Knees to the Earth

If I Could Only Have What My Father Gives Them

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Thu, 24 Jan 2013 06:23:00 +0000

Some people read their Bible every day. I prefer to listen to mine.

Thanks to the phone app by YouVersion, there are a couple translations of the Bible with audio versions. So, as I drive to and from work, I am able to listen to Scripture. And it is a totally different experience than reading and studying it. There are some days when I am totally caught up in the drama of the story (when practically anything to do with David is streaming out of my earbuds) or when I am moved to tears (by the tragedy of Samson's story, or by Jesus' prayer for Jerusalem).

Often times, I am reminded of something loosely related to the story at hand. And thank God for smartphones because more times than not, I can head out on a webquest that enriches what I am listening to. (Sidenote: I seriously think whomever can be creditted with having a search engine at my fingertips 24/7 should receive a peace prize of some sort. Or something downright spectacular, like a larger mansion in heaven.)

The other day, I was listening as usual and it came to the Parable of the Prodigal Son as told in the Gospel of Luke. Bits of prior knowledge and context filtered through my head as I listened to the familiar story. Tim Keller...John Ortberg...and then Keith Green.

When I was in high school, I went through a pretty hardcore Keith Green phase. I had the entire collection of his music. I listened to the CDs on repeat. For years. I read his biography. His faith and love for others inspired me. I stood in unity with him: our lives are to be lived for Jesus Christ. My eyes were on heaven, just like his. No Compromise.

I listened so much and for so long, that while his words are foundational to my faith, I couldn't really stand to hear the music anymore. When it became the fad, I tranferred all his music to Itunes and then onto my Ipod, but if a song ever came up on Random, I would switch to something else. I gave away the CDs, once cherished possessions, without much concern.

So, it was quite a surprise a few days ago, when I found myself pulling up a Keith Green song on my phone. Green had written a song telling the story of the Parable of the Prodigal Son, "The Prodigal Son Suite," and lines from the song were coming back to me in bits and pieces but I wanted to hear it in its entirety.

And the next thing I knew, I was getting onto the Lodge freeway with tears streaming down my face and I was 'singing' at the top of my lungs. It was sloppy and messy and I was so glad it was still dark outside so other commuters wouldn't get the full, nasty view.

I don't know why I continue to be surprised when the issues I have with God surface. They are the focus of my thoughts throughout the day. I seek out resources to explain them. For goodness sake, the majority of the entries on this blog are hitting on them! In fact, as this entry took shape in my mind, I thought, "Wow, another one on this same thing. The people are going to start getting bored."

I was half-tempted to call this one, "Daddy Issues." But, that term brings up an image that I am not going for. The pciture, however, that ripped right through me as I drove was that of a child thinking himself no longer worthy to be called "Son" and convinced that his only option after wasting his life away was to return to his gracious father in the role of a servant.

When Green penned this song, he was hoping it would be included in something like a Rock Opera so the imagery and music are really strong and emotional. (I know, I know, but it was the 70s. Offer him some grace. Things like that were hip back then...) As I listened, I saw a young man rolling his eyes at the slow life of his elderly father. I saw him insulting the old man, heading out to the fast life with easy women. I saw him drying up, left to rot. Feeding pigs, eating garbage. Then, convincing himself of his new plan. I saw the father, older still, running through fields. Whooping up the very best party he had ever thrown. Joyously praising God for a dead son brought back to life. Jumping, singing, crying out because what had been taken from him--his son!--was now restored.

That isn't the response of a man who just gained the service of a new servant.

And that's what hit me so hard. From this little story Jesus tells, we can know that God is the father. I have always known that I am the wayward child, and through sin in my heart, I am separated from him. What struck me that morning was this: I am the only one in this relationship that thinks myself unworthy to be called "Daughter." I have been trying for the basics, the earnings of a servant, when to my name is left the legacy of the Creator of the Universe...

For how long have I been acting as a servant to my Father when instead He is overjoyed that through the sacrifice of my perfect Elder Brother, Jesus, what was dead to Him--me--has been restored?

Why, if I am a Daughter, am I living as a servant?

I don't mean servant in the way Jesus talks about in other portions of Scripture. Yes, it is good to be a servant--the least among you shall be the greatest, if you want to be first you must become last, etc. All that is good; I am not knocking it.

The thing is, it is just expected that a hired hand do the work of a hired hand. No one's really blown away by that. But, when the heir, when the prince or princess, knowing full well what his or her status is in the Kingdom, humbles himself/herself in such a way to serve others, it speaks volumes. That's the stuff of great stories! It is unexpected; it is moving; it is transforming.

I have been working as a hired hand without the understanding of my status in the Kingdom. The work I have done for God has been done as onto a master, not out of love for a Father. I have done a lot; I have even seen success. But, something in it whispers that I will always toil in vain. Something tells me I will never be worth the wages I am working for. Something burns weariness into my bones and muscles.

I am always trying to serve God, but I have yet to grasp the fact that I am His Beloved Child. For some odd reason, I am more comfortable working in His fields instead. Or cooking His food. Mucking out His stables. I am doing the work of a hired hand and expecting only what a hired hand would receive.

This parable has glimmers of a different story, though: I was lost to Him, and He grieved. I was returned to Him, and He rejoiced. Over ME. He lets go of all dignity and runs to embrace me. He tells anyone who will listen, "She was DEAD! And now she is ALIVE!"

That's ME He's talking about?!

I am reminded of an incident I had listening to a different song a couple months previous. Another older, overplayed song: "I Can Only Imagine" by MercyMe. It's a great song, but one that had long lost it's effect on me because I had heard it so many times. Over the summer, it came on the radio, and as I sang along, I thought, "All these things that they are having me imagine myself doing, I can do them right now. Here on earth. I don't have to wait til heaven to sing, or fall to my knees, or stand in awe. I don't really do those things all that often, but nothing is stopping me from doing them."

I was contemplating that, trying to think of some other responses to seeing Jesus face-to-face that might be even harder to imagine when something else hit me. "It isn't hard for me to imagine my response to Jesus. Here on Earth, where I don't see him, I worship and serve him. So, it probably won't be that much different when I am in heaven and see him before me. But...what will Jesus do when he lays eyes on me?"

That's something I can hardly imagine. Where I could see my actions without much trouble, when my mind's eye turned to Jesus, there was nothing. Just a big, dark void.

I cannot, in any way, think of how Jesus will respond to our being reunited. It isn't that I think he will judge me harshly. It's that I cannot think of anything at all. Maybe I just don't really know how he feels about me.

In her book, Angry Conversations with God, Susan Issacs talks about how her relationships with God and Jesus are two different things. She's always been cool with Jesus, but her relationship with God is in need of some major counseling. I think, in some ways, that is true of me too. I understand, honor, and love Jesus. But, I fear and distrust God more times than not. And, then sometimes it gets all jumbled and the fullness of God in Jesus confuses me. And even though Jesus says he is a lens through which we can see God more clearly, I start seeing Jesus through my darkened "God lens" instead. They both become scary and shifty.

I don't know how any element of the Godhead, three-in-one, will receive me. But, something about the relationship, though frightening, keeps me coming back. I mean, really, where else can I turn?!

So, I've been functioning from a "maybe, if I present myself as a servant, I can have what He gives to His hired men" perspective. And, the weariness that comes with it shows me that I am so far off. So far from understanding. So far from transformation.

Because Scripture paints a picture of an entirely different experience.

The sound of pounding feet.

A dropped open mouth, tears of great disbelief.

Arms wrapped around my ankles.

Cries of joy, the succulent smells of a feast.

And the words a Loving Father: "My daughter was dead. My daughter was lost. My daughter's returned in the Hands of God!"

Angel Words

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Tue, 08 Jan 2013 02:33:00 +0000

As each new year dawns, I have a friend who enlivens our circle of aquaintances with a tradition: Choosing Angel Words.

For Jenn, this tradition started long ago. She has reached into her pink, flowered box a number of times and pulled out a Word for the new year. Others of us have only done it a couple times. And then there are the Freshman: we veterans watch as they pull their first Word and we get excited for them. And they don't really know what they are supposed to expect.

Angel Words are kind of like a resolution that someone else has chosen for you, a resolution that chance has afforded you. They mean as much or as little as you would like them to. It can become a lens through which you view the coming year, or it can be script on a scrap of cardboard that you forget within the hour.

Each year, it seems more and more people jump on the Angel Word bandwagon. This year, I joked with Jenn that she is going to become the "Metro Detroit Angel Word Lady" because it is growing more popular, and I even had people contact me about how to get a word from her!

The Angel Words are all positive, spiritual, social-themed words. Things like Love, Beauty, Trust, Healing, Wisdom, Commitment, Communication, Freedom, Release, Depth. At gatherings from late November through January, as each person puts their hand in the box and pulls out a card, everyone else waits expectantly. Sometimes the pairings are profound: knowing a person's circumstances, there is great impact and meaning in the Word they have chosen. Sometimes the irony in the choice is deep and heavy. Some friends are so--hmm, let's say "cynical"--that, every year, their Word is downright comical.

Everyone responds to their Angel Word differently. Some people are filled with joy and excitement at the prospect of a year focused on their Word. For some, it is a resigned, "Yeah, I would pick this one. The lessons in this topic just keep coming." Sometimes, people are agitated or frustrated by their choice and would prefer to choose something else. Others are confused, or can't seem to see a connection in their lives. Interestingly, no matter the initial response to their Word, most people remember or reference their Angel Word throughout the coming year. It seems to be a tradition that doesn't really mean anything, but has some importance too...quite fascinating.

My first Angel Word was Creativity. As I pulled it, I nodded in pleased acceptance. I could do with more creation in my life. That was 2010. As I bought a sketch pad and pastels in June, I thought of my Word. And as the dream of traveling back to South Africa on my own became an actual plan, I rejoiced in how it was playing out in my life.

Next came Beauty. Choosing that Word exposed some of my deep struggles. I felt vulnerable as I showed others. I was convinced that they were thinking, "Oh yeah, that's one she needs to work on!" I wondered if 2011 would be spent on endeavors chipping away at the physical masks with which I have grown comfortable, hidden, and 'unBeautiful.' In a surprising twist, Beauty came to mean "Calling unleashed upon my life." I saw a love for children, which has always been a seed in my heart, blossom and have an impact in my community here and in South Africa. I dove into serving at my church and developed deep relationships with others. And it was Beauty by all counts: Outstanding, Miraculous, Exhilarating!

Simplicity was the name of the game in 2012. Nothing is ever simple, but I did find my interests specializing. I found my taste in forms of entertainment changing. A desire to be released from the draw of material goods grew in my heart and loosened my grip on things. A love for other people replaced bits and pieces of my love for myself. Practices and disciplines that had always been tedious and tiresome became delights of my soul. My understanding of the things of God transformed as I repeatedly sought one source: Jesus Christ. None of those things are simple by any means, but the choice to embrace them became quite Simplistic for me: I desired to do so with singular focus. It was a year of clarification. These are the things that matter to me, plain and simple.

And now, for 2013, I have reached into Jenn's box once again and this time I grabbed Grace. And to be honest, I am at a loss. I am not self-conscious about it. I am not frustrated with the choice. But, I am not content with it either. I really don't know what it means. I don't have any idea how it will play out in my life in general, let alone over the next year. The more I think about the word and concept, I realize it is an obscure, hazy realm in my life: the murky recesses of an undisturbed pond.

