is a pastor. This person is supposed to be a representative of God in a broken world, but instead he betrays his friends and his flock in the most heinous way. For those who knew him personally, for those who heard him exhort, encourage, pray, and preach the word of God with conviction, this news can uncover questions of faith-shaking proportions. How can someone, by all claims and appearances, know God and yet perpetrate evil? What does this say about the redemptive work of the Holy Spirit in a believer's life? Or is everything I've heard a lie? Some people would choose to believe so, and point to this instance as yet another example of the hypocrisy of Christianity. I have to admit that those thoughts have crossed my mind as well. At the end of it, though, I don't think Christians need to be embarrassed by these instances, as if the failings of our leaders have any bearing on the truths they taught us. Rather, this is a story that is repeated far too often, but it only serves to confirm the gospel each time.

 We are seriously messed up human beings. If a pastor whom so many people respect can act this way, what does that say about me and my capacity for sin? This situation is proof that no amount of study, no vocational calling, no degree of success can protect us from ourselves. We are completely inept at maintaining moral purity and we have a desperate need for divine intervention. Religion does not cause these atrocities. These events only serve to draw our attention to the basic assumptions that atheists still makes on a daily basis:

A. There is a way the world ought to be. ( Example: Pastors should live in honest and uplifting fellowship with their members).

B. The world is not the way it should be.  This is not a matter of moral preference, but of very definite reality, a moral universal law.

C. We ought to be held accountable for our actions.

D. Justice must be served.

E. Human justice is not enough. (Dispensation of human justice does not erase the devastation this man caused in the life of the victim or the church community.)

If no God exists to save us from this dilemma, then we are truly hopeless.

It would be easy to doubt God in situations like this. It would be easy to blame Him and curse him, because those who were supposed to be His representatives have done a pitiful job. In one pastor's failing we see the age-old problem of evil arrayed in modern robes. But instead of asking why God allowed this to happen, we must consider how this situation points us back to God; how the existence of evil is actually evidence for God.

This is a God who holds us accountable.

 who hates sin

who dispenses justice

who promises evil's annihilation.

But he goes beyond even that. Our God is not only a God who has power over evil, but who stepped into it.  This is a God who became human, 

who endured suffering and hatred.

who bore with injustice

who offers forgiveness

who modeled humanity as it was meant to be

who makes restoration possible

who faithfully brings good out of every bad situation

who took on Himself the cataclysmic consequence of humanity's sin, so that we might step into the incorruptible glory of Divinity. .

Sickening situations like these will arise, and in each one I have a choice. I can walk away from what I've been taught, reject faith, turn into myself and try to find my own answers for the atrocities in this world. But I am already well acquainted with human frailty; I'll find no satisfactory answers down that road. Or I can retreat to the arms of the only One I know to be true and stable in this world. When everything is turned upside down, I have nowhere else to turn. 

in memory and in hope

Two years ago this week, my nephews Phineas Jon and Abraham Steven met Jesus before they were born, at 24 weeks gestational age.

They ran into the arms of their Heavenly Father before their earthly parents got a chance to see their smiles or hear their laughter. And although since then the Lord certainly has Multiplied our Joy (the precious gift of my niece, Josephine Joy), still the hole in our lives remain; memories of twin moppy-haired, brown-eyed toddlers fill the heart of this out-of-town auntie--memories left unmade.  I adore my ten-month-old niece and wouldn't trade her for all the world, and yet it is impossible to not wonder about the would have beens. All of our anticipation and dreams and excited giggles waiting for these two boys were shattered in a moment. 

When some people think of miscarriage or stillbirth, they think of it as merely a great disappointment, one of life's major let-downs that will pass with time and more children. I suppose I did, too, before August 2013. Then I learned that the weight of all those unformed memories is an insurmountable and inarticulate grief. Those lives are unique and irreplaceable; their names and faces will never be forgotten. So please, please be gentle with your friends or neighbors walking that difficult road.  

This year more than in years past I find myself reacting strongly against the Evangelical tendency to pass over grief with claims of a greater good. We attempt to bandage wounds by looking on the bright side or finding the purpose, as if believing that this utterly heart-wrenching loss could be worth something somehow dampens the sting. (I can tell you, it does not). I don't think this reasoning is biblical. See, sometimes, there simply is no purpose in suffering.

First please hear what I'm not saying. I'm not saying that God is not mysteriously Sovereign over these things. I am not saying that suffering does not result in good, as Romans 8 and 1 Peter 1 so clearly attest. But I am saying that I don't think God orchestrated the twin's conception, growth, and death for some abstract greater good. I believe that death is a result of human sin, and sickness and stillbirth are symptoms of creation groaning in it's bondage to decay. I am saying that Vanity is something that does actually exist and it plagues this fallen world. I can say this out of the conviction that this earth is not the way it's supposed to be, and contrary to our instinct to blanket grief with shallow happiness, we actually honor what was lost by joining mourners who wander in the wilderness.

I believe that grieving what was lost and lamenting the vanity of that pain actually makes me yearn for God's promised restoration, and I rejoice in hope. 

Scripture does say that God will bring good from evil. It does say that our faith is not in vain, because we will receive a richer inheritance that far outweighs the sufferings of earth. That's why we have hope. That's why we can count on our glorification. The brokenness and vanity of this world is plain, but so is the promise of all things being restored. I can say with certainty that this family will one day hear those giggles and see the smiles of our two boys. I love to imagine that day, the day that God finally does reverse the curse of Vanity and brings true Shalom--all things as they should be--once again. 

How to build community (after Day One of being a Graduate Resident Assistant)

1. Make a solid start (if you're not trying now, chances are it won't happen.)
2. Always have room for another friend.
3. Understand that you won't be friends with everyone.
4. Push yourself past what's comfortable.
5. Make it organic.
6. Food should be involved.
7. If you say it, mean it. If you mean it, do it.
8. Plan for spontaneity. Be okay with scheduled chaos.
9. Get in touch with your weaknesses and don't hide them.
10. Drop your expectations; fuel everything with prayer.
11. Don't put people in a box.

What I've been up to this summer

Summer is at its end.

I know this because the sun rises at 6:15 am, a good 45 minutes earlier than it was rising about a month ago.
      ...and I know this because this summer I finally got my natural sleep rhythm adjusted to where I function best, so that I've seen the sun rise more mornings than not these last few weeks. That's one of my biggest personal accomplishments.

I feel a bit dizzy looking back over these last three months. These months were filled with more Life than I even thought possible.

