May 18th Devotion from Jesus Calling year-long devotional book by Sarah Young:

“COME TO ME with your plans held in abeyance. Worship Me in spirit and in truth, allowing My Glory to permeate your entire being. Trust Me enough to let Me guide you through this day, accomplishing My purposes in My timing. Subordinate your myriad plans to My Master Plan. I am sovereign over every aspect of your life!

 

“The challenge continually before you is to trust Me and search for My way through each day. Do not blindly follow your habitual route, or you will miss what I have prepared for you. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts.”

References used: John 4:24; Isaiah 55:8-9 (NKJV)

Let’s trust God and rest in His arms today.

Photo Credit: Alex Lin

“Just as the Heavens are higher than the earth, so also my ways are higher than your ways, and my thoughts are higher than your thoughts” – Isaiah 55:9

On numerous occasions this past year I have found myself thinking, ‘but actually, God is in control.’ As if I never learned anything from the children’s song, He’s got the whole world in his hands, so many times my lesser conscience has forgotten that, actually, God is in control. As Christians, I know that God is watching me, listening to me, guiding me. So why is the act of trust and resting in the knowledge that I am loved, cared for, and divinely protected so difficult to fully realize?

1 Kings 19:11-12 says, “The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by. Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper”

And the Lord was in the whisper. God may be many things, a teacher, a maker, the ultimate force of judgment, but how often has he been a source of peace? How often have we asked Him for assurance from anxiety, and He has given us rest?

For anyone who constantly finds themselves worrying about this and that, about getting that next paper in or making sure that the balance between school, friends, and sleep has reached perfect equilibrium, there is indeed someone who not only knows your past, your present, and even your future, but listens to your thoughts and wants to be involved in your everyday life. We know that God is in control, so let’s rest in His presence, and find peace in His comfort.

Actually, God is in control.

Photo Credit: Joe Wong

Berkeley taught me to overcome adversity, expand the frontier of possibilities, and defy comfort with the status quo.  Sounds like the beginning of a graduation speech.  But a different face emerges while playing catch-a-phrase:

…they’re nature lovers who don’t want something to get cut down…  BERKELEY!

…a cloud of people holding up signs, with lots of writing, and shouting…  BERKELEY!

…not below, but _____…okay, and another word for middle…   BERKELEY!

Yes, Berkeley’s fame lies in the memories of tree-huggers, storms of protesters, and above-average people.  But most students, including myself, are a bunch of over-achievers who live for the next episode of big-bang theory.  We are a part of a campus community inflicted with GPA obsession and yet habitually work to perfect the art of the last minute.  We are ridiculously passionate about rather obscure topics and hope to persuade others to join our cause by handing out fliers on Sproul plaza.

Some other Berkeley experiences…

…using the campanile chimes as an alarm

…rolling down 4.0 hill, nearly crashing into picnickers

…sharing a library table with a homeless person

…eating at Asian ghetto when Berkeley has so many other restaurants

…learning how the curve can work to your advantage

…expressing individuality in breaking social norms IS the norm

We are an intellectual society, ingrained with the values of diversity, environmental stewardship, and cooperation—except when we’re in the same class, competing for grades.  Talk to multiple students on campus, and they’ll likely disagree with me.  Berkeley simply cannot be put in a box, packaged neatly, and wrapped with crisp corners; much like modern art, it’s open to interpretation and yet Berkeley remains a product of stereotypes.

In choosing colleges, I was guided by the idea that Berkeley was an urban, liberal college for the academic elite with a lot of school spirit.  I doubted whether I would “fit” into the campus community, but knew it would be a faith-stretching experience for me—one beyond my comfort zone.  Turns out, Berkeley is a school and town where misfits and minorities of all varieties belong.  So, my parting words to you echo our campus motto: FIAT LUX—let there be light.

Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.  - Matthew 5:16

Photo Credit:  Kevin Gong

Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest….”  Meditating over this week’s blog topic, Matthew 11:28 came to mind.  Reading Facebook posts about people taking their last exams and turning in their final papers for the academic year, I thought the topic was very appropriate.  The finale of certain events in life, such as the academic year, that long work week, or even any positive change that gives us a break from a continuity, really allows us to enjoy what life feels like on the other side.  The calm, peaceful and perhaps non-apprehensive side.  The side called, “rest.”  How wonderful.

Daily, monthly, and yearly schedules can be excruciatingly tiresome without any sort of breaks.  Even if we enjoy what the calendar or daily schedule consists of, things can get very hectic and even painful, if we don’t enjoy some time to get our minds clear and rested.  Many times, we can lose focus on what we need to accomplish if we work too hard.  It’s only natural to feel sick of something if we don’t step away from what our tasks entail on whatever level that may be.  That’s why the Lord created, day and night, as well as fall, winter, spring and summer.  Lunchtime means break time, as does summer or winter.  So go ahead, rest, and take a break.