I am praying for definitions in 2013. Experiences in Grace. Beams of light to filter through the mire and weeds to a foundation of rock and certainty. What does Grace look like? How does it feel? Will it be tender acceptance of my own shortcomings? Or forgiveness extended to others? Will I comprehend, on a deeper level, the violent and passionate sacrifice of Jesus?

More importantly, though, how will Grace change me in 2013?

Sara Groves says, "And this is grace: an invitation to be beautiful. And this is grace: an invitation. Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces, calling out our best."

Lord Jesus,

If Grace is Your invitation...

Draw out the best of who I am as my response.

Amen.

Featured Presentation

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Tue, 13 Nov 2012 17:12:00 +0000

I have--for the second time in history--the distinct pleasure of being a guest blogger on someone else's blog!

My friend, Ann, and her friend, Jen, have been friends for years. As the blogosphere grew, they had the idea of allowing others in on some of their interactions about life, raising their growing crowd of children, and struggles they face (like dealing with the death of a child and infertility). A Fly on the Wall is a treat--an honest and open glimpse into the lives of mothers who are friends...and friends who happen to be mothers!

Ann asked if they could post one of my blogs on their blog this week and I gladly agreed! If you are one of my regular readers, check out what's going on over at "A Fly on the Wall."

And if you're heading here thanks to Ann and Jen, Welcome! Glad you're here!

Loved by a Gentle King

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Sun, 11 Nov 2012 11:19:00 +0000

I have had a heavy heart for a couple weeks now.

It isn't depression. It is a weariness that comes from carrying a number of heavy things. It is aching shoulders, swollen hands, strained muscles, shuffling feet. People around me--adults, but harder to handle, children--are suffering. I guess there always is pain in the world, but for some reason, my sphere seems to have more on the surface right now.

Things piled on, and I felt helpless in all of it. This helplessness magnified some of my own struggles, my own junk. Holding patterns that have been nagging concerns instantly became unbearable. As the days trudged on, I wondered if I will be stuck under this weight, on my own, indefinitely.

What began as a weary musing soon became a fed up, bitter cry. It wasn't just coincidental anymore, it seemed to be illuminating once again, a portrait of a God who doesn't care that I toil alone. Or, more accurately, a God who is forcing me to toil alone. Teaching me one of these lessons I just can't seem to grasp: tough love that sets captives free.

That thought used to bring me some consolation, some kind of hope or something. God cared for me by withholding His goodness until I was perfected enough to receive it. But, this time, it just turned sour.

A God who stands at a distance in my hour of need?

He is no longer enough for me.

I don't think He ever really was, but I convinced myself that my broken and sinful self was in need of such drastic overhauling. The problem with this plan is that it puts all the pressure of this reconstruction on my already overburdened shoulders.

And at some point, it became too much. That heavy straw broke this camel's back. I had a couple honest conversations with God. And, while I thought He was silent in response to my belligerence, over the past couple days, I have received a whispered message quite different than I expected.

I have been writing lessons for the children at my church on the Fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. This week, I have been struggling to explain to 3-10 year olds that we display Gentleness in our lives because we follow and serve a Gentle King. It is an abstract concept, definitely, but really, the difficulty in this task came from the fact that I didn't believe Jesus was being gentle with me.

I was gathering images of Jesus from the Bible to show these children for whom I care so deeply. There is a beauty portrayed in passages of Scripture like Revelation 1:12-18:

I turned around to see the voice that was speaking to me. And when I turned I saw seven golden lampstands, and among the lampstands was someone like a son of man, dressed in a robe reaching down to his feet and with a golden sash around his chest. The hair on his head was white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire. His feet were like bronze glowing in a furnace, and his voice was like the sound of rushing waters. In his right hand he held seven stars, and coming out of his mouth was a sharp, double-edged sword. His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance. When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. Then he placed his right hand on me and said: “Do not be afraid. I am the First and the Last. I am the Living One; I was dead, and now look, I am alive for ever and ever! And I hold the keys of death and Hades."

A glorious Savior in all His majesty, not only reaching out to the scared John, but saying "Do not be afraid" as well? Wow, that is amazing. Power and Might restrained by Compassion and Gentleness. My heart lept at the idea of such a thing. And at the idea of showing these children the wonder of such a Truth.

But, how do you convince other people of something you don't fully believe yourself? In that moment when you're still lying on the ground as though dead, when the hand hasn't touched your shoulder, when the words haven't taken away your fear...you really don't know the Truth.

You're relying on what you know, but it isn't the Truth. If it were Truth, you wouldn't be a bag of bones on the ground. You would know. You would be free. You would live.

This is John, for goodness sake! How could he be afraid of his friend and teacher? He had stood on a mountain many years before when Jesus, flanked by Moses and Elijah, shown in all His glory. He had received as a second mother, Mary, at the broken feet of Jesus. He had searched an empty tomb and dined on fish prepared by the scarred hands that not only formed the world, but redeemed it too. How could he be afraid of Jesus?

Maybe being the last of Jesus' discples alive had something to do with it. Maybe seeing all of his friends killed for the sake of their message had started to wear on him. Maybe he was starting to feel alone and calling himself "The disciple Jesus loved" wasn't a way to brag to millions of readers throughout history, but a reminder to himself that despite feeling abandoned, he was indeed loved.

Loved by a Gentle King.

Feeling alone is one of my go-to wounds. Being left is a constant fear. Rejection is a whisp of smoke rising around every relationship. It's my very own experience of hitting the floor as though dead. And any hint of it gets me saying, "Okay, here we go again."

Left alone, struggling with a cumbersome parcels of pain, trying to learn the lesson that will relieve all the suffering at the feet of a silent God. That's my moment of death.

But, miraculously, the True God, the Gentle King, is reaching out His glorious hand.

It's kind of like this. I have a friend who grew up on the perimeter of Faith. He has just enough experience with church and Christians to be leery of the whole thing. But, he has a heart of gold that loves to serve. One time, we were at an event where other Christians were serving. In ignorance, assuming everyone present was of the same mind and faith as herself, a woman started commiserating with me and my friend about a cliche Christian topic. Having grown up in Christian circles, I knew just how dead this horse was that she was beating. Had I been alone, I wouldn't have even been bothered. But, knowing that my friend's beliefs were in a fragile stage of development everything in me was on edge, jumping, and screaming. I couldn't halt the conversation at that moment, or tell the woman that she could possibly be crushing faith in someone else's life, but I wanted to shout over the woman's judmental words, "No! No! No! Don't listen to this! Don't let it hit on your wounds! It isn't all like this! Don't turn away because of this aspect of Christianity! There's so much more to it than this!"

Maybe, instead of being a God who is teaching me lessons through experiences of rejection and loneliness, Jesus sees the experiences coming up in my life and yells out in compassion, "No! No! No! Don't listen to this! Don't let it hit on your wounds! It isn't all like this! Don't turn away from Me because of what this person is saying or doing!"

Maybe I don't hold this Truth with certainty. Maybe I will always struggle to believe in His Gentleness. But, maybe, instead of trying to grab and cling to a flow of water, I have to relax my fists into outstretched palms and cup it instead.

Maybe He isn't withholding until I reach perfection. Maybe He is reaching out as I lie at His feet as though dead.

Maybe it is the pattern of this world that continues to hurt me--trying to convince me that I will never be good enough. Maybe it isn't God and His "tough love."

Maybe Jesus is indeed a Gentle King.

I will wait.

For His hand to rest on my tired shoulder.

For His soft words to drive out my fear.

For His Gentleness to relieve this heavy heart.

A Prayer in a Bottle

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Sun, 28 Oct 2012 22:56:00 +0000

When you go to Cape Town, you hear a lot about wine. It is an area of the world known for wine production. Driving through, one sees vineyards bobbing up and down over rolling hills, dotted here and there by ancient, Dutch colonial homes and barns. The air in these neighborhoods seems richer: somehow fortified with extra nutrients or class or extravagance or something. It is appealing and elegant: buying organic food at farm stalls, enjoying a latte at a sidewalk cafe, imagining that you own the horse in the lush pasture across the way.

In 2011, I spent quite a bit of personal time visiting these areas of Cape Town. And partaking in the rich flavors the grapes of the region had to offer. I was there to experience life in South Africa, so I couldn't possibly leave out this important element of the country's rich culture.

My time volunteering was spent in the township of Masiphumelele. I worked with children whose parents had been deemed unfit by the government. These parents had left their children locked in a shack while they went in search of drink. They had sent their 8 year old to purchase beer for them. They could not be found when a neighbor man lured their daughter to a remote place to rape her. They had their newborn taken away from them at the hospital because of their chemical dependence. They had walked out of a family gathering without their month-old son, leaving him without a word, not even a name. They had left their 3 year old child walking the streets without clothing. They had injured their children in drunken, domestic brawls. They rarely ever came to visit their children because the choice between transportation and drinking was always too difficult for them to make.

When I wasn't exploring or volunteering, I was spending my time in the Backpacker where I was staying. I shared a kitchen and living space with bright and affluent youth from all over the world. Their parents paid good money for them to come to Cape Town to study, to experience Africa, to work. They had definitely come to do all of those things, but they had come to party as well. No night was sacred, every event was opportunity to celebrate.

As my trip wore on, the contradictions of these worlds began to wear on me. In Masiphumelele, alcoholism was ripping families apart. And mere miles away, in the vineyard neighborhoods, people were enjoying extreme opulence that producing high quality wine affords. Very intelligent, very capable international students were blowing off experiences to make an impact on such issues as poverty and HIV/AIDS so they could get their next sloppy high.

Snapshots, stories from my own experiences and those of my friends and family, started adding to the pile.

A loved one who exhibits two very different personalities: lively sober and hatefully drunk.

Beautiful family meal after beautiful family meal ruined by drunken arguments and brawling.

A little girl silently hoping strangers would not give her begging parents any money because she knew it wasn't going to be used to buy food for her and her siblings.

A smart, funny man so wounded by his life experiences that he cannot let go of the bottle, nor admit that he has a problem, burning through friendship after friendship.

A young woman, desperate for help with her boyfriend, showing up alone to an Al-Anon meeting.

A mother in tears, not knowing how the added diagnosis of Hepatitis C will affect her son already living in shambles.

A man on the streets, speaking longingly of the daughter he hasn't seen in over 20 years.

A teenager always on guard: watching for some sign that the moment had come when her mother decided on suicide.

A broken-hearted woman knowing that the most loving thing she can do is drive through the intersection without stopping for her drug-addicted brother holding a cardboard sign.

Drinking has never been an issue for me. Yes, there have been times when I over-indulged. There have been tough moments when I turned to an adult beverage for some relief. But, it never became a problem for me. I never came close to addiction.

In 2011, something in me snapped. The ravaging affect that addiction has had on people I know and love was too much for me to bear. I wished I could give the children in Masi their healthy, loving parents back. I wished I could make the young guys belting out the French National Anthem at 3 in the morning see that the world needs them. I wished I could turn back time and find a little girl growing up in absolute chaos and hug her really, really tight. I wished I could change the way so many broken people see themselves.

I wished I could do SOMETHING...but really, there was nothing...