1. Summer kicked off with a week in Haiti. 
2. I soaked in a delightful visit home. 
3. I got back just in time for an Educational Ministries class. 
4. I went camping. 
5. I job-hunted like a mad woman while completing papers and projects for aforementioned class. 
6. I spent two days a week taking fifty children to fun activities. Then my client load doubled (from 2 to 4). 
7. I left two jobs. I started two jobs. 
8. I went backpacking on an island.
9. I went fishing.  
10. I went dancing in the city, twice.  
11. I became an R.A. 

The year ahead becomes even more dizzying. In the next nine months, I intend to: 

1. Complete at 20-hour per week internship. 
2. Finish my last three Master's level classes. 
3. Be a good R.A. 
4. Teach a Sunday school class and lead workshops for my church. 
5. Work 20 hours a week with little children and with horses (not at the same time).
6. Be a youth leader. 
7. Pass the Comprehensive Exam. 
8. Pass the National Counselor Exam. 
9. Get a real job for the first time in my life. 
10. Move.  

I'm learning so much, especially about community and Sabbath and empowering people. I've learned that I'm bad at these things, that I have so much more to learn. I'm learning to slow down even though life is filling up. I'm learning to breathe in the quit moments whenever possible, to sit in the boredom before I turn to facebook for distraction. I'm trying to honor the person in front of me as the most important person in that moment. I'm practicing peace and joy as both necessary disciplines and seasonal fruit. The friendships around me have become so enriched this summer, and now I begin to prepare my soul for their resolution, for bittersweet goodbyes so that a new chapter can emerge. Most importantly, I learned to stop waiting for my dreams to actualize, because I realize that I am living it all right now. I couldn't ask for anything better. 

Even on my bad days...

Most days, my job brings me so much joy.

Most days, but not today.

Most days I am blessed to experience the thrill of connecting on a significant level with another human being, of meeting them in the brokenness that we all share, and maybe, if only just a little, lifting them out. Few things in life that are as fulfilling for me.

Today, though, I was in a slump. Today as I tried to prepare for tomorrow's sessions, I felt clueless and inept. I couldn't summon the creativity that guides good counseling. I felt impatient at the long, slow progress of relationship-building. Instead of the usual excitement, I felt a bit anxious at the "Unknown" that would fill the hour ahead of me. What would happen in this next session? How much do I plan for, and how would I respond? Today, my inexperience weighed heavy on me.

Today, my client never showed, didn't even answer my phone calls. When working with children who aren't old enough to drive, these scenarios come about when parents are less than invested in their children's therapy. I already knew this particular parent wasn't completely sold on the concept anyway. How can I, a 20-something, stand before a stranger--one who has been through a whole lot more difficulties in life than I have--and convince that person that paying large amounts of money every week to let their children play games with me is actually essential for their child's future well-being? How do I do that when I sometimes struggle to convince myself?

Many days, the irony of these things goes unnoticed. Sad ironies, sick ironies, like how my coworker has a job doing supervised visitations because some fathers aren't to be trusted taking their kids out to ice cream alone. Like how its my job to help this little boy learn how to adjust to life without daddy at home. Like how the kids who need services the most consequently come from families too chaotic to facilitate consistency.  It's like some days I rejoice over picking up the broken pieces, and other days I get a glimpse of how big the mess is and its too much.

Today, I'm sitting in Chicago rush-hour traffic after waiting out the hour in vain for my client to arrive, trying to let this reality permeate my cynic heart:

"I'm no longer a slave to fear. I am a child of God."  

Most days, I feel adequately confident, but some days I can't argue with my incompetence. After all, there are lots of things I'm not good at. 

But I'm still a child of God. 

I don't know how all the pieces fit together. It's not about me making a difference because some days even that much is too hard to see

...but I'm still a child of God. 

And while I hope and pray that this parent recognizes the necessity of intervention for this child's future, I don't have to be a slave to fear. My status as student or counselor, youth leader, professional, employee, nothing compares with that truth.  I am a child of God. 

What it means to display Strength in Weakness

There is a disconnect here, for those of us who have grown up in the church. No doubt we've all heard this sentence before: God displays Strength in Weakness. We profess to believe it and point to Biblical Examples like Moses and Gideon...but we still do everything in our power to avoid our own weakness:

We pray for Strength, skill, and blessing; we encourage others by emphasizing the positive instead of sitting in the problem; we talk till we are blue in the face about authentic community, but we are still reluctant to share our fears and failures with other Christians.

What will it take for us to live out our weakness to God's Glory?

This is what I saw lived out at St. Vincent's. While there, we were told that the disabled rarely ever come out of their homes; they are often a burden to their families because shame and poverty tell them they have nothing of value. Rather than creatively seeking gainful employment for the physically and mentally disabled, the society at large has chosen to hide and forget, because the pain of limitation is too much to bear.

Is the United States all that different? Except we don't have the excuse of financial hardship to pardon our mistreatment of the weak in the world.

It is because a local priest had a different vision, because local teachers recognized value and victory in these forgotten ones, because a number of compassionate donors gave a portion of their means to build a place of empowerment, that the deaf, blind, lame, and simple in Port au Prince have a space where they can learn, identify their strengths, and contribute with dignity. Their beauty is not about compensating for disability; it is about living out God's redemption, generosity, patience, kindness, and understanding. Creativity, ingenuity, and hard work flourish here. In the face of that which the world despises as vulgar, pathetic, and vain, God has constructed a community of strength and acceptance.

Weakness consistently puts God on display. This is what Jesus meant when he spoke of the Son of Man being "lifted up" on a cross of execution, or what Paul meant when he insisted that his being the worst of sinners actually magnified God's glory (1 Timothy 1).

Let me give you another very real example. I saw this two years ago when my brother and sister-in-law lost their unborn twin sons. Rather than suck up the pain and withdraw, they courageously displayed their grief in their church family. I will never forget the moment in church when they stood to worship, leading the 300+ congregation in praise and thanksgiving to God even when we all were too broken to sing. The trials that draw us into ourselves could also result in the most stunning unification and glorification if we find the courage to share our burdens.

What would happen if I grieved, wrestled, and battled temptation as honestly and courageously? What would it take for me to get over myself and display my weakness for the sake of God's glory? What if we prayed for God to give victory rather than safety from the trial?
God displays Strength in Weakness. I don't want to sit back from this reflection and think "that's nice." No, I want to come to grips with my need to have weak and broken people in my life. Because if that's where God is at work, it is sure as heaven where I want to be.