How good does it feel to finally take off that backpack after hiking all day around campus?  Take that last exam?  Or put the briefcase down after that long day of work at the office?  Turn in that number model right before the weekend?  Whatever it may be, there is nothing better than enjoying that moment in which you finally lay down and…rest. Spiritually, we get bogged down as well.  In fact, many people carry around heavy backpacks and briefcases full of guilt or even worry.   But Jesus wants to give us rest.  He wants to carry that burden for us!  In fact, He died so we wouldn’t need to carry that sin, worry, and insecurity around.  It’s not worth carrying it, knowing that the Lord has given us rest.  When Jesus says that He would give us rest, He meant it.  Now, we just have to master the task of letting Him carry the burden  (if we ever can)!

If we can learn to rest in Him, we’ll really lead healthy spiritual lives, which will then inevitably extend into, our financial, academic, and physical lives.  We must learn to take that break by giving it ALL to Jesus.  No more holding onto that heavy baggage.  Let Jesus carry it.  And rest.

Photo Credit: Liber the poet

What would the world be like without mothers? What if we were born into a world without a constant, steady, nurturing figure? What if we had no one to kiss us goodnight, to clean our scraped knees, to hug us close, and to believe in us? It would be a sad world, indeed—a world where we might be oblivious to the fact that such warmth and nurturance is possible.

Without my mother’s patience for me, I would not have realized that I can keep on trying even if I fail. Without my mother’s storytelling, I would not have learned about our wonderful and loving God from an early age. Without my mother’s encouragement, I would not have believed that I could achieve that which seemed impossible. Without my mother’s love, I would not know that unconditional love among humans is possible.

Because of my mother’s example, I know how strong a woman can be. Because of my mother’s trust in Jesus, I know that no trial can defeat me. Because of my mother’s laughter, I know that joy goes beyond circumstances. And because of my mother’s nurturance, I have had the freedom to explore the world while having a safe place to come home to.

As we celebrate mothers around the world this weekend, we say to each mother:

Without you we would not be here, and without your influence we would not be the individuals we are today. Thank you for all you do and all you have done. You are irreplaceable, and we honor you and love you

Photo Credit: David J Laptorte

It’s a dustless attic.  No, it’s a library of…shoeboxes?  These shoeboxes were neatly arranged on shelves, no more than two boxes high.  I walked to the end of one row and saw a shoe box with my name on it.  It wasn’t my house, but the owner told me “Go ahead.  You can open it.”  So I pulled off the lid.  Inside were filed index cards, mostly white ones but a couple were colored.  I pick out a white one towards the front and read the writing.  I was surprised by what was on the card; it was a prayer.  A prayer I had said so long ago I had forgotten that I had prayed it.  It was answered in such a logical way I never recognized it or gave credit to whom it was rightfully due.  I turned to the owner of the house, and realizing he was God, I thanked him—the expression on my face was my best attempt to express my sorrow, gratitude, and admiration simultaneously.  God understood—of course he did.

So I turned back to the box and began to thumb through the rest of the prayers, chronologically.  I wanted to see what I had prayed over the years and how many I consciously remembered to this day.  I was also intrigued by the colored index cards.  I wanted to get through the white ones I had prayed because the colored ones must be prayers others have said for me!  Who prayed for me?  What was it about?  Did I ask them to pray about it?  Did they just decide to pray for me?  When did they pray for me—was it at a critical moment in my life?  I’m sure I could figure it out once I’ve read it…

God drew up beside me, much like the way my grandpa would come up behind me while I’m busy working and kiss the top of my head.  I immediately became aware of his presence; my thoughts were diverted from the shoeboxes of index cards.  He didn’t need to whisper, for we were already alone, and he said, “Come with me.  Come follow me.”   My heart melted as he backed away, taking several paces towards the door.   Of course I would follow him—my heart belongs to him and there’s nothing more I wanted than to be by his side.  So, I followed him and not a second thought went back to those shoeboxes because I was with the real deal himself.

We walked through the door frame and I recognized the house layout—we were headed down the stairs of my neighbor’s house to their basement.  The neighborhood kids and I spent a lot of time down there playing games like truth or dare and for important Nature Club meetings.  I remember the basement for dead rolly-pollies and the black widows that I never saw.  This particular time, the basement looked as if it were a freeze-frame of a movie.  Tina and Taylor were playing together—a scene from my life I will never forget.

Tina scurried to hide Taylor, and nonchalantly told me she could not play.  I knew she could.  Her mom had just said so.  The truth was she didn’t want to play—at least, not with me.  She rejected me.  Not only that, but also she covered up her rejection with a lie, as if I didn’t know what was really happening.  This heaped insult on top of my hurt.  So, I went home, telling myself that Tina was in a funk and would play again some other time.  Later on that day Tina ding-dong ditched my house, leaving a note along the lines of “4-1-1 earth to Rochelle, I don’t want to be your friend anymore.  I have Taylor now.”