So I decided to give up my casual glass of wine here and there. To forego my Newcastle or Guinness when out with friends.

It probably doesn't make all that much sense. I didn't have a problem, so what's me not drinking going to do to make the world a better place? It doesn't change any of the horrific alcohol-related scenarios playing out on a regular basis.

I know.

But, in my mind, each pint I pass, every bottle I leave capped or corked, is a prayer for those who can't.

"It doesn't have to be that way."

"You don't see them as worthless."

"Quiet the voices in their heads."

"Meet them in the darkness."

"Bring hope to the hopeless."

It isn't difficult for me to abstain from drinking. That's the easy part.

The hard part is believing that my prayers will be answered.

Yielding

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Sat, 27 Oct 2012 04:05:00 +0000

Life has been kickin' since coming home from South Africa in August. I have been go-go-going with work and church and life and friends and volunteering. It has been great, but my time in SA was not nearly as full of tasks and I spent quite a deal of it in my head--learning about myself and about my God. And that was really great.

It has been a struggle to transition back into the warp speed of "The West." I find myself savoring every spare moment of solitude. (Please note: coming from an extreme extrovert, those words carry a great deal of weight!) Though a To-Do list looms and days roar by, it is the moments of introspection and prayer I am able to squeeze out of my schedule that drive me. They are all the more precious now.

I have been contemplating a couple major themes in these times alone with my Savior. There seems to be a boulder in my path. A lump in my throat. A pebble in my shoe. No matter where I turn, some information or reference to these issues is before me.

One of these major themes is Self-Control. I am probably the only person who struggles in this area, so just bear with me for the rest of this blog post. ;) I share as a glimpse into what God is doing in me, but maybe, just maybe, it will speak to what is going on in some of your lives as well.

A couple weeks back, these were the insights flooding my mind, journal pages, and correspondence with confidantes:

I have been realizing that I don't believe God is in my ability to control myself--it baffles me that it is one of the Fruits of the Holy Spirit. I can't believe that when you have the Spirit in you, you are able to display better self-control. It really grows as you allow the presence of the Holy Spirit do its work in you? Crazy!

My response to controlling my behavior has always been two-fold: I either think it is entirely my job and God has nothing to do with it (and he has nothing to do WITH ME until I can get myself under control) OR I try to hand complete control over to God because it is too hard to do on my own and then I can blame Him when things go wrong.

The first option: it's impossible. I can't control myself on my own. I am powerless against the pull of sin on my desires.

The second option: God refuses. He will not take over control of my life. I am not a robot. I have free will. He will not call all the shots for me. He wants me to realize we are in this thing together. He isn't going to take over for me. He knows I will just blame Him for whatever happens--He knows, because even though He doesn't have control now, I still blame Him!

So, where does that leave me? How does God's presence in my life result in self-control? Who is in charge, which duties are mine and which are the Holy Spirit's? I think it goes back to "We are in this thing together." Yes, it is true that I have to hand over SOMETHING to Him--I have to trust Him. I have to trust that He wants to live intimately with me. I have to trust that His wisdom will guide me in the right directions. I have to trust that He loves me unendingly.

In doing that, I allow the Holy Spirit to have a say in my life. That seed sprouts and starts growing. We grow together--we do the dance. We live the life. We get to know each other more and more. And as trials come, my character is developed with the influence of the Holy Spirit. And as that character develops, fruit is produced. That is the evidence of the Holy Spirit in my life--love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and SELF-CONTROL! It isn't solely MY ability. And it isn't solely God's ability. It is OUR ability that has blossomed out of our relationship, our growing together.

The key to self-control, or any of the fruits is not trying harder. The key is opening up more to the Holy Spirit. It is welcoming more of the presence of God into my life...giving over my trust to Him. It is desiring Him above and beyond everything else. It is having a heart designed for His presence...a place for Him to dwell with comfort and delight.

And the key to that kind of trust is believing on a deeper level that He WANTS to live in me. The key to that kind of trust is believing that He LOVES me completely, that He is compelled to move closer to me, that He delights in who He created me to be. It comes kind of full circle here, because the only way to believe such things is by the power of the Holy Spirit.

I was so giddy to unearth this realization! I was digging deep and deep was responding with amazingg treasure! But, shortly after, all that seemed, well, like a whole lot of work. Belief, trust, surrender, obedience, love, devotion. These are not walk-in-the-park tasks. I have been downright overwhelmed by the work set before me in this area. I have my nose to the bottom corner of a 20 foot mural--zoomed in for micro detail on something larger than life and everything is pixilated and confusing.

I want to be able to say I am in control of myself thanks to the grace and power of the Holy Spirit. BUT I don't want to engage in the heavy labor or waiting that such a fruitful outcome requires. I don't want to engage because I really know it is beyond my pay grade. I can't do this...

Last night, I was with some dear friends talking about very similar things: faith and certainty and what we have seen. I heard myself saying, "I am not the same person I was six or seven years ago." And it's hitting me that I don't take credit for that transformation. God has been toiling over me. Breaking up fallow ground. Ripping out invasive weeds. Pouring nutrients into the soil. Selecting and planting seeds. Tending the Earth with sun, water, and care.

My only participation in this tough work has been to yield to His hand.

So, why am I overwhelmed? Why do I fear that I will never be considered "self-controlled"? Why am I back to thinking it is on me?

Honestly, as I look back on my life, I see that the Loving Hand of the Most High has begun and continued good work after good work in me. Things I never even thought to think about are now part of my everyday experiences: serving others, sacrificial living, joy in community. If He cares enough to transform me in those areas, why would He leave me to handle this Self-Control Behemoth on my own?

My faith tells me that even in this confusion, God loves me tenderly. He has a word for me in this issue that brings me so much concern and repeatedly pulls me away from intimate communion with Him. If He cares so deeply, how could He not have something to say about it?!

And I am back to "We are in this thing together."

Today, I am yielding my confusion, my need to perform, my frustration to You, God.

Knowing who You are and how You work, I am confident that I will look up one day and instead of confusion, control, and frustration it will be the Fruit of Self-Control that I am yielding.

Dreaming of Jubilee

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Wed, 19 Sep 2012 02:55:00 +0000

Jubilee is an Old Testament term. A Jewish event.

It isn't a word that finds its way into my daily life. But, I am realizing it is whispered through the halls of my soul often. Very often.

Jubilee is the release of slaves. It is the triumphant blowing of the trumpets. It is the signaling of liberty. It is freedom.

In The Chronicles of Narnia, it is ice and snow melting: spring coming to a world held captive for far too long. Aslan, on the move--and nature has no other choice but give itself over to new life. To freedom.

I am always on the go--I thirst for silent moments in the presence of my Father.

Tears flood my eyes regularly--I wish they would more quickly turn into action.

I consume resources on the issues of my passions--when will words read become tangible love expressed to others?

I strive to do good work--maybe one day it won't be done for the approval of others.

The words out of my mouth often seem flippant or critical like they spray out without much thought--will the love of my heart and the prayers of my spirit ever guide my mouth?

I am not there yet. The ground is thawing. Life is coming. But the trumpet hasn't blasted. Freedom hasn't come. There is just a hint of light tickling dawn's horizon.

Just a taste...of Freedom.

Just a dream...of Jubilee.

Rising to the Surface

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Wed, 22 Aug 2012 05:37:00 +0000

I have been home for about a week now and I am deep in Processing Mode. It is a very awkward place to find oneself. Two worlds colliding in a storm of information and emotions. It is all good, just not easy. From it, some lessons and moments are rising to the surface. Many more are sure to come, but I thought I would share some initial ones.

I had the extreme pleasure of helping the foster parents and their older children realize there are people caring for them all over the world. They are tempted to feel alone, insignificant, and worthless. But your prayers, your contributions, your support tell each of their beautiful souls a different story. Please don't stop thinking of them.

I want to make very intentional sacrifices in my life--time, money, and energy often spent on myself needs to be given over to others. I want to give until it hurts. And then give some more.

I praise God that just days after returning home, He allowed me to serve Antonio, a man I met at the CommuniD BBQ in Detroit. This man has been filled with anger and bitterness for a very long time. He repels people in every way possible. In May, I watched helplessly as police officers ran him off with the words, "You're a problem everywhere you go." When he hobbled back into my life last Friday, I jumped at the opportunity to serve. In doing so, I realized all people matter to God. He will provide for the needs of even the most miserable, angry, broken people. Their gratitude is not a prerequisite for His goodness. Also, God has opportunities for me at every turn. I don't have to go far to find Him at work.

My image of God was healed in mighty ways on this trip. It is a process started long ago, but I saw and felt immense progress this summer. My confidence in Him as a loving Father sprouted, grew, and blossomed in my eight weeks in SA.

I feel inadequate to complete many of the tasks placed before me. My tendency is to sit and stare, hopeless as others step into stirred waters. Or I turn away like a man with full pockets and an empty heart. But, the more I actually step up to these tasks, the more I experience the sustaining power of God filling in for my inadequacies. I just need to show up. In the powerful words of a friend: "God's work, my obedience."

Things I haven't felt worthy of asking for--deep desires of my heart--have seemingly been unleashed. I feel encouraged to move toward these things I was convinced were out of reach. I am a loved child and my Father delights to join me in the adventure of pursuing dreams which He has planted and nurtured in me. I have been denying their importance for a long time, but I have glimpsed that God has goodness in mind for me and I long to step closer to him in these areas.

I met a lot of scared, guarded people in SA. Rationally, they had every reason to be so. But it made them blind to so many other hurting people. I know that type of blinding fear myself. But, I don't want to be in a panicked daze any longer. I want compassion to open my eyes, ears, and heart to the suffering of the world at large, but also the suffering I walk past every single day.

God does tiny and enormous miracles in our midst every single day. With them, He is calling us to Him. He is showing us His character, His glory, His love for us.

I cannot do any of this alone. The strength I pulled from my extensive network of friends and family back home is indescribable. I am so grateful for all the hands I have available to grasp. I realized this summer more than any other time in my life: I need you. Each and every one of you.

I am fully, utterly, without a doubt committed to what I feel God calling me to: showing the children of this world the healing and dynamic love of Jesus. I pray that daily, I am being renewed and challenged to do so.

Our Lord Jesus Christ is in some of the darkest places in our world and I find Him there. I used to envy other people's direct relationships with Jesus. I got frustrated by learning of Him through others...I wanted to know Him directly. No more secondary sources, I wanted a primary one of my own. This summer convinced me that what I was seeking, I already possess: I have a primary relationship with Jesus that is more important to me than anything else. It is the very best thing about me: a treasure unearthed in a field of selfishness, worth the surrender of everything else I possess. And the health of that relationship depends directly on stepping into the lives of "the least of these."

For the first time in my life, I am at peace about the particulars of my future. I used to battle for control. Now, when I feel that fight boil up in my gut, it triggers me to surrender. I hand over my need to determine outcomes to the One who has brought so many wonderful opportunities to my doorstep. Even when I am faithless, He is faithful in providing for me. He won't let me go. He won't let me miss out on opportunities to know Him better. He hasn't brought me this far to drop me all of the sudden. I do not fear what the future holds--the One who holds me is infinitely more important.