A Letter to my LGBT friends

Dear brothers and sisters loved by God,

Today is a day of celebration for you. I feel your pride and sense of victory. This is a community that has endured much hatred and stigma, has fought for love and freedom, has come so far. I recognize with deep remorse the atrocities that have been committed against you over the course of history. I am contrite to acknowledge the failings of the Church to respond with grace and love. I am so sorry that we who have been sent to represent God's love to the world have at best awkwardly stumbled through this topic which is so central to your sense of identity, and at worst have piled on repeated injuries in our ignorance. Today is a day that you celebrate overcoming. Friends, I am the last person in the world who wishes to take that sense of joyful victory away from you.

That is why I find myself grieved, torn on this day. I am SO GLAD the LGBT community now has a voice is society when it was shamefully silenced before! I DO want you to feel proud and beautiful and loved and valued for being who you are. I desire for you to continue to live in the sense of belonging you are experiencing today. So please stay with me at this point, dear reader: please hear me.

While part of me rejoices, I can not celebrate that which carries a person or a culture further away from a life which was designed for our good. I simply can't ignore the clear message that an active homosexual lifestyle is not God's good purpose for humanity. My disagreement is not hate speech; it is a conflict of conscience. Honestly, I don't expect you to understand my position or agree, because you and I recognize different sources of authority. But thank you for hearing me. The concern of myself and my evangelical community now share is that of our freedom to practice our religious conviction. Thank you for hearing that concern. I hope and pray that continuing a loving dialogue can prevent further injuries.

But that's not even my main point. You see, the Bible is not a book about how to live right. Jesus' message isn't even about how to love one another. That's all part of it, yes, but love as this world defines it is like watered down apple juice compared to the rich red wine of the whole story. The main message of the bible is this: that God gets glory by dumping Grace and Love and Forgiveness on Sinners (of whom I am the worst!). See, we were all in the same damned boat, sinking down under the wreckage of our broken lives and the evil of our own hearts, completely helpless in bridging the immeasurable distance between ourselves and God's awesome perfection. So instead of watching us sink, Jesus saved us by joining us. He drowned under the weight of human depravity, giving us the opportunity to escape. Not only that, but now He helps us to live in the complete joy and freedom of friendship with God, the creator of everything. You feel victory and joy and belonging on this day? All that is PEBBLES compared to the wonder of knowing you are forgiven and accepted by God.

That's the true joy I want desperately for you to experience, because I've found it and I want to share it with you. Knowing God will change you completely, but not into someone you don't want to be. Once you offer your life to Him, He will make you more and more like the person you were intended to be. It's not about being straight, its about becoming completely and freely You, perfected, restored, and healed in every way. And God will perfect that work he began until you don't recognize yourself in all your shining glory, because He made you to be glorified like Himself.

So, friend, we disagree about today. I want you to know that I love you. The reason I can't celebrate with you today is because I see something far more worth celebrating. I hope you can understand.

Haiti in Retrospect, pt. 3

My last Haiti reflection was on the liberty of allowing others to say "I can." Stepping back and helping only where our help is asked for provides opportunity for empowerment and is a sign of respect. I realized on my trip that this concept of empowerment is essentially my job as a counselor. My calling and all of my training can be boiled down to helping people reclaim ownership of their own lives. "I can" is more than optimism, positive psychology, or a nifty catch phrase; it is the foundation upon which we build our lives. Beginning in toddlerhood, psychologists affirm that a sense of self-efficacy is an integral aspect to a human being's mental health and wellness. Affirming "I can contribute something" is part of being human as God designed.

There's a flip side to this statement, however, that is equally true, and equally part of being human. "I have limits. I can't do everything." We have all experienced this. There is no one on this earth who hasn't tasted the bitterness of failure of frustration. Self-actualization, or the process of becoming all you can be, is what God intended for each person, but it blurs into idolatrous humanism if not for that honest and humble assertion, "I can't do this...alone."

This is where the diverse body of Christ comes in. 

On this trip, everyone had their role to play. We had a medical team treating children and adults. We had pharmaceutical specialists helping children get the medicine the doctors prescribed. (Not to mention the gracious donors who helped cover our flights, housing, and the medical supplies we brought with us!) We had translators who spoke French, Creole, and ASL. Those that were not gifted in these areas were still needed to escort the blind or young children to the next station.One team member was especially gifted in caring for the young or severely disabled children who were unable to join the rest of their classmates. I had no gifts to offer the medical team, but my job was to support and aid my friend Minda, and her very presence was undoubtedly empowering and impactful for the people we were serving. I was surprised to meet a young woman who is an aspiring counselor, and hopefully I was able to encourage her on her journey; so I felt used on the trip even if for that encounter alone.

I saw the same interdependence among the children we were serving. I saw the deaf leading the blind, the hearing passing on explanation and instruction to the deaf; the blind teaching Creole to us clueless Americans. Each student at this school had their own hopes, dreams, and aspirations, and these were made actual potentialities only by the interdependent community which allowed them to learn and grow.

Being friends with someone in a wheelchair has taught me more about the Body of Christ than anyone else. It is a deceptive illusion for me to imagine that I am more independent than she; that I somehow don't need people in my life as much as she does. I need her perspective on the world. I need the grace of giving; I need the patience she has cultivated; I need the joy developed only when the clutter of Things and the tyranny of "Me, Now" is removed; I need the spiritual wealth that can be found only among the poor in this world. I need the people around me to be unashamed of using their gifts, whether its loving children or speaking Creole, whether its teaching or leading worship or washing dishes. I can't do it by myself. I'm missing out on something absolutely precious if I try.

I find it beautiful to remember that this interdependence is not our compensation for being broken individuals, but this need was woven into creation by God himself. The one thing that God said was "not good" was for his new man, image-bearer, to be alone. Adam needed Eve, and Adam was perfect! My limitations won't disappear when I get to heaven--and praise God for that! Serving each other isn't something we do while we wait for heaven to come make everything right. It does bring us closer to heaven on earth, though. I can't do this life alone. I need you, too.

Haiti in Retrospect pt 2.

I've been back at "normal life" now for six days. I'm astonished at how quickly all the details of LIFE grab at my attention, pushing my meditations from the forefront of my mind like football players jockeying for position. Suddenly tasks like getting a job or finishing this assignment become more urgent than wrestling with what has been shown to me a week ago. As the infamous "tyranny of the urgent" grows stronger in this "Me, Now" culture, I struggle even to sit and focus on my notes from the week and grasp at something to take away. God, I know emotions come and go, but please don't let me leave this experience unchanged. 

So that's where I find myself today... Now, for, what I actually sat down to write...