That day our friendship changed.  Usually the next day Tina would knock on my door and ask to play.  I kept waiting and hoping she would.  But our 5^th grade cold war had started.  I was waiting for her to make the first move; I didn’t want to be the weaker person who came crawling to her front door asking to play.  So I waited.  The first three days were torturous, and I’m sure both sets of parents knew something was wrong.  A week passed without word from Tina. I began to wonder if she really meant it this time—that our friendship was over.

In one second of recalling the events following this one freeze-frame, I turned to God with a sharp alarm of anger and fear.  Why did you bring me here?  It had ruined my expectations of a delightful adventure; instead, I was revisiting a memory I had buried inside for nearly ten years.

But wasn’t this exactly the right time?  All these years passed, and I never really made peace with the scenario.  I blocked off that chapter of my life and made new friends—we went to different middle schools and high schools, after all.  Ten years later, and we still don’t talk though we live three houses away from each other.  Our moms are still friends, and occasionally I hear about Tina’s whereabouts.  But deep down, I still think of her as that girl in the basement who grew older but never grew up.  Isn’t it time to forgive—to truly let go, rather than move on?

So today I’m adding a colored index card to Tina’s box and a white one to my own:

God, change my heart towards Tina.
I’ve been holding onto this for so long.  I want to make peace and truly let go.
If need be, give me the opportunity and boldness to approach her and make amends.
Time doesn’t heal all wounds—You do.

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My Aunt Mabel was old when she was young. At least that’s how it seemed to me.

As the youngest of twelve children, my mother was raised mainly by her older sister. So Mabel was a frequent visitor in our home from my elementary to my high school years.

Perhaps my earliest recollection of her took is the scratchy “beard” she seemed to tub against my pre-schooler face when greeting me with a hug after one of the long trips that became her life. I never suspected that decades later trips like that would become my life too.

Aunt Mae usually came to see us after returning from exotic places like Hong Kong, Myanmar, or Taiwan. Fifty years ago these locales seemed as far away as the back side of the moon. We had no Google imagery, no YouTube videos, no low-cost air travel. Even knowing someone from another country was almost unheard of in the small West Virginia town where I was traumatized by that beard.

Mabel’s comings and going are woven like a thread through the fabric of memory spanning forty years of my life. If I let my brain slip into neutral, some images of her flash by:

She wears nothing but conservative black dresses and avoids cosmetics in all forms until finally giving in at age 70 by applying a tiny amount of rouge to her cheeks at a department store counter. I witness the event.

She returns from India to present my brother and me with large switchblade knives, which my mother promptly confiscates and we promptly confiscate back.

She is flat on her back in one our upstairs bedrooms recovering from yet another dreadful disease contracted in the tropics, the name of which I cannot pronounce.

She brings chopsticks from Taiwan for my brother, my sister and me and teaches us how to use them in a diner.

She tells stories of getting lost in northern India and accidentally driving right up to armed Chinese troops guarding the other side of the border.

She regales Janet and me with stories of her adventures on the road every time we meet in her home, in our home, in my parents’ home, and the nursing home bed where she would die.

Aunt Mae had a tremendous impact on me without ever knowing it. Perhaps she never stopped talking long enough to realize what she meant to me. But that was just her way.

If I could see her one more time, this is what I would tell her:

You taught me that women can do anything, that they are not furniture, that they are not just the support staff for male ambition.

You taught me the power of the spoken word and the importance of communicating passionately with groups.

You taught me that there are some sacrifices worth making by giving up the only man you ever loved to become a Pentecostal evangelist in 1930.

You taught me that the power of a message is all about the stories it generates and you told the best stories ever. I love you for that.

You taught me that God could provide by showing up with a new car every other year even though your income was tiny.

You taught me about hope by reciting the lyrics of songs so old no one even remembers them, songs that said things like, “I will meet you in the morning just inside the Eastern gate…”

You taught me that a calling is about strength, honor, and perseverance by fully investing your life and never backing down in the face of suffering or want.

You taught me that we are never more than pilgrims by traveling the world to bring the good news about Jesus to anyone who would listen.

You taught me about breaking new ground by being a college dean long before women did that sort of thing.

You taught me that God was powerful beyond my imagination by telling me one miracle story after another.

You taught me the story is the thing, the story of Jesus and His love, and the stories of those who love Him.

You taught me about humility by refusing celebrity and deflecting glory to God. I cannot even find a photo of you online other than the newspaper ads for the meetings you held in the mid-twentieth century.