The more people that are placed in my heart, the bigger it gets. I didn't think I had the capacity to love so many people. But, daily, I am blown away by the strengths and beauty of people I am blessed to know. I just wish I had better words to tell you all how much I love you. My prayer is that my actions can show you when my words fall short.

A Good Message I am Happy to Not Have to Deliver

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Wed, 08 Aug 2012 21:17:00 +0000

I was fooled into believing suffering wasn't here in Masi. Or at least that it wasn't right in front of me.

It is here, though. In many forms, I was just momentarily blind to it. I was thinking about myself and comparing the experiences of others with my own. For the record, that kind of thinking helps no one.

There is suffering when a little girl tests positive for HIV. Or when she tells you her father died of AIDS and her mom takes pills everyday. Or when she says, "Mama says it isn't the end of the world" and the struggle to believe it is written across her face.

This is what was hung on my heart last week. This is what kept me awake all through the night last Thursday. I didn't read, I didn't watch the Olympics. I didn't even journal. I just let my thoughts run free. I had a rambling conversation with God that hit on just about every topic under the sun. I sat at His feet and spilled my beans.

And in the morning, as I got ready, a poem of sorts filled my mind. Words for my suffering little friend.

I pray you remember one thing through all of this: God did not give you HIV.

God is good. All the time.
God gave you your family, whom you love.
God gave you a wonderful safehouse.
God gave you an amazing foster mother.
God gave you many people who love you:
-The other children here
-The adults of African Hope Trust
-Your church community
-People from overseas who pray for you all the time
-Me, Makazi

God gives you a bed to sleep in.
God gives you food to eat.
God gives you school to learn and grow.
God gives you strength and knowledge to do well.
God gives you free medicine.

HIV is not in Heaven. HIV does not come from God.

God gives you everything you need to LIVE. Even to LIVE with HIV. To LIVE with Him.

This thought--this fear--that she would blame God for the wrong in her life really settled on me. That is the last thing I would want for her to do in the face of such a diagnosis. I sat down and wrote out my little prayer poem to give her when the final news came. I prayed that the words would sink into the brokenness of her heart and protect her from the destructive patterns we humans find when we believe God is to blame.

But then Monday arrived. And wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles: the confirmed test results came back NEGATIVE!!

This thirteen year-old girl in foster care who has seen more than her fair share of evil and sadness has been spared from HIV!

I know that, based on statistics and probability, "for now" should be added to that sentence. But also in the "for now" category is CELEBRATION! I don't really care if you would like to rationalize it away, this is a miracle! And I am praising God for it!

I folded up my slip of paper and put it away--overjoyed that my words did not have to be delivered! Glad that the hug of solace I had planned for her turned to one of relief.

And then I got to thinking about the prayer poem. I don't have HIV. But, I have blamed God for a number of bad things. Could I replace HIV with one of my "Infractions Against God" and come up with a list of good things that actually do come from God? Are there gifts in this life that enable me to live with the difficulties? What has He given me in order that I may LIVE with Him?

What has He given you in order that you may LIVE with Him?

What was Hidden

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Sun, 05 Aug 2012 06:57:00 +0000

Do you want to know what brought me to South Africa the first time?

AIDS.

I first learned about the AIDS pandemic in the spring of 2006. I was literally appalled that I had been deaf and blind to the whole issue up until that point.

I guess I was too busy thinking about myself and how I could make my life better--so I missed the fact that millions upon millions of people around the world are being affected by this deadly virus.

But then, I knew. And I couldn't somehow un-know that close to 17 million children were living in the world without parents because of AIDS. I kept looking at the pictures. I kept reading the books and articles. I kept renting the movies. I kept learning more and more and didn't even want to un-know all that I knew anymore.

I wanted to see for myself. I wanted to meet teenagers raising their siblings. I wanted to hug four year olds who were, as part of their daily routine, taking antiretrovirals. I wanted to experience life in a place where more than 20% of the population knew exactly what would kill them.

Looking at this chart from Avert, you can see why I ended up in South Africa. It is a country with the highest number of people infected with HIV/AIDS and almost the highest number of children orphaned by AIDS.

That trip, to rural KwaZulu-Natal in 2007, opened my mind and heart to the people and culture of South Africa. It also gave me a lasting image of daily life lived by the very old and the very young. The middle generation, which is present in abundance in the US, was virtually absent in eSikhawini. The church congregations consisted of a handful of grannys and bus loads of children. Tired, bent over old women and beautiful, singing children. AIDS was snatching up the people at the prime of life.

Something in me was born, or blossomed, or burst, or whatever. I couldn't stop thinking of South Africa. I had only spent 2 weeks here that first time, but it captured my heart. I just had to experience more. I wanted to see what life in Cape Town was like. There, the issues and the organizations trying to combat the issues, seemed more at the surface. I could go for a relatively short trip but get the information I was looking for: what is the culture like? How is HIV/AIDS being handled on a national level? What are people doing to help women and children?

For a couple years I just dreamed. I was working out some of my own issues and getting my life at home under control, but when it came to getting back South Africa, nothing was planned.

Then in 2010, I attended another Willow Creek Leadership Summit. Willow has an excellent ability to move me to tears with their productions. I look forward to these conferences each year for the Input: amazing speakers with innovative thoughts for great leaders, promoting awesome books, and laying on the inspiration nice and thick. In one particular video, they kept flashing pictures of children in sub-Saharan Africa affected by HIV/AIDS. I thought to myself, "Someday, I will get back and be with you in person!" It was a nice, heart-warming thought.

But, what got me crying was the almost immediate response to that sentiment. I imagined these children responding, "When? In 5 years? In 10? I won't need you then. I could be dead by then, but if not, I will most definitely be grown. What good will you coming then do me NOW?"

I was instantly convicted. I found more of Bono's words to be true: "There is a continent - Africa - being consumed by flames. I truly believe that when the history books are written, our age will be remembered for three things: the war on terror, the digital revolution, and what we did or did not to put the fire out in Africa."

I was squarely located in that "what I did not do" camp about the fire in Africa. And I became extremely uncomfortable there. I resolved at that moment that another Leadership Summit would not come and go with all its inspiration without me at least trying to get back to South Africa.

I started barking up every tree that had anything to do with South Africa. The plans came together. Miracles happened. I was going back! To Cape Town! I was going to volunteer my time and dive into all the issues! I was going to learn more about the culture and the people! I was going to DO something!

That was last year. And it was a wonderful time. I learned so much about life here in South Africa. I experienced so many different elements of the cultures represented here. I was volunteering and people I met kept thanking me for what I was doing even though it seemed minimal to me.

But, nothing about the issues so heavy on my heart is easy or comprehensive. It was like I tugged on a single string dangling above my head and found myself under a two-ton pile without any idea of how to dig out. I started with AIDS, but that led to social pressure, which led to education, which led to economy, which led to politics, which led to culture, which led to history, which led to racial tension...and on and on it went. I didn't know what to tackle first. I didn't know how I would ever make a difference. I became overwhelmed and lost sight of the initial inspiration.

And to some degree, I became desensitized. This sounds really odd to say, but if you are African, poor, and have HIV, probably the best time and place to find yourself is 2011-12 in a city like Cape Town. You have easy and free access to decent medical care that allows for you to live a long life. There are resources here so you can maintain a fairly healthy lifestyle. It is becoming more acceptable for people to be open and honest about their status. Ten or fifteen years ago, this wasn't the story, but today, there are better resources and much more hope.

I know and love a number of people who are living this very life. This year, I fell right back into comfortably doing so. And there are so many other things going on here. I have been dabbling in a wide selection of these issues--not having any type of clear objective on what I am addressing. I know what I am doing is helpful: building relationships and assisting with routine tasks to alleviate the pressure on the missionaries that are here year round. And in a very broad sense, I guess you could say all work done here is indirectly connected to HIV/AIDS.

But, it started dawning on me that the devastation I felt in the past for people suffering at the spread of HIV/AIDS had worn off a bit. This is coming to mind because I am reading "Dangerous Surrender" by Kay Warren. It isn't a book about AIDS specifically, but about how her life was changed and how she came to make a impact in the world on this issue by saying YES to God in certain ways. The examples she has given of loving people with HIV/AIDS in the most devastating circumstances have sparked that flame again in my heart.

I want to care for those suffering. I want to show them the Love that I have received. I want to listen to their stories. I want to help carry the burden.

Where I am standing, though, I don't see the suffering. I see people living and working and having families. I see people with HIV laughing and running errands and planning for their futures just like anyone else would be. It seems that a person's "Status" is not an instant death sentence any longer.

But, I don't want to be deceived. I don't want to think there is no suffering going on here and jump to conclusions about what life with HIV/AIDS is like for most people.

Maybe the suffering isn't absent or already addressed here. Maybe it just looks different. There has to be a way for me to see it. There has to be something for me to do which will express God's heart to people here...

Then we received the news.

A trip to the clinic for a rash on her neck. A salve and pain pills for shingles.

Oh, and an initial diagnosis of HIV+.

What was hidden to me became crystal clear.

An indescribably heavy weight placed on the small, already burdened shoulders of a 13 year old girl in foster care.

Images of God PART FIVE: Snapshots 3

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Tue, 31 Jul 2012 02:53:00 +0000

This is Part Five of a series of blogs I am writing on my Image of God. If you missed them, here are Part One, Part Two, Part Three, and Part Four. In this portion, I am giving another Snapshot of God showing Him as a Father in my life.

He doesn't just love me, He delights over me

A couple months back, I went to see Francis Chan speak. He did a fantastic job convicting and motivating me. Really though, I didn't have to see him live for that to happen--with his love for God and his knowledge of Scripture, he does that in every sermon I have listened to.

Also that evening, I was introduced to Rend Collective Experiment, a band from Ireland that really knows how to pour their hearts into their music. I listened to their CDs non-stop for 2 months afterward. I just couldn't get enough.

But, one of the most moving moments came as I listened to Rachel Chan, Francis' daughter, speak about God. She is a young girl, sixteen or seventeen now. She has recorded her first album, and she shared the stage with her dad and Rend Collective that night. Before singing each song, she gave a little explanation of why she had written it. One, I remember, was about a friend Who was making choices that was affecting their relationship. And one was a love song. A love song written, not to Romeo or a latest boyfriend, but to God.

As I sat there listening to this coming-of-age voice singing beautiful words to a God loved dearly, I was both impressed and sad. I was amazed at the depth of understanding Rachel's words to God held. She hadn't just strung words together to fit into a nice rhyming pattern. It seems she comprehends her love for God as well as feels it. And in her artistic expression, the Chan's parenting shined brightly--here is a young girl who knows and loves God!

But, I was sad too. I thought about how hard the world is on girls. I am sure it is hard on boys too, but that isn't the experience I know, so I can't speak to it. I was thinking about how, at sixteen or seventeen, she was only a couple years into the struggle to become a woman. A woman among other women. A woman of value in this world. A woman interacting with men. A woman of God. Not one of those roles is easy to learn or carry. Each one is a bit like stepping into the ring with your dukes up, but not realizing the starting bell had already been rung.

Rachel Chan's words showed me that she was definitely starting out strong, and I pray she continues to do so, but it got me thinking about other girls. Girls without clubs in which to train, and no coaches in their corner. Girls without anyone cheering from the bleachers. Life is ridiculously hard; how will they ever survive?