The Liberty of saying "I can" 

I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I caught myself repeatedly wanting to speak for my handicapped friend as we traveled down to Haiti. I've known this dear and inspiring woman since college and I'm no longer surprised when she does things that others estimate as beyond her ability. (I even find it humorous, seeing the fascination and surprise on people's faces when my friend feeds herself without hands or climbs stairs without legs.) But something about pushing someone around in a wheel chair triggered in me the instinct to speak for her. At the hotel counter, in the airport, on the bus and with our team members..."She wants this, We'll take that, It'd be best if we go here or there." Being the more mobile one made me feel "in charge," as if I temporarily forgot that my friend is an adult, capable of making her own decision, expressing her own desires. I didn't mean to belittle my friend; I simply found it easier to speak before listening, to act on my assumptions because I was the one in control.  Thankfully my patient friend lovingly reminded me of this fact when I overstepped my role.

I guess it goes to show, sometimes when our help is needed, we can "help" too much. 

I'm needed and able to contribute one piece, but that does not mean I am needed to take over, even if I am able. I'd go so far as to say that my taking over in these instances was actually dehumanizing to my friend, if even in a small way. These micro-invalidations add up over a lifetime to strip someone of personhood, and over time they limit and cripple a person's perceptions of their own self and capabilities. In addition, when I take over I silence my friend, and thus lose the valuable perspective she brings to the situation. 

There were times on the trip when I was mildly embarrassed to be reminded of this. Then there were other times when I was intensely relieved and grateful. I don't have to juggle all these things while pushing the wheelchair; Minda can carry something. If I needed a nap, she wasn't completely stranded without me. There is so much that she can do, and both of us were freed by that assertion.

The same is true in our treatment of the poor.

Do we see the need and rush to fill it? If we're honest, giving out of our abundance is not difficult for those of us who have been handed more than our basic necessities. It's true, the need will always be present somewhere. But in our ability to "help," do we overlook the other's assertion of their own ability? Our eagerness to be helpful is combined with our refusal to be inconvenienced, and we overstep our role and invalidate those we seek to build up. In these cases, our "gifts" are as considerate as handing out quilts to the blind on a July afternoon in the Caribbean. We may have good intentions, but we overlook the Person when we're so focused on the deficit. In addition to dehumanizing the one we're trying to help, we then loose all opportunity to gain from their valuable perspective and contribution. So what do we do instead?

It's about Presence and Listening. 

 I am becoming increasingly convinced that, in a world full of demands on your time, attention, and wallet, your full and undivided presence is the most precious thing you have to give to another human being. The children we served last week are all wicked smart. Some spoke about half a dozen languages, played musical instruments, and had dreams of a career, as well as complaints about schoolwork, just like American kids. We were NOT needed to come teach or correct or hand out our leftovers. We did not come to give pointless stuff, or to change them to look or live like us. The art we brought was instead an opportunity for them to express those life-giving words, "I can do this." Poverty and disability want to beat those words out of a person. Presence and listening have the potential to stitch up the wounds and hand the opportunity right back.

The Hatian airport staff displayed the single most helpful response as they brought out the wheelchair before Minda and I could exit the plane. Instead of jumping in and doing what they thought was needed, they simply asked, "How may we assist you?" I felt ashamed that in all my years of being her friend, I can't recall a time I've sought to listen so respectfully, to wait to hear her express her needs in her own terms before stepping in to assist. Maybe this world would be different if we learned to do that for each other. Maybe our definition of poverty would change if we listened respectfully to those we served. If we took a position of Empowering, rather than simply providing; if we desired liberty over the comfort of things, then together we could make a difference.

You can visit Minda's Blog, read about her book, or purchase her artwork at www.mindacox.com

Haiti in Retrospect, pt. 1

For those who may not know, I had the amazing opportunity to spend a short week in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. I went with a group providing medical and dental care to the children of St. Vincent's Center for the handicapped. The trip was an absolutely incredible experience; like many such experiences it was far too wonderful and striking and profound to describe in a short summary. That's why in the next couple days I will be posting a series of reflections as my feeble attempt to relay what God did and what He said during that time.

What follows is my first attempt to describe what I saw. I hope these images are worth a thousand pictures. These are my snapshots of Haiti.

Boys of all nationalities love playing with the camera. (Photocredit: Sonya Yencer)

With extreme care and awareness, an older boy gently navigates the misshapen, concrete, narrow pathway between classes, clearing the way through the chaotic mob of children just released for recess. He doesn't hear the clamor around him; in fact, he has never heard the joyful voices of his classmates playing games in the hot afternoon. But instead, he moves forward like a royal official among his subjects, lovingly leading his blind brother by the elbow. How such a friendship was formed, I cannot guess, but it was at this moment that I realize: I have entered the Kingdom of God.

****

Hands and fingers all over my face and arms. Hands and fingers are how the blind see. While I can't for the life of me remember their beautiful French and Hatian names, the blind students seem to remember me the next time they hear my voice. 

"Parlevous France?" the young boy asks us. "Non," we answer in crippled Creole, "Ingles." A wide smile spreads across his face. He is not at all perturbed by our stunted communication, but he takes joy at the chance to express his hard-practiced English. 

"We....Welcome to de Haiti! God Bless You!!" 

****

Photo credit: Sonya Yencer

*****

With only one mishapen hook of an arm, the little boy sits proudly with paintbrush poised between his toes, creating a world where no one can tell him he can't. 

Photo credit: Sonya Yencer

****

On a dusty chalk board for example and a few Creole words for guidance, the American art teacher opens the door for creative design and self expression. We begin with a class of six or seven, but curious children slowly trickle in. One arrives just as the rest are finishing and her friend jumps up to get her a paper and pen. She signs an explanation, transposing the creole words into American Sign Language with fluidity and skill. The deaf girl nods and smiles. She too picks up the pen and becomes Queen of her Imagination. 

****

Vinette taught me more signs than anyone else. She was a patient, persistent, and creative teacher. If not for her intervention on Day 2, my communication with the deaf children would probably have gone only as far as a smile. But even just the learning gave me confidence to try more. The ability to start a conversation, even if I did not know enough to finish it, helped me come a little closer; helped me find connection when words were lacking. 

Language may indeed be a tremendous barrier, persisting since the days of Babble, but it is not a barrier to Love unless we make it so. I am terribly embarrassed by my own ineptitude among these students who speak Creole, French, Spanish,and ASL as well as some English. The teenagers make every effort to exhaust their bank of English vocabulary in order to make conversation with this awkward American who can only say three phrases in their language. The little ones don't care what you have to say as long as you give them a hug or a soccer ball. But these brilliant minds are locked inside a compound, hidden from society because the world calls them disabled. In reality, I'm the one who feels ashamed before these 5-foot intellectual giants with hearts of gold. 

