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! 

An Unexpected Journey

 “It was at this point that Bilbo stopped. Going on from there was the bravest thing he ever did. The tremendous things that happened afterward were as nothing compared to it. He fought the real battle in the tunnel alone, before he ever saw the vast danger that lay in wait.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

As of today, I am half way through my Master's program.

The past 16 months have been filled with peaks and valleys, twists and turns that I never could have anticipated. When I first felt the draw to study in the Chicago area years ago, I had no idea what lay ahead of me. Since then I've wandered back and forth from Exile and the Promised Land, often confusing each for the other. I've found new dear friendships while others grow more precious through time and distance. I've been stretched and sharpened by the glorious exchange of ideas, experiences, cultures and perspectives here among my classmates. I am humbled by the intelligence, passion, and insight of my peers. (You guys will all make fantastic counselors!)  I've been embraced by a community which I can call family. I'm incredibly thankful and delightfully frightened at the changes God has enacted within me in the process. I realize now more than ever that my heart, my dreams, my calling and maturity are under serious construction in this place, and this indeed a severe grace: proof of God's ownership over my life.

I can  hardly believe I'm half way through. I can hardly imagine what lay ahead in the next 16 months.