I was thinking about myself, too. Sitting there at twice Rachel's age, I had taken quite the battering in learning what it meant to be a woman. In just the past couple years, at the tale-end of the fight, I was coming to know and love God in the way Rachel was expressing, but a lot of good punches had been landed before my feet started moving me away from the pummeling. It made me sad to think that I had somehow missed out on that training before stepping into the fight. Not that it hadn't been offered, but somehow I didn't grasp it.

How different would the fight have been for me--or how different would it be for girls now who don't get it--if I/we clung to the image of a God you can love intimately?

The next day at church, my pastor was speaking about what lies we may believe about God, others, and ourselves. He said this verse had come to him that morning as he was rounding out his sermon--after being greatly encouraged by our time listening to Francis Chan.

"The Lord your God is with you,
the Mighty Warrior who saves.
He will take great delight in you;
in his love he will no longer rebuke you,
but will rejoice over you with singing." --Zephaniah 3:17, NIV

I was listening to Dan's message, and was thinking about one of his earlier points when he read this verse. And suddenly, my full attention was on what he was saying and what it meant to me. I saw myself before God. I wasn't my 32 year old self, though. I was fifteen. And I was, with great concentration and devoted attention, decorating the inside flap of my Bible and creating a plaque that would sit at my bedside for the next 4 or 5 years. The focus of that devotion was a deep love for a Heavenly Father who I could know intimately. And the expression of that devotion were those very same words in Zephaniah.

With these two experiences, God wove together a fascinating picture. It showed me that I had, in fact, known at some point that He is Good. I had once delighted in the fact that He delights over me! This wasn't all a new concept, as it has appeared in recent years.

Yes, life is extremely hard. Instead of focusing on my training, or listening to the coaches and fans, I was looking to my own desires and ways. It just added to the difficulty. During the barrage of punches that naturally come, I had forgotten something very important. I had forgotten that I even knew it, too. God is Good. God is Mighty--protective and able to save. God rejoices over His creation. And God in delights me!

I am not trying to be self-centered there--don't be fooled, He delights in you too! But, the truth of that statement strikes right down to the core of who I am. And half a lifetime ago, it was doing the same thing! And it blows me away that through some really dark days in my life, through the worst of the fight when I wasn't sure I would ever pull through, God remained faithful to me. Even though I had forgotten His goodness, He was holding onto me the whole time.

So, how exactly do I know that the God of the entire universe delights over me? Glad you asked! Have you ever found a present for someone else that you just know is perfect and you cannot wait for them to open and enjoy? There are experiences in my life where I find great joy: heart-swelling, jump up and down, ear-to-ear grin kind of joy. I have begun to see these as parcels meticulously chosen, wrapped, and delivered to me by God. He knows what will be perfect for me, and He makes sure to fill my life with these gifts.

One of these gifts is named Clementine. And she is a dog. And that might seem really silly to you, but it's true. God blessed me incredibly with this mutt ten years ago. She was rescued from the streets of Pontiac with a fractured hip and not a lick of "human sensibilities." But, it was like she knew that she needed what we had to offer her: from the start, she was trying to understand what I wanted and was so eager to comply. And it was like God knew that I needed her: Clem has been my constant companion through many difficult times. I don't know that anyone else sees the greatness in her, but I am so blessed to call her My Dog. She is an old girl now, and has slowed down quite a bit. But, she acts like the joy of her life is welcoming me home and cuddling up with me at the end of the day. Nothing seems more extravagant or delightful to me than the bond between a human and another one of God's creatures. We don't have to have such relationships, but we get to...and I think it brings Him great joy to see us loving His other creations so much!

God also uses friends to show me how much He delights over me. Growing up, I really struggled to maintain friendships. I wanted them desperately, but they just wouldn't stick. There are a couple people, including family members, who have been around since my formative years, though. The contentment I feel when I am with them--which comes from years of shared history--is something I know is a gift from God. Also, as an adult, I have found myself surrounded with some of the most beautiful, amazing, strong people. In blessing me with such friends, God has gone above and beyond the call of duty! Regularly, I am astonished that such wonderful people don't mind spending time with me, let alone really care for me. It is through their love and concern for me that I often experience God speaking His own delight for me.

When speaking about delight and God together, I cannot leave out children. I can't even really put my finger on what makes children so special to me. It's like there is some main ingredient in childhood that I just can't refuse. I don't know if it is innocence, or wonder, or whimsy, or well, God's delight itself but I just can't get enough of it! I am often left speechless at the beauty or genius of children. There is no question to me where my love for children comes from: directly out of the heart of God. And that God can show Himself to me through them proves to me that He finds great delight in me. I know that He delights in them, and He welcomes me into that adventure with Him. So, He must, therefore delight in me as well!

Almost daily, God writes His delight for me across the sky. I am utterly in love with clouds and sunsets and there is no question where those come from! Recently, my friend, Danielle, posted a picture on Facebook of a fascinating rainbow cloud and her daughter's response to it: that God had made it just for her because He knows she loves a good rainbow. I feel the same way, Amelia--every time there is an interesting cloud pattern, or a gorgeous sunset or sunrise! Every time I notice the clouds or their interaction with the changing sun, I think about God and His goodness. I know there is science behind all of it, but God created the science too and He didn't have to make it work out so beautifully. He doesn't have to call my attention to His beautiful work so often. But He did. And He does. And that just shows me that he delights to delight over me.

God is good.

He loves me.

He rejoices over me.

He delights over me.

What packages sit before you? Selected with your pleasure and fascination in mind? My life is bursting at the seams with these gifts and chances are, yours is too.

God is good.

He loves you.

He rejoices over you.

He delights over you.

And in the darkest crevices of this messy world, or when we forget that we even knew it, He is faithful to find us and remind us.

Images of God PART FOUR: Snapshots 2

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Wed, 25 Jul 2012 19:59:00 +0000

This is Part Four of a series of blogs I am writing on my Image of God. If you missed them, here are Part One, Part Two, and Part Three. In this portion, I am giving another Snapshot of God showing Him as a Father in my life.

God Joins Me

There are things in this world that are completely devastating. Things that rip my heart out. Things like: children orphaned by AIDS; children being so mistreated by their families that the government becomes responsible for them; human trafficking of every kind, let alone of children for sex; and the crushing cycle of poverty.

These issues are overwhelming; they are beyond comprehension. But, the absolutely amazing thing is, as I learn more about these issues, and volunteer with organizations that are trying to make a difference, I see God. It is actually one of the primary ways I have come to know God as a Father.

It's like Bono says: "God is in the slums, in the cardboard boxes where the poor play house. God is in the silence of a mother who has infected her child with a virus that will end both their lives. God is in the cries heard under the rubble of war. God is in the debris of wasted opportunity and lives, and God is with us if we are with them."

God is with me when I am with "them." He joins me in the heartbreak AND in the work against these crushing issues.

I am filled with Joy and Hope as I play with impoverished inner-city children each week. When I get bone-crushing hugs from 8 year olds. And receive hand-written stories about how the couple hours we spend together are a little girl's favorite all week.

I am blown away by tiny miracles unfolding as I serve the homeless in Detroit. When I casually ask if anyone has glasses for my friend Dennis and receive over 50 pair. And I see in an angry, crippled man ridiculed by his peers what exactly Jesus meant when He spoke of advocating for "the least of these."

I have a career full of moments of pure pride and joy spent with my students with autism. When, on the rare occasion, our entire group of staff and students is genuinely laughing and enjoying the same interaction at the same time. And I watch as a student takes his first steps of independence with a task we've been practicing for months.

I am excited by the smallest gains in my relationships here in South Africa. When I can encourage weary foster mothers that this isn't just a job, but a calling. And I can spend an afternoon alternating between tickling and snuggling with a child whose biological mother left her locked in shack for hours on end until the neighbors couldn't take her crying anymore and called the police to break down the door.

Astounding opportunity after opportunity opens for me to have an impact on lives of people affected by these difficult issues. And with each opportunity comes God's presence.

Below the surface of the overwhelming tragedies of our world, God is pumping His Goodness into the world. I just had to move into the flow to realize it. Standing at a distance, judging the situation as irreparable, there is no Hope. But, getting into the mix if it all, there is amazing, world-changing Hope available to me.

And to others too. Like my friend Jessica who, in the face of horrific stories coming from the child sex slavery industry, created a Love146 Task Force. They have armed themselves with knowledge, and have begun to storm the gates of this Hell-on-Earth as Abolitionists. Little boys and girls all around the globe will come to know freedom because of the efforts of these individuals. Don't let that fact pass through your mind easily. Stop and comprehend this: children, who have been stripped of dignity, innocence, and basic human rights will be rescued, rehabilitated, and rejoiced over because my friends are putting the Hope and Goodness of God to work.

That is not anything small or insignificant. God is on the move in these issues. No matter what we think, He isn't sitting silently by, watching them happen. He is equipping and joining those of us who show up to take a stand. The world is full of some really nasty stuff, but none of it stands a chance against the Joy, Hope, and Love of God.

He is the Protective Father, who will go to great lengths to put an end to that which threatens His children. But, it is almost impossible to see Him as such until you step into the mess.

The deeper I go into these challenging circumstances, the more I come to know God and that encourages me to keep moving deeper. I see where I have been, and I see how God joined me there and I just want to keep digging deeper. He is there. If He meets me in heartache over a failed marriage, then He is in the life of a woman living with HIV in a shack in Masiphumelele, South Africa. If He is with the two of us, I know for sure He is with the man living on the streets of Detroit. Or Calcutta. Or Maputo. Or Quito. Or wherever it is that people are suffering even more than we are. He is there. And I Am driven to meet Him.

Let me repeat myself again here: if He is with me in my very Western, relatively easy suffering, then He is present in the lives full of pain brought on by the deepest and darkest evil this world has to offer.

I say He joins me in these issues, but the truth is, He is already there and He welcomed me to leave what I worry about behind and step into the tide with Him. He's been battling the waves of darkness for a long time already. And He needs my help to continue to do so.

What issues break your heart and have you feeling hopeless?

Will you step into the mess with Him?

Images of God PART THREE: Snapshots 1

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Tue, 24 Jul 2012 07:23:00 +0000

This is Part Three of a series of blogs I am writing on my Image of God. If you missed them, here are Part One and Part Two.

Giving an accurate picture of how my Faith and Image of God have changed has proven to be a real challenge. These are issues of a deep, personal nature. They get into the very fabric of who I am. Extracting them, looking intently at each element, and then coming up with words to adequately describe them has been a real struggle.

These changes, though...man! They just fascinate me! They really are the most amazing thing about my life. If I know and love you, I want you to know this about me: this new outlook is the most exciting thing I think about, act on, and talk about!

If we're talking about something and I get really excited and go on and on, chances are, it is because I am thinking of God as a Father in the situation at hand. If I send you a random text or email with a lot of exclamation marks in it--or resources you probably don't think you need--it is probably because I got to thinking about you and about how awesome God is and could not contain myself any longer. If we're chit-chatting and suddenly my eyes are filled with tears, please know that something about what you have said illuminated for me an image of the Goodness of God. Even if I start throwing around words about Strengths, it's because I believe God is the founder of all that StrengthsFinder business and I love joining Him in His work!