This Year's Praises

I have a strange confession: I really love airports. I love looking at the giant list of cities I could potentially visit if I walked on this plane instead of that one. I love seeing people as they pass and wondering what brings them to this hub. I especially enjoy the smell of walking onto the terminal. It smells like adventure to me.

I write this on a plane out of O’Hare back to my home town. It will just be a pit stop on my way to a new adventure: a week of ministry in Haiti. Its strange to think that the last time I was on this very same flight, I was in a completely different place spiritually. I was headed to a memorial; saying goodbye to two beautiful people I never got the chance to say hello to. My time at school began veiled in grief, doubt, and anxiety. The adventuresome feeling of being in a new place was short-lived. Getting back on the plane to return and continue building a brand new life was one of the hardest things I had done at that point. My new life felt a little like an exile.

That was August of 2013. Now, less than two years later, my exile has turned into a land of plenty. I want to return the first fruits. I want to share with you the praise of what God has done for me this semester.

God gave me a Community where there was none; brothers and sisters that have quickly become so dear to me. In a local church I found myself in a fellowship of people who know me for who I am and lift me up when I need them. I found people who are quick to love and share their lives.

God clarified a Calling. Now in my internship, my passion for counseling youth has exploded. There are days I walk away from the office just filled to the brim, loving my job, and then remembering that I’m not getting paid to be here! I simply love what I do. Also God has sharpened my vision for teaching mental health in the church. He’s given me a passion for teaching and opportunities to explore these gifts. Funny thing about walking in your giftedness; it makes every previous frustration and disappointment totally worth it. Of course that didn’t work out! as it dawns on you, I never dreamed the alternative would be this good!.

God has Provided for everything I need. It's easy to hopelessly adopt the caricature of the starving grad student, but whether by random jobs that open up or the surprising generosity of others, I have never once been in need. In my mustard-seed faith I often worry, but some amazing provision always comes up.

Most amazing, God has given me Joy and has healed wounds I thought would always define me. He has hulk-smashed mountains of insecurity, freeing me from so much doubt and fear. This semester especially has been one of more peace, breath, and mental space than I’ve experienced for quite some time.

Not to mention, this year I have this amazing person to visit: 

My 6-month niece, Josie Joy

I don’t want to paint the wrong picture…I was not depressed or hopeless last year, far from it. But some struggles are deep, hidden from the public eye and drawn out for so long, you get used to them and expect them to be always present. Some burdens you just get used to carrying until you can’t imagine life without. When the clouds break open and you finally realize that you’ve dropped those burdens off at last, the delight is so overwhelming that you must praise God. There’s nothing else I can do. He has been faithful to me. 

Saying Goodbyes

Have you noticed how our culture has a chronic phobia about goodbyes? I'm not referring to the short and sweet salutations when you know you'll see the person again next week. When it comes to true, sincere, and permanent partings, we avoid them at all possible costs. We make promises we have no intention of keeping in order to soften the blow.  We will slip in a "see you later" before we can let the fact sink in that, no, you won't see me again. We have social media as a topical anesthetic to numb the pain of parting; we'll take even a digital relationship over a severed one.

We may go through life acting like we don't need close relationships, but something in us despises the thought of leaving. Our souls are squeamish at the thought of saying goodbye.

We are about to finish our very last session--my first client and myself. Though constructed in the stiff roles of a client/counselor relationship, the connection that grew over the last semester was authentic and genuine. I cared about this person; outside of therapy I thought about their life and what I could say that could be helpful; I prayed that they might find Christ when my professional position forbade me from speaking His name. My job had been to sit and talk with this person every week, two hours a week, for the past three months. Now in our last five minutes together, I am at a loss for what to say. 

I think we hate goodbyes because our souls are wired for eternity. Death is as natural in this world as breathing, yet still it never ceases to tear our own worlds apart. Divorce ravages families and nations, despite the fact that many would like to claim it is the free choice of two consenting adults. Deep in our souls, we maintain the impression that relationships are supposed to last, even though in our heads we know better. So we dance around goodbyes like a terminal diagnosis because technology gives us an out.

But maybe we are scared of goodbyes because we fail to recognize the opportunities they provide. Without goodbyes we have no room in our lives for new hellos. It is possible for our lives to become so cluttered with dusty, aging acquaintance-ships that there is no room for a deeper friendship to emerge. Having your hands full of connections from a past life keeps you from being present with the people right in front of you, and without fresh perspectives in life, how can you grow?

The only solid goodbye I can remember came from an African woman who was my next door neighbor last year. She had completed her final semester, finished her PhD, and was returning home. We only knew each other for a few months, but we had shared many heart-felt and inspiring conversations and found a sincere connection. I was driving her to the airport. Right before I could open my mouth and ask "do you have a facebook?" she looked at me and, as if reading my mind, said "Oh, Sarah, we will not meet each other again in this life. I will always remember you. May God bless you." And with that she left. What a rare treasure, what a refreshing truth. We won't see each other, not in this life. But the God who placed eternity in our hearts promised a resurrection and a reunion, and we shall see each other then.

That goodbye became a treasure. Now I can can remember my friend without the regret or guilt of "oh, I should reach out to her again..." I'm free to take what I learned in that relationship and invest it fully in those whom God brings my way today. Her impact on the earth is magnified as I allow that memory to shape my current interactions. Sometimes saying goodbye seals the blessing of the relationship in a way that text-message updates never can.

So I watch my client leave with a swell of pride and a tinge of regret. I must have muttered something about how I appreciated our time together or wishing best of luck; I have not prepared myself well or even recognized how I sincerely cared for this person's progress. But constrained by my role as counselor, I know good and well there would be no facebook, no keeping in touch, and hopefully I won't ever "see ya later." My position forces me to stand tall and say the word, which pushes rolls out unpracticed like a foreign language:  goodbye. It feel good to do so, like the completion of a journey, or dusting off the hands after a job well done.

I've learned that it is respectful, honoring, to give a solid and sincere goodbye. You give that person a stepping stone on their journey, and whatever you have invested in them can be passed on. Even so, I believe that in my human need to keep things as they are, I would be unable to let go without the hope of eternity ahead.

green eyes?

I don't like to admit this, but its easy for me to get jealous. 

