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.

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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!!" 

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Photo credit: Sonya Yencer

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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

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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. 

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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.