I see this "new" God all around me. And most of the time, I am flabbergasted. It's like I was living in a drab, dark shadow of a mountain all my life and then one day, I trekked over to the other side where a tropical wonderland was prospering under glorious sunshine! This new Image of God has been transforming my outlook on so many things about life and about the world--I can't help but share it with others.

I thought maybe some examples would help. I am going to focus in on some of the characteristics of God that help me see Him as a Father.

So, here is the first in some Snapshots of "My Pops":

God, the Good Provider

As a child from a single-parent household, I could have become "just another statistic." Life doesn't always bode well for those of us who are raised in broken homes. Somehow, though, I am well-educated, able to support myself, and even have a ridiculously lavish lifestyle when compared to global standards. Key pieces of this area of my life "just fell into place" over time. Doors flung open at the right time. Opportunities sprung up before me. I have believed for a long time that I was in charge of my destiny and obviously, for those who work hard, it pays off.

But, the truth is, I have mishandled these "coincidental" opportunities more often than not. I regularly feel guilty that I have as much as I do based on my ungrateful and ignorant management of it all. Hustling at the last minute, praying deadlines are flexible, and paying late charges isn't what anyone else would consider "hard work paying off."

And yet, I am not cut off because of my weakness. Instead, I see that time after time, God has been providing a way for me. It has nothing to do with my performance. It doesn't even rely on my faith in Him--if anything, my behavior in these areas would illustrate a very obvious lack of faith in God to provide for me. I was trying to do it on my own. And despite my best and worst attempts--and despite my trying to keep Him out of it--He has been in control of it all for me.

He continues to provide for me because He is good.

And He continues to provide for me so that I may use what I have been given to bless others in this world.

That's one of the things that really gets me about how good God is: He wouldn't be good if He were only good to me...He is good to all of us. And He allows us to display His goodness to others in this world by sharing what we have been given!

Images of God PART TWO: The Father

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Sun, 22 Jul 2012 09:01:00 +0000

This is Part Two in a series of blogs I am writing on My Image of God. If you missed it, please read Part One.

In 2008, I sat across from a Christian counselor looking over an interview form I had filled out a couple weeks previous, when I first started seeing her. "This response concerns me: I want help figuring out what is wrong so I can do what God wants me to do to the best of my ability." Of all the things I had put on that form, that seemed like the least concerning to me. I was kind of confused. She went on: "You may be concerned with fixing yourself so you can DO more, but what if God is wanting this time to just BE with you? What if He wants you to see that He is calling you into His lap, like a loving father, and He longs for you to respond, 'What's next, Papa?'"

I had 2 conflicting responses to her questions:

1. "Why would God EVER want time to just BE with me?" My brain screamed and flashed on the Big Screen image after image of the ways in which I had fallen short of Superstardom in both the far and recent past--evidence held against me and my chances of actually getting some quality time in the presence of God.

2. An ache began in the middle of my chest; a cry from my heart that this new view of God, something so completely foreign to my brain, could be true. She had awakened at the thought of that kind of loving relationship and was knocking at the door of my soul, longing to be given the reigns.

With that possibility of a new image of God--pulled from Romans 8:15-17 in The Message Paraphrase--I began to dismantle the image of Principal God. I took a fresh look at these components of my image of God and began to build something new: a relationship with a Loving Father.

See, I never struggled to believe in God. I always knew He existed. That was not the core question of my faith. What I did not know for certain, what I needed Faith to even remain open to receiving, was that He loves me deeply and has the best in mind for me. I don't mean that 'The Best' in that Name-it-and-Claim-it kind of way. I mean, I am not always certain that where He is leading me, what He allows to happen in my life, and the things He gives me are what I REALLY need to receive. I am not always certain that God isn't out to get me somehow--that He doesn't have some hidden clause that actually keeps me from being successful on Earth and ultimately will bar me from heaven.

Saying I now see God as a Loving Father sounds so cliche. It seems trite. Had you asked me 10 years ago, I would have said I knew God as the Father already: that was a term synonymous with Principal God. So now, it is almost difficult for me to use those terms, because for so long, they meant something different. But through amazing moments, countless resources, massive breakthroughs, and tender relationships with other people the terms relating to God as a Father have been redefined for me. They sound the same, but they mean something entirely different. A dynamic, breathtakingly beautiful flower blossomed out of an ugly, spine-covered bud.

The whole process has been a series of Surrenders, actually. It was like I had this big mess of thread wound tightly around an axle of the whole Image of God thing. It was a locked up mess: going nowhere, burning out the motor. I had been trying to just power through, but it got to a point where nothing would give. So, the first surrender was simply admitting there was problem. Next, I gave in a little bit: maybe, just maybe, there is another option. And then a little more, and a little more. I was letting go of threads, taking steps backward to unravel the mess. It went against logic, but the tension was relaxing a bit with each retreating step. It never was an all-out surrender, but many small ones done over time. Some steps were downright painful. Sometimes, I willingly surrendered the grip on a particular thread. With other issues, it took longer for me to let go. There are some, I find, I am still holding onto.

But, with each Surrender, my Faith has grown to see God as a Father. He provides for me. He is loving and good. He seeks me when I am lost. He is fascinatingly talented at creating beauty. He enjoys the time we spend together. He is always eager for me to join Him. He is gracious and tender. He does not force me to places I don't want to go, and He waits patiently for me to turn to Him.

Ultimately, though, He never loses faith in me and who He created me to be, though I regularly lack faith in who He is.

This was only going to be a 2-part series, but I still have more I would like to say on the topic. So, to close this portion, let me leave you with a couple questions: What does your God look like? Is He angry? Cruel? Distant? Uncaring? Is he demanding--asking more of you can you can give? Holding up the bar too high, so you're never good enough?

Does the idea of a God who loves you as a father not mesh with how you see Him? If so, could you entertain, for even just a moment, that maybe it isn't God that is off, but maybe it is your view of Him that isn't quite right?

Would you be willing to take that first step of surrender?

Images of God PART ONE: The Principal

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Mon, 09 Jul 2012 13:39:00 +0000

I have been working on how to share this next series of thoughts for a while now. It has been brewing for a couple months, actually. In writing it out, I have decided it would be best to separate it into a number of parts. So, this is the first installment of series on my personal Image of God. Part Two can be found here.

For most of my life, I have pictured God as a principal of a really big school. (Yeah, we teachers live and breathe educational analogies, I know.)

In this school, there are a ton of students. And in this school, there are the typical social groups and social constructs that all fall into a hierarchy. The principal is at the top, though he has a lot he needs to deal with administratively. He has staff to manage and meetings to attend and board members to please. Ultimately, though, he is responsible for this whole group of people within the walls of his school. It is his decisions, his provisions you could say, that filter down through the community. He is part of the hierarchy directly, but indirectly too.

He is so busy, that word from individuals within the community only reaches him when it is the extremely good news or the extremely bad news. So, the jocks, the valedictorians, the drama club stars, the kid heading to the Air Force Academy...they make his radar. And the delinquents who set parts of the school on fire, and rob beer trucks at lunch, and get caught doing the nasty in stairwells...they make his radar, too.

The majority of the students, though, don’t have a chance. Average grades. Average attendance. Average performance in some average extracurricular activity. They’re nowhere near the principal’s radar screen, even though they benefit from his provisions and leadership.

I think that analogy is pretty straightforward. God is the principal. Humanity is the student body. The really good kids are the Spiritual Superstars like Billy Graham, Mother Teresa, etc. The delinquents, well, they are the delinquents!

I always saw myself as one of those Average Kids. I am provided for because I am part of the school, but there is no way the principal knows who I am nor cares to know really. Translation: I receive good things from God because I am living on this planet, but He doesn’t know me intimately or care about the affairs of my life.

With that view, there are a couple options for action:

1. Check Out of anything that has to do with God;
2. Strive with everything I have to become one of those Superstars;
3. Or give up everything I have and become a Delinquent.

I vacillate between Checking Out and Striving for Superstar. (I dabbled a bit in Delinquent, but I was too afraid of the activities most of the time. I don’t have the nerves for that life, I guess!)

Striving for Superstar burned me out. And it was my own definition of Superstar that I ended up pushing for all the time. The woman I was trying to be 10 years ago was something like Martha Stewart with a pinch of spirituality thrown in the stainless steel bowl of the Kitchenaid Mixer. I guess it was also the route that the Biblical Martha took--and to her, Jesus kindly points out that she has made the wrong choice. I guess I was learning that too: life as I had managed and built it came crashing down around me. I had made the wrong choice.

I picked up the pieces and started again, this time figuring I would get it right. But, I felt myself failing again. So, I floated over to Checking Out. I was ready to give up my faith in God once and for all, actually. I had done what I felt was enough striving and it hadn't gotten me any of the stuff I wanted.

I did some Checking Out, but it felt like giving up. And even as a Failed Striver, that didn't feel right either. I was miserable, pretty much. I couldn't figure out what this God character wanted from me.

I didn't realize it then, but looking back over the past six years, I was in the midst of a massive Re-structure. My 3-option Response to Principal God System wasn't working, and probably never would. But, it wasn't the Response System that was messed up: it was the whole dang view of God that wasn't working for me.

While I didn't realize it then, I had reached a critical point in my understanding: give up, or get a new view. Thank God, the horizon held a new view.

But, that is for Part Two! Stayed Tuned...

Conflicted

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Sat, 07 Jul 2012 01:29:00 +0000

Last August, my pastor, Dan Kopp, spoke at a retreat where the focus was Sacred Pathways--an assessment developed by Gary Thomas that helps one determine the ways in which he/she best accesses God.

I had been exposed to Sacred Pathways before, but last summer, Dan added a Pathway to the 9 Thomas identifies. This addition confirmed something deep within me. On Thomas' assessment, my number one pathway to God is Caregiver. And I agree with that; I absolutely love holding people in my heart. But, on the assessment Dan used, my primary pathway to God is Relational. It isn't just in caring for and serving others that I best see God, it is in interacting with the people around me. This new pathway was something I had always felt, but never had named for me before. Once it was, though, it made so much sense! It explained a lot about my walk with Christ...like how it has always been difficult for me to study Scripture alone, but plop me in a discussion with one or two people and the words of God come alive; or how, on practically every drive home from spending time with friends, I experience a giddy excitement as I analyze the time we spent together. I know and love God primarily through my relationships with other people. Just typing that sentence, I feel joy bubble up in my heart! It is a truth I didn't realize, or have words for, until last year at this retreat, which just kind of tickles me: something SO true, which plays itself out on a daily basis, and I didn't comprehend it for most of my life! (If this resonates with you too, here is an assessment developed by John Ortberg and Ruth Haley Barton which includes Relational, though not all of the 9 Thomas uses. I suggest you complete both this assessment and the one I have listed for Thomas to get a complete view of your Pathways!)

I bring this up because right now, I am really conflicted by the act of blogging. To an abstract degree, I know it is interacting with other people. I know that I am communicating thoughts and ideas and that people I know and love are receiving them and responding to them. But, concretely, it doesn't always FEEL like it is Relational. I am not sitting across from you. I am not seeing your non-verbal responses to my words. I am not getting feedback from you which then would spur on more thought and discussion. I am always picking the topics, and you don't get a chance to speak often here at Knees to Earth!