I for one am an Experience-Chaser. There's rarely something new that I won't try once. There is no country I don't want to visit, and not many ministries I'd be reluctant to dip by toes into (maybe except for Ladies' Quilting--an exceptional love-ministry that's a little too slow paced for me. Sorry, Mom!) In middle school I would read biographies of famous missionaries throughout history and think "That's where I want to be." Front-lines, in the jungles, ready to throw comfort and caution to the wind for the thrill of a new adventure. Such a life would not be a noble sacrifice for me, because the glory and romance of travel is by far more desirable than the security of home. This is the restlessness God wove into my spirit at a young age, and I know its there for a purpose.

I know this restlessness is there for a purpose, even when composing research proposals during my 19th year straight of full-time education. I know it even when bedtime is 10 pm because tomorrow will be a full day of reading text-books. I know that I was made to travel to far-off places even when waiting in the suburban traffic between school and the office for the sixth time that week. Even when I rest my mind with a novel on a Sunday afternoon, part of my heart is still yearning for battle. Perhaps I know it especially because of where I am right now.

Often I can live in this tension, knowing that I'll have my moment one day. But waiting for that one day is hard when it seems like others around you are living the dream right now. Pictures and blog posts of glorious destinations and missionary journeys clutter my face book wall, and instead of reminding me to pray for my friends in those remote places, they tend to whisper "look where you're not...".

...As if in this awesome adventure following the Creator of the Universe, we could actually miss out on anything! 

Read that line again, and notice the pride involved with imagining I am missing out on ANYTHING when I have fellowship with the Living God. 

There's something more beautiful, more lasting, than standing on the mountain top. Something that makes a bigger difference than bushwhacking new trails, something more enriching than learning to commune with someone in another language. I'm of course talking about Walking with God. Walking in obedience, growing closer day by day, learning to communicate with God on a personal level: there can be nothing greater. I may not know what my friends in those remote places have sacrificed to be obedient to God's call on their lives. I do know that if I were to ditch this season to pursue the life I want, I would be foregoing an essential period of growth and development necessary for effective work. But worse than that, I would be just plain disobedient. 

My life does not belong to me!

 And that is a freeing and delightful thing to confess. Let that truth sink in, and I no longer am harnessed with the responsibility to ensure I make all the right choices for my maximal happiness. Instead I am motivated to put my everything into whatever is immediately before me, knowing that God will not waste a single drop of sweat. It's all good work. Souls here in suburbia are just as precious in the eyes of our Father as souls on the other side of the world. Oh, that I may have eyes to see the thrill of the spiritual battle right in front of me. I would be too energized with purpose and urgency to feel envious of anyone else's calling.

God and sin

I am no apologist. I may pretend to be one, but I don't have the credentials. So please take everything I say through my ever-present counseling lens. Know that I am also working from the assumption that the Bible is the authoritative Word of God. We can debate the dependability of Scripture later, but for now let us assume that everything it says is true, in that it accurately depicts Reality.

The Question

The other day someone asked me an insightful question. "Sure," they said, "I guess I can see how God is good for sacrificing Himself for us, but is He really good to allow sin in the first place? He made us sinful, so doesn't he have only Himself to blame?" Essentially this is a slightly more sophisticated version of the Problem of Evil. We answer, "Evil exists because of our sinful choices; we live in a broken world because of our sin." Most people stop there, short of the logical follow-up: "Why then would God allow sin? If He is all-powerful, couldn't He make free beings who are also inherently good? Couldn't He design human hearts to freely choose His will?" And we can't answer, "good cannot exist without evil," because we know in fact that it can. That is in fact the Hope that we yearn for, the completion of our sanctification, when indeed we will finally freely choose what is good instead of what is bent and broken.

Is God so needy that He had to test our love? Is He so egocentric that He condemns those who don't worship Him? Lewis would say that there's no true love unless risk is involved, and since Love is the highest good, all the evil in the world is worth its pure existence. Calvin would say that God intended the Fall from the beginning to exemplify His Holiness and Grace. I think these are both worthy answers and not mutually exclusive. Still, it does seem trite when you've been hurt by the sins of loved ones, or grappling hopelessly with the sin in your own heart. God seems cruel to make your pain into an object lesson highlighting His goodness.

We just don't know what we just don't know

At this point the only real answer is, 'I don't know; God is God and I'm not, so I can't expect to understand what He does.' Yes, that does feel like a cheap answer, an excuse for not-knowing. (I wish that worked in class! "Sorry, Professor, I haven't studied this material before, so how would you expect me to know? You're the teacher, I am not, so I can't be expected to understand why you gave me a C instead of an A. It's not fair to give me this hard assignment; you're setting me up for failure!) Indeed, it would be a cheap answer if we used it as an excuse to never inquire into difficult matters. And it would be cheap if it wasn't absolutely true. So let's camp on this one for a second.

Why am I so confident in relying on the gap between God's understanding and my own? First of all, because it is an enormous gap. Wisdom, or understanding, comes from God, and not from me. Read what the writer of Proverbs says, personifying Wisdom:

"The Lord possessed me at the beginning of his work, the first of his acts of old. Ages ago I was set up, at the first, before the beginning of the earth....Before the mountains had been shaped, before the hills, I was brought forth...When He established the heavens, I was there; when He drew a circle on the face o the deep, when He made firm the skies above, when He established the fountains of the deep, When He assigned to the sea its limit, so that the waters might not transgress His command, When He marked out the foundations of the earth, then I was beside Him...and I was daily His delight, rejoicing before Him always, rejoicing in His inhabited world, and delighting in humanity." 

Prov 8:22-31

 God understands how the world works, both the natural and metaphysical laws governing it. I do not. And it is incredibly prideful of me to suppose that I know better than He does. Or to call Him a liar because I don't understand something. My mental faculties are not properly equipped for the task. You see how we can't expect to arrive at a right answer when we are using the wrong tools. Its like trying to measure light with a ruler, or sound with a scale. Its like standing on top of the Sears Tower and with my naked eye claiming there are no rats in the alley underneath. Its like trying to do advanced trigonometry while only counting on my fingers and toes. Its like trying to change a tire when all I have is a pair of scissors. We don't have the right tools for the task.

Is it possible that one of the purposes of this life is so that God can give us the right tools? That maybe in time we will learn how to do advanced metaphysics correctly? Admitting that you don't know what you don't know is not a cop-out answer. It is in fact the only essential foundation if you intend to get anywhere with your reasoning.

I don't know a lot, but as a good counselor should, we'll work from our strengths. Let's take a look at what we do know.

What we can know...

God exists in Trinity, complete fellowship and perfect love. God is not lonely that He needs our love, nor is He insecure that He needs our worship. But nonetheless He created humanity in His image for the purpose of fellowship with Him. I for one am glad He made that choice. He said that creation was Very Good. I can trust that He's telling the truth.