You taught me the difference one person can make by being instrumental in the 1961 Myanmar revival and the growth of the Church there.

You taught me how to die by telling the story of God’s goodness in Jesus right to the end.

When I see you again, I will tell you these things face to face.

I will meet you in the morning just inside the Eastern gate…

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Normally I would have climbed out of bed to enjoy my morning ritual: a hot cup of coffee. There was just one problem: I couldn’t move. That is, without excruciating pain. The sharp muscle spasms assaulting the base of my spine were a result of having thrown my back out the day before. I felt like electric currents were shooting through my back every time I attempted to move.

In spite of my condition, I was determined to get up and get dressed. I got as far as my socks, then realized I could not bend my torso far enough to reach my feet. Even though I was destined to stay home and had to cancel my plans for that day, I still needed to wear my socks. My husband and I were living in a drafty house in wintry Vermont and I needed something warm on my feet. To make matters worse, I was alone. My husband had just left and could not rescue me. I was helpless.

Yes. It’s true. I admit it. I do not enjoy being needy. Pride and self-sufficiency are attitudes I learned growing up in a small town in rural, northern Wisconsin that valued a strong work ethic and personal independence, where asking for help was the unpardonable sin. There was an unspoken code in my community: suck it up. These traits can be admirable virtues, except when you can’t move. Regardless of how much I wanted to help myself, I was trapped in the reality that I could not put on my socks. What really bothered me was not the inability to finish getting dressed by myself. No big deal, I could always improvise and find ways to keep my feet warm. The real problem was that I couldn’t bring myself to admit I couldn’t do it. Getting dressed is so simple. I should be able to do it. Suddenly, I was vulnerable.

While all the drama was taking place I was surprised to discover that my friend Mary was knocking at my door. I am not sure why she was there, but her timing was impeccable. It wasn’t long before she discovered my condition. Mary was a bubbly personality whose smile and sparkly brown eyes could instantly warm a room. She was relaxed and nonchalant as she coached me to try and lay down, and then, one at a time, she slipped the socks on over my feet. I was busted. I hated being helpless, but even more I hated to see my pride and self-reliance exposed.

Being vulnerable can be awkward, embarrassing and even scary. But helplessness also can be healthy.  My gracious friend Mary showed me that we can’t always do everything by ourselves. More often than we would like to admit, we all need someone to “put our socks on for us.” I was faced with the startling truth that regardless of how strong and tough I would like to be, I am just like everyone else. Whether I admit it or not, I can’t go it alone.

Mary taught me that pride is really an opportunity to reveal our dependency on God and our need for others.  In reality we can’t even blink without God. Our whole existence, our life is so fragile that it hangs in the balance of one simple heart beat. So it’s okay to admit that you need help.  Moreover, when you feel helpless and your life seems out of control, you can just say, “Jesus, I need you.”  He loves to hear those words. He knows you need him. He was the one who said, “apart from me you can do nothing.”

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I want to know God’s will for my life.

When people ask that what are they really saying?

Sometimes I think we expect to sit across from God at a table as he hovers over his crystal ball waiting for him to reveal to us what the future holds so that we can know what kinds of decisions we need to make.

The problem with this is when seeking to know the future… we’re longing to know what we can’t know.

Embracing our limited understanding is exactly where God wants us to be so that our strength is in him an not ourselves.

But wanting to know still lingers doesn’t it…

Perhaps its because we are easily fixated on what we’re doing rather than who we’re becoming.

The Apostle Paul wrote about this very thing in what’s considered his most important theological legacy.  The longest letter he ever wrote which was addressed to the Romans.  And in the 12th chapter of this letter verse 2 says:

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God what is good and acceptable and perfect.”

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In 8th grade I made the most important decision of my life. I decided to follow Jesus for the rest of my life. But I was sorely confused about where to begin.

I started by not talking to some of my friends anymore. Bad move.

Then I bought a really fat Bible. Mostly good move.

Soon I discovered an appetite for Christian rock music. Bad move.

But I needed something more than external change. I needed more than a new genre of music or lifestyle. I needed someone to show me the way.

Jonathan was the youth pastor at my church. Looking back now I realize he was just a college student with a part time job. But he took his job seriously.

He would pick me up in his noisy green jeep every week before school and take me to Denny’s for breakfast. I had a zero period which meant he had to come at 6:45 am so we would have enough time to meet.

He taught me how to read my Bible. And he showed me what it really meant to be a Christian. He invested in me far beyond what was required of him. He may been just a college student, but he made a difference in my life. Whenever I impact someone today, I know that it’s a large part due to the impact Jonathan had on me.

We will never learn Christianity by reading a book. It’s not something you can study and dissect at your own pleasure. For it to exist, faith must be exercised. We just need someone to show us the way.

Photo Credit: Vivek Jena