I thrive on dialogue, and this is, for all intents and purposes, a monologue. And to this Relational Girl, that feels odd. I vacillate between feeling narcissistic and preachy. I realize I have spent a lot of time speaking about myself, so then I offer some advice to you. It all just seems awkward!

But, as I am going through these really exciting life experiences, I need to be getting the words out, and I love sharing them with a wider audience than if I were just at home all summer.

I love sharing my heart, and hope in doing so, you are touched by what I have to say. Revealing this side of my personality takes me out of my comfort zone a bit. There has been this building feeling that I wanted to address: I hope you know, if we were face-to-face, I wouldn't be going on and on about myself like I do here. I wouldn't just give you time to speak, I would actually NEED you to be sharing your thoughts and experiences!

While I am trying to be as honest and open as I can be in this blog, it isn't the main way I would like to be interacting with you as a friend and loved one. I am honored that you're reading and commenting, but please know in my heart, who you are and what you think matters deeply to me! It actually helps me know God on a deeper level, which is very profound and special to me!

Words

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Thu, 05 Jul 2012 04:48:00 +0000

So, you are probably wondering what my days look like here in SA, huh?

Typically, I wake up early (though this hasn't really worked itself out yet because my sleep is still really wacky!). I spend time reading and praying and journaling. Then I make breakfast, and get ready for the day. It is so nice to do this at a relaxed pace, as opposed to during the school year when I am rushing around like a ninny.

I typically make contact with Bill or Anne by 9. From them, I get my working orders for the day. It could be just about anything: running errands, doing some kind of organizing job at the craft shop, going to a meeting or two, or having free time to spend with the children at the safehouses. Most days, even of I haven't ended up there for a task, I try to swing by the safehouses in the afternoon. I love spending time loving on the kids.

I usually head home around 5-6 in the evening. I check my email and facebook then make my dinner. I spend the rest of the evening reading or doing work I brought with me. My flat has a television, but the screen is miniscule and from what I gather, without cable, there isn't much of a selection. And there is no DVD player. So, I haven't even turned the thing on to explore.

I have a lot of time alone each day. There aren't a million and three things distracting me away from solitude and contemplation. Here, I have a lot of time to think, pray, and read. "My time" is virtually always alone time, which is not the case in the States. At home, whether I am at work or not, I am primarily with people. I have always been independent and able to do things on my own, but my personality strives for interacting with other people. I love relationships. Even when I am not obligated to be with them, I seek out people to spend my free time with!

So, I am learning to be more comfortable with solitude here. And I am finding comfort in something else I love. There aren't people filling up my free time, but Words are. If I am home, I have my iPad tuned to some kind of music. Or, I am listening to Scripture being read aloud (I am listening to the entire Bible over the next year via the youversion app), or I am reading one of the books I brought with me. Words are inhabiting the spaces of my life right now and it is surprisingly refreshing!

Here are some of the Words bringing me the joy, comfort, and challenge (in the way friends would!):

"God, send me anywhere, only go with me. Lay any burden on me, only sustain me. And sever any tie in my heart except the tie that binds my heart to Yours." --David Livingstone

"One thing I have asked from the Lord, that I shall seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life; to behold the beauty of the Lord and meditate in his temple." --Psalm 27:4

"If God who owes nothing to us is ready to impart to us no less than Himself, shall we answer with just a fraction of ourselves? To give ourselves fully to God is a means of receiving God Himself. I for God and God for me." --Mother Teresa

"And oh, to be like You! And oh, to reflect the God I know; the love you've shown! This is my longing. This is my deepest, strongest plea: Oh, Lord, change me!" --Jeremy Riddle, "To Be Like You"

"Cheerfulness is a sign of a generous and mortified person who forgetting all things, even herself, tries to please God in all she does for souls." --Mother Teresa

"What I've learned the more time I've spent following Jesus is that God delights in answering our impossible prayers." --Bob Goff, Love Does

"How much is the love He has for each one of you--beyond all what you can imagine...Not only He loves you, even more--He longs for you. He misses you when you don't come close. He thirsts for you. He loves you always, even when you don't feel worthy...Until you know deep inside that Jesus thirsts for you--you can't begin to know who He wants to be for you. Or who He wants you to be for Him." --Mother Teresa

"The demands of the gospel bring us to the vivid awareness of our weakness and imperfection...God's word wakes us up to our need." --Brennan Manning, The Importance of Being Foolish

"Til I see you face to face when Grace Amazing takes me home, I will trust in you, Lord. I will live to love you; I will live to bring you praise; I will live, a child in awe of you." --Hillsong United, "Til I See You"

"We are alive because God first breathed into Adam and Eve...We can say that prayer is our 'returned breath' to God in sighs and sounds, words and whispers, shouts and songs...Prayer is listening to God's Word in all things every day, listening in the silence of our hearts, and then answering Him." --Alexander Venter, Learning to Pray: Praying the Psalms

Eyes to See and Ears To Hear

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Wed, 27 Jun 2012 19:46:00 +0000

March 1, I was torn and struggling about whether I would be returning to SA this year.

April 1, I had an inkling...a hope...a dream thrown up with a wing and a prayer that I would be returning to SA this year.

May 1, there was no question that I would be returning to SA this year--the ticket was booked and a down payment was made on housing--I just didn't know how I was going to pay for it.

June 1, God had provided more than I even asked for financially and was unequivocally holding the door to SA open for me and bidding, "Come!"

It was a spring of hard work and growth. I was climbing from a valley of doubt to a mountaintop of Blessed Assurance--This is my story, this is my song: the things that move my heart, they move God's heart as well. And I joyfully celebrate that He led me in making this adventure happen!

He has blessed me in so many ways over these past four months that I have begun picturing Him giddy for this trip to get going, unable to refrain from lavishing goodness on me! An image something like big smiles, packing and repacking supplies, planning the itinerary, choosing snacks for the road, jumping up and down the morning we're setting out--a parent taking their child to Disney World for the first time. Only not so commercialized as going to Disney...And bigger because He is, well, God.

As part of this blessing and growth, I kept finding myself praying "for eyes to see and ears to hear" what God wanted me to receive leading up to my departure as well as while I was on the ground in SA. I was really concerned with missing what God had for me in the time before the trip. And I was overly concerned with missing His movement once I got here. Really, I was downright anxious about it. I fervently prayed that I would be open and accepting of whatever He was showing me and telling me before and during (and might as well throw in after too!) this year's adventure which seemed different from last year's in many ways.

There have been many amazing moments where I saw God moving and heard His words of guidance, love, and affirmation. Incredible moments led up to June 19th: grieving the loss of a close friend; peaceful times in the presence of good friends; spectacular opportunities to serve the poor in Detroit; numerous insightful conversations and resources; and unspeakable joy in being celebrated, prayed for, and sent off by my loving community.

I saw.

In Technicolor.

I heard.

In Surround Sound.

Like I posted a week or so ago, I have continued to "perceive and understand" the God Moments since getting here too. But, as a little surprise package saved for just the right moment, today the concept of having "eyes to see and ears to hear" took on a different meaning.

I spent the day at the safehouses, doing nothing in particular, just going through the motions of a typical day with Rachel and Avuyise (pronounced "Ah-voo-ee-say") and all the children from both houses. Beauty, the house mother from the second house, has been out of town so Avuyise, who typically is working at the craft shop, has been covering for her. I know and love both Rachel and Avuyise from last year, so this time spent with them has been a wonderful reunion.

The children are "on holiday" from school for 3 weeks, so everyone was home today. Kids were running this way and that, changing their outfits every couple hours, turning on a movie only to then decide to go outside to play, raiding the cabinets for cookies, doing their household chores, singing and dancing. Through the melody of child activity, we women wove our own harmony of chitchat and laughter. There is a language barrier, but miraculously, it doesn't seem to come between us too often.

Throughout the day, I made a couple innocent observations or recalled things they had told me last year. After spending a couple minutes playing with one of the children in the afternoon, I said, "Rachel, Abunathi claps like you Xhosa women already and she is only 2!" Both of the older Xhosa women looked at each other, gasped, and then started laughing and talking in a rush of Xhosa words. Thinking maybe I had said something wrong, or that they didn't understand what I was talking about, I showed them what I meant and asked for clarification. They exclaimed at the same time: "May-leesa, you see so much about us--You notice everything we are doing!"

Later, Bill stopped by the house to switch out cars (I had spent the day driving his car with manual transmission, which is a story for it's own blog post entirely!). As is tradition in Rachel's home, the late afternoon brings with it Tea Time. The four of us adults sat around the table with mugs of tea (or, in my case, instant coffee) in our hands as sunlight and children flitted in and out of the room. We laughed and joked and fell into separate conversations: Rachel and Avuyise flipping through a newspaper and chit-chatting in Xhosa; Bill and I laughing about the antics of the kids and chatting about life in general in English.

There are times when I can tell a good story and I know it. And there are times when my stories flop and I know it. Since getting here, I have felt most of my stories flop. It's probably because of a lack of good sleep and from being thrown off by all the changes to my surroundings but I either include too many ambiguous details or speak in incoherent, half sentences. My tongue seems to be failing me so I have been trying to rely more heavily on my ears, listening to those around me instead. As we sat at Rachel's table, Bill began telling some stories of his life experience. I felt instantly that this was a unique moment, so I listened and asked questions and made the odd interjection here and there. Our time extended, and Bill told me some fascinating stories of how God moved in his life.

As I headed home later, I felt very satisfied, almost excited, about our seemingly lazy day. I was thinking through the day, and remembering the day before when I had accompanied Anne on a shopping trip into Cape Town and how I had spent most of the time listening as she unraveled stories that come from years of serving the Lord in a foreign country.

I was basking in the joy of feeling part of a circle here when it hit me:

I have eyes to see my friends from the other side of the world.

And I have ears to hear the stories of missionaries who are weathered and worn after spending years "in the field" virtually on their own.

It seems, God has given me what I asked for, but I didn't realize that as an added benefit, I would be able to better see and hear the people around me. And that in doing so, it would bring blessing to them somehow. It helps them be known, to feel seen, to unload burdens carried for too long. It surprises them, brings joy, encourages them to open up more, makes for a peaceful afternoon.

In seeing and hearing my friends here, I am seeing and hearing a unique aspect of God and the work He is doing in me. And through me, I believe others have experienced Him afresh somehow too.

I pray that this new sight and understanding will continue to develop. And I pray that others around me are gifted with it too. There are opportunities abounding in this world to see God. To catch a glimpse of what life will be like when we are made complete in Him. Kingdom glimpses.

May we see and believe.

May we hear and understand.

I Am

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Sun, 24 Jun 2012 15:51:00 +0000

There is probably no better way to solidify your identity than to take yourself out of the source of that identity and step into the full-force stream of some other identity.

I make the possibly controversial claim that you are not fully an American until you have found yourself immersed in a culture that is not American.

Sure, I know you're American. Sure, you know what you believe and what you hold dear. But, there is a special understanding, a special testing-to-prove-true that comes when your identity is submerged in the flow of something entirely different.