And I don't know where evil or temptation came from, or how we can be morally culpable for a nature we are unable to overcome. Like Lewis describes in Perelandra, I wonder what would have been if we could have skipped the sections between Genesis 2 and Revelation 21, if we could just have gone from Paradise to Paradise without all this nasty rebelling and killings and yearning and famine and hatred and enmity. I can't know that part. But what can I see come from it all?

I see that God is astoundingly merciful. 

I see that God is forgiving. He takes the cost of all this on Himself. 

I see that God is patient. He forgives again and again and again and again...

I see that in my stubbornness He doesn't leave me to fend for myself. 

I see what it means to be Holy. 

I see my complete dependence on Him to make me Holy. 

I rejoice to see Him faithfully making me so. 

I know what suffering is, and obedience and perseverance, courage and meekness.

I crave God like my infant niece screams for milk. 

I've tasted the joy of seeing Him come through again and again. 

I have Hope. 

I know that when I mess up or decide I've had enough, He's never had enough of me. 

Face-to-face with the sin in my own heart, I see that my identity is not in what I do or how I perform or even what I think about. My identity is completely in Who God says I am.

So I can't know all the answers, but that's not a cop-out. Its a starting place, by which I end up experiencing God in ways I never would have if I were hung up on an answer I could understand.

From where we've come and where we're going.

At the moment I am on a train rolling north through Illinois.
 I love train rides. At the cost of submitting your day to another's time table, you get to cut across forested hills and creek beds hidden from the highway in the otherwise-flat Midwestern farmland. Today I'm feeling especially hipster in my light brown top, side braid and striped red Toms. Add a fountain pen and leather green journal and I'm all set. Today I'm in tune with the part of my heart I left in the Southern Missouri Ozarks...pick-up jam sessions involving banjo and harmonica, cowboy boots and flannel, hay fields and rolling acres of pastureland dotted with sleepy towns with just a touch of drawl. Southern Missouri, where my spirit grew wings.

I just left an all-too-brief visit home. I grew up in a suburban college-town, a different world yet not far from my precious Ozarks. I come from a family with that rare kind of solidarity, where every visit home is an overflow of love and laughter, and every place holds gallons of nostalgia; memories of my childhood and adolescence which formed my faith, my passions, my direction. I'm blessed every time I go home by people with whom I am perfectly safe to share my heart: the good, bad, and the ugly. This last visit included arguing over finer points of the application of faith, of laughing till we cried over stupid Youtube videos, and of cuddling the most beautiful 4-month old this world knows. (Nothing is as delightful or rewarding as being the recipient of my niece's coy smiles!) Every visit home as I drift off to sleep in the same bedroom I slept in as a 6th-grader, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude. My parents, by the grace of God, have passed down a strong and solid legacy of faith. This is the place of my roots.

But now I'm headed North again, into a world I once referred to as my own personal Siberia. Out of what I once thought was a wintery wasteland of suburban life, God lifted up a family for me, a mission and a purpose. This life moves forward with a different kind of joy, one fueled more by the work itself than by the atmosphere. Here the farmer sows the seed between highways and office suits, coffee shops and synagogues,  and by His Grace some find good soil. I came face-to-face with God's enduring faithfulness here in a wilderness of business and buildings, and I recognize that there is so much work to do. And that work is good.

Columbia filled up my soul, Bolivar set free my spirit, and now Chicago is nurturing my mind. Without the previous seasons I would be completely unprepared for this new task. If I had stayed in those places that I've come to love so deeply, I'd be missing out on something else so good.

But I guess this is really what I want to say, dear faithful reader (and if you've stuck with me this far, props to you!): Ultimately this is all about chasing God. If I intended to chase after my own happiness or satisfaction, I'd surely have settled in my beloved Ozarks, never far from my roots. But then what benefit would these blessings have been? Having no true outlet, this river would have turned stagnant. Blessings are meant to be shared. Strong foundations are meant to be built upon. I am reminded instead that we all are seeking a higher country, a heavenly one. In a new place I discover the One who made those wide plains; who is more mysterious and beautiful than the Ozarks; who is wilder than my forrested hills;  who hand-crafted each person running through Chicago streets. In Him there is no greater Inheritance; without Him, no lasting peace, no vast or joyful freedom, no security or adventure. Aslan, take me up on your back, that we can run further in and further up with each new day.

The need to be challenged

I'm generally a very happy person, so when I wake up with a vague sense of inexplicable sadness, I know something's off. Some wispy, sneaky force has crept into my life, surprising me with its sinking presence. That something is boredom.

As a graduate student, daily life mandates that I don't have time to be bored. I think the last time I was bored might have been freshman year of high school, before AP classes and part time jobs began demanding more and more of my time. Throughout college I made it my habit to fill every spare inch of life with SOMETHING, always preferring industry over rest, falling into stress rather than idleness nine times out of ten. What keeps me driven? My identity is far too rooted in my accomplishments, of course. But it takes far more to overcome an identity issue than just the ability to articulate it.

So this year I've taken some intentional steps to create more space in my life. A regular bedtime routine gets me up at a consistent hour, so I have plenty of time in the morning to pray, eat, and work out. I've blocked out specific times for homework so I'm no longer filling every gap with reading assignments, and now I can actually have a social life. I quit my job, found a more restful one, and picked up a second instrument. I intentionally took one class less than I have room for so that I could get the most out of my internship experience. So far this has been the best semester yet. I am rested, I am focused, I am at peace.......I am becoming bored. And for someone whose concept of self-worth is derived largely from the number of checks on her to-do list, boredom does not feel good.

Ironic, isn't it, that having recently emerged from one of the most difficult seasons of my life, I now crave challenge more than anything. I appreciate the rest in between, but now I'm off the mat and ready for another round.

So what exactly is my problem? Do I need to learn how to rest? Or, having had my rest, do I need to learn to reach farther to challenge myself?

In the boys club I help out with as part of my internship, I saw an amazing thing. Put 13 rowdy elementary and middle-school-aged boys in a gym, and six adult women can have some understandable difficulty keeping them quite and in line. Our primary concern is their safety, and everything we do is geared toward providing an atmosphere of safety which they may or may not experience at home. Then yesterday I saw a truly inspiring thing. One man led the group, and instantly commanded their complete attention with these words: "If you don't work as team in this activity, I promise you, someone will get hurt." 

Challenge accepted. Against all of our maternal instincts, the children were led through activities and drills without the security of cushy floor mats and helmets. And these were indeed risky drills; activities which made us hold our breath and cross our fingers, worse-case-scenarios running through our minds. And you know what? No one got hurt. The boys rose to the occasion because the risk involved was real. As a result, they were a more cohesive group than I've ever seen them, and each and every one of them was lifted up and encouraged by the group in a way six women probably wouldn't have been able to recreate.

If I'm honest with myself, in the absence of an overwhelming class load and work schedule, I have forgotten how and why I need to challenge myself. In my professional development, as I rub shoulders with people who are different than me, in my free time, am I making choices that intentionally put myself in the zone of good and necessary risk?

Am I intentionally reaching out to people? That's a risk, because then they might suck me dry, or worse, not like me. Am I willing to lead my client into that important topic of conversation? That's a risk, because it's going to be uncomfortable! But I'm not going to be helpful if I play it safe.

Cutting down the business on my life has been essential. It's been restful. Most importantly, it has revealed to me the ways I fill up life so I don't have to be challenged. Rest is important, but challenge is equally as vital. There's no real excuse for boredom.

"The Hope of Heartbreak"

I would like to direct your attention to this excellent article, The Hope of Heartache.
I love the way the author describes the deep reality of something we usually belittle or deny. Her authenticity is startling and refreshing.  I appreciate how she is completely unembarrassed by her pain, and rightly assumes that most everyone has or is or will endure this same grief.

I was delightfully surprised by her thoughts because of how often we minimize or laugh off this particular pain. How many times have I myself uttered an encouragement which deflects attention away from the trial...
               "You deserve better...."
              "You'll find someone else.."
              "In a few months you'll feel better," or
              "Maybe you should get a dog."
How often have I tried to belittle or deny my own grief because it seems silly to talk about, though it was the loss of something so precious.  It is simply human nature to smear yellow over deep dark oceans of grief, but this tendency is especially true in regard to heartache, and especially in Christian circles. (Give me one good Christian song about the loss of romantic love. Okay, Reliant K and Jon Foreman come to mind, but certainly nothing you'd hear on K Love.)  We just want to pretend its not as difficult a journey as it really is. But by doing this, when we pretend that Heartache is somehow a "second-rate" grief, we lose the opportunity to experience God's faithfulness, and we deny the value of what God made good.

It is so easy for us to pretend that Heartache is no big deal, especially if my pride is involved. Break-ups are a sucker-punch to pride you didn't know you had. For whatever reason, a break up means admitting you were wrong, and no one wants to be wrong. We may also think that if other people see our pain, we might be written off as desperate, as if pain caused by one area of life means you're automatically weak. This is as illogical as saying I shouldn't cry over my broken arm because the rest of my body is in good shape. For Christians, however, I think the deepest lie is believing that finding my satisfaction in Christ means not having any other desires. Nothing could be further from the truth. Contentment in Singleness (as well as marriage) means sacrifice, and losing a spouse or potential spouse is a loss nonetheless.

We miss out on something very important when we try to minimize this type of grief. For a culture which goes to great lengths in celebrating marriage, why do we then fail to pay homage to the loss of it? If God Himself instilled in us a yearning for intimacy, would we then ascribe this ache to the devil or to human weakness? Could it be that the loss itself is a gift to be treasured, just as the gift which is celebrated?

I have been guilty myself of minimizing grief, of trying to "be strong" in the face of loss. I have "shrugged off" the deep ache as an inconvenience or weakness, pretending to be "over it" much sooner than I should have. But beyond being inauthentic, this only results in minimizing the Good Thing God Himself gave. If this hurt less, that means the relationship would have been less.

The fact that this is painful now means what we had was very good. Such a good thing deserves to be celebrated and deserves to be grieved.

As the author reiterated, Love is worth it. Are you bearing a deep grief because of what was lost? Then you are strong, because you loved much. Sisters, you are NOT pathetic when you ache for someone to hold you. Brothers, you are NOT desperate as you watch and wait for her to enter your life. And as much as you want to savor every wonderful moment with someone you love, so too hold onto each hour of suffering as if you are undergoing something holy. Because you are. And when that sun finally does break out, it shines out all the clearer.

I've finally seen it; it's worth every minute of waiting.

Dating is like backpacking

I was inspired by this post by Samuel Kee: Dating is Like Going into a Haunted House.
True, thought I. Though I have no high-school dating experiences to speak of (praise God I was spared!), as an outside observer it seems like a legitimate comparison.
Then you approach marriageable age, and the scene changes. Suddenly dating is expected, and in fact, appropriate. Though I'm no dating expert, I've taken a couple trips, and this is what I've found.

Dating is like a backpacking trip:

• Its highly idealistic, until about 20 minutes in. Then suddenly you realize that this is a big deal and what did you get yourself into and oh my gosh, we're really here and how did we get here and I can't believe I'm doing this! Elation and excitement and being overwhelmed all at once. You realize that this is not a small decision, but there's no turning back now. 
• Like a Haunted House, it's still risky business, Perhaps more risky now that you're backpacking. You could roll an ankle or break a bone; you could get lost or run out of water; at the very least your feet start hurting after a while when you realize this trip actually involves some work and some sacrifice. 
• Higher risk, more work, requires  more intentional planning. Trips like this--successful ones--don't happen by accident or on a whim. But the element of calculated risk is precisely what makes the journey epic. Which leads me to the next point...
• Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination. Cliche but true. You are passing  some absolutely phenomenal views. This doesn't happen in every day life or without sacrificing some comforts here and there. But the view is worth it. Sometimes it really is best not to stress over your destination and to enjoy the view. On the other hand...
• Pace yourself. Injuries happen when you're clamoring down a mountain-face of scree. Don't run because you're bound to trip on something. As each new turn unfolds another stunning landscape, enjoy it. Don't rush through the wonderful. 
• Consult the experts. Your own past experience will only get you so far, and each trail is different, with different discoveries and risks. And for Pete's sake, don't go sneaking off into the woods alone! Your people back home want to know you are safe, so give them a call from time to time and tell them where you are. At the very least they can call in a helicopter if things don't go as planned. And don't forget to check the map from time to time and make sure you're still on the right path. 
• Be conditioned. No one goes from couch potato to Sherpa in one day. Journeys like these take exercise: patience and discipline, the ability to be uncomfortable, good humor, a sense of adventure,  grace, thoughtfulness, communication,  and the humility to admit you smell bad after three or four days. Are you developing the disciplines to be a good hiker? Are your muscles and lungs strong enough to finish the journey? Don't sit around playing XBox while you're waiting for your trip to start. Get out there and get in shape!