I use that word purposefully--my experience here in SA brings to mind Jackson Browne's words: "Rock me on the water." Sometimes I am a cork floating carefree on the waves of this community. And sometimes I am a rock bumping along a riverbed, crashing into every social norm clumsily. Other times I am a graceful water plant, rooted and waving peacefully as I learn more and more about the world around me. But, I never am part of the actual current. Partly, that's because here in SA, there are a handful of different waters flowing from the source at any given moment: Black African, Colored, White South African, Afrikkaner. As a foreigner, I am an ancillary element of life here. That can be disturbing to some regard, but truly enlightening on the other hand. I am given space to be myself, but also an opportunity to look at the steps that would come mindlessly back home with more care and concern. I start analyzing why I do what "we Americans" do. I not only know what I believe and hold dear cerebrally, these things tend to solidify and become crystal clear through the process of comparing them with others. The quality of the waters I know and love becomes more clear, you could say.

This deeper sense of self and identity comes from the compilation of many little, seemingly insignificant experiences. It really is the oddest thing! But, today alone--on an excursion to Kalk Bay, a little touristy town right on the Indian Ocean--a million little things flashed the neon sign to me: "American!" (And I would venture to guess that the South Africans observing me probably saw THREE times that many signs!)

Driving cautiously on the left side of the road (while everyone else passed recklessly!); trying to locate a parking spot (that hopefully didn't require parallel parking); navigating how to pay the security man who watches the car once it is parked (without awkwardly walking away with the man chasing me politely yelling for me to pay first). I am exhausted by the time I get out of the car and feel like everyone around me just KNOWS that I am American. They all give this little sympathetic look.

I realize I don't know the rules about common things like where to go to the bathroom if you're out driving and need to stop. It doesn't seem easy here to swing into a parking lot and use public restrooms--maybe it is somewhere around here, but for me, simply using the bathroom has always come at the cost of a full meal because I don't know where to go and am too embarrassed to ask! (I think it might be easier to just go before I leave the house!)

At a store that sells local art and crafts, including fabric the shop owners print themselves, I brought what I figured was a fat quarter of the pretty stuff up to the cashier. When I inquired about the price, she said, "Yes, that's a tea towel." And again, the sympathetic look. Had this happened at home, I would have just looked foolish. Here, I looked foolish AND foreign.

When I woke up this morning, it looked sunny and promising so I put on a skirt and flats. I headed to church and then out and about afterward. I saw a number of other women in skirts...and boots...Sherpa boots...Dead of winter, trudging for miles through the snow kinds of boots. And leggings, opaque tights, leg warmers. As they took in my bare ankles, I could almost hear them thinking, "It's winter here for goodness sake!" There was no way to convey back to them in a look that, whether they believe it or not, winter is a relative concept (though, I will give them the objective fact that buildings without central heating can get pretty chilly even when it is 60 outside!).

In some really odd way, experiences like these have got me thinking about what it means to be American. They are little, silly things, but in analyzing them, I start thinking about deeper things like The American Dream, social responsibility and wealth, faith, social norms, politics, what messages I want to impart to younger generations, education, militarism. I guess, in having my identity as an American flashed before me in little ways here, I see the whole of it with more clarity. I have found it to be such a valuable lesson: a gulp of fresh, cool, sweet water!

That refreshment almost becomes addictive. I start bringing to mind a variety of traditions and American Ways and ask my new friends what they do here instead. I hold my norms up against theirs eager to watch as they clarify in my mind. I also am delighted when I come across something here with a connection to home. Like when a woman asks where I got my purse and I say, "America" with pride. Or when the kids go to the video store and pick out movies like "Barbie's Rapunzel"--something I probably wouldn't ever watch at home, but here fascinates me to watch in the presence of non-English speaking children...what must they think?!

Or today, as I drove home and heard Kirk Franklin's voice coming over the airwaves, I turned it up. And even though it was a song I didn't know, I found myself trying to at least hum along. It was a voice and style I KNEW and let's be honest, if you've heard one Kirk Franklin song, you're probably going to pick up the others pretty quickly! The song, "I Am," talks about all the ways our identities are positively affected by Christ. It's a great song in its intended meaning, but as I listened, I kept thinking, "I Am an American."

And it was a good thing. A great thing, in fact! Despite feeling like a doofus most of the day, knowing who I am, what I believe, and what I hold dear bubbled up within me like a new wellspring.

There are many ways in which I stick out here in SA. But, that's okay...I receive sympathy for it in most of the circumstances! By sticking out, though, I see with more clarity the strengths of my identity. And the weaknesses too.

It is my prayer that I can apply the strong "I Am" truths of my identity to issues here in SA that nationals walk past, blinded by their own identities, history, and norms. And I pray that in the weak "I Am" areas, I can learn from my South African friends' strengths and return to the States an even better American somehow. I want to respect the other cultures flowing around me, but not at the expense of disrespecting my own identity. I don't want to ignorantly force my American identity on situations in which I find myself, but I also don't want to give a lousy attempt at being something I am not.

I Am an American...in a foreign country. It's a fresh, clean definition. And I pray everyone reading this has an opportunity to experience it sometime in their own lives!

Moments

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Fri, 22 Jun 2012 08:01:00 +0000

Well, I am here! Back in Cape Town, South Africa! Technically, Capri and Masiphumelele, South Africa. ;)

I have reunited with Bill and Anne, the American missionaries I worked with last year and am working with again this year; the crafters at the African Hope Crafts jewelry shop; Veliswa and Avuyise, the managers of the shop; the kids at the safehouse; and even the local cafe owner who remembered me from last year. Rachel, the house mother from the safehouse, is on holiday until Monday, so I haven't seen her yet, but it should be a joyous occasion when it finally arrives!

I have also met some new friends: the 2nd safehouse's children and house parents and a man who works with students at the primary school and high school in Masiphumelele, named Letson.

And I have only been here 26 hours! It's been busy!

Being back, it feels like I never left. Yes, there is a whole family of children who were added to the fold while I was away, and the kids I knew from before have grown and changed a bit, but I feel myself slipping into a warm and cozy place...back into the embrace of this community.

The day I left home, I was wracked with fear. Not of travel, not of harm. What scared me the most was that I would go through this whole experience and somehow miss what God has for me here. Not that I would demand or expect that God make this a powerful, emotional experience just for me, but I had this deep sense of responsibility weighing on me. A number of people supported me to come; I don't want their generosity to be in vain. I don't want this to become a glorified vacation. I felt strongly that I was called back for something and I began doubting my abilities to follow The Call adequately. I was afraid that I would miss it somehow--that I would go through these 2 months and leave the same person who had walked off the plane.

It really had me fretting. Big time. Gratefully, I am surrounded by a great network of people who care for me and when I reached out to them, they responded with love, encouragement, and prayer. Like I posted from the Detroit Metro Airport, excitement had not set in, but I began to feel faith and hope rest upon me. One of the main ways this became evident was that I resolved to look for "God Moments" everyday. Instead of worrying about a 2 month block of time, I would keep my eyes wide open in each 24-hour block put before me. I would look for the opportunities placed at the door of my heart rather than be intimidated away by the overwhelming task of being a Missionary, albeit short-term (typing the M word even proved difficult!).

By the Grace of God, so far, each day has had at least one Moment. Let me share them with you!

In Chicago, I was able to lend my cell phone to a very scared, very flustered young girl. She burst into tears upon hearing her mother's voice and I knew there was more going on than her never having used a pay phone before. When she finished her call, I asked about her day and listened as she unfolded her 'Big City' fiasco. She was the sweetest girl and just needed someone to listen. So I did. In doing so, I felt God tap me on the shoulder: "See, here ya go."

In London, I had a couple hours to waste, so I headed into town to see Westminster Abbey and Westminster Cathedral. There is something really awesome about being a tourist on my own in a crowd of other tourists. It makes my heart swell for some reason. Hanging out in a fancy cemetery of sorts and a peaceful cathedral a step off the beaten path also made the time become really introspective. I was in a nice, calm place as I headed back to Heathrow on "The Tube", London's subway. About halfway there, a whole class of school children filled every spare inch of space on the train with laughter and shouting. They had been on a field trip and were wound up. Our train was already pretty packed, but suddenly it was bursting with life that only 30-40 eight and nine year-olds can bring. As I tend toward extrovert, the introverted state that my excursion had brought on didn't stand a chance against their antics. I was soon laughing out loud as they tried to fight the forces of speed and gravity, or forgot about them entirely and went flying into some stranger's lap each time the train took off. A group of boys surrounded me and the ring leader soon realized I was finding them funny. He organized a game for his three or four friends: each one would put a gummy candy in his mouth and the one who was able to keep it the longest without biting it or swallowing it would be the winner. As he was passing out the candies, he turned to me and said, "Do you want to play?" so, in an odd turning of the tables, I found myself, a stranger, accepting candy from a child. We were giggling and occasionally "poking out our tongues" to show the progress of our dissolving candies and all of the sudden, as easily as that, I was part of this little community. Just for a second, and not to any depth, but part of it nonetheless. And again, I felt the tap on my shoulder, "See, here ya go."

Being reunited with my friends here, I was brought up to speed on the issues and concerns of all my friends here. Right from the start, there are very obvious needs and ways in which I could see God using me. There is plenty for me to do here: listen as people unload their burdens, encourage people as they are doing the hard work of loving people in difficult situations, shower abandoned children with love, and allow the Prince of Peace to pour out of me in an effort to guide relationships toward reconciliation. As my friends shared with me yesterday, I realized there is no shortage of big tasks set before me here. It won't be easy to miss ways in which God can use my unique skill set to impact the lives of the people I love here. In a number of ways, He was again saying, "See, here ya go."

This morning, Bill scheduled a meeting for me with a man who ministers to school children, Letson. We got to the primary school where 4 of the safehouse children attend in the dark as rain poured from the sky. As I was getting out of the car, navigating puddles and trying to keep my hood up, I heard "Hi, May-leesa!" and looked up to see, among the masses of children and adults bustling down the street, 12 year-old Sisipho from Rachel's house. I fully understand that I stand out like, well, like one white person in a crowd of thousands of black people, but it never ceases to amaze me that I am KNOWN here. "See, here ya go."

Inside, the children (roughly 1,200 pupils in grades 1-7) gathered for Letson's assembly. His colleague began the day's devotional with a saying that the children filled in: "God is ______ all the time. All the time, God is _______." Good--God is GOOD! Hearing a thousand children repeat this saying which has become an axiom repeated frequently by people in my community back home, brought tears to my eyes. "See, here ya go."

One of the issues facing my friends here is that a couple of the girls in the community (that I had met last year) have been bullying the girls of the safehouses. They are related to Rachel, who is out of town currently, and it came to a very nasty head earlier this week. Everyone is waiting for Rachel to get back to resolve the issue. As I stood there listening to the devotions, I realized the girl who began the bullying, Unathi, was standing close by. I was thinking about the whole issue and wondering how I could be of any service to Rachel in resolving the conflict when the words of the man speaking broke through my thoughts: "The Lord says, if we ask for wisdom, he will give it to us. So, if you have a question in your heart, bring it to God and he will show you what to do." As I was looking at the back of her head, I felt compelled to just say "Hello" to her. As the students were being released to their classes, I came up behind her, placed my hand on her shoulder and said, "Hello, Unathi." She turned to me, shock on her face and mumbled, "Hello, May-leesa." I rubbed her shoulder and wished her well. Seeing the shock on her face made me realize that saying hello, or even the smallest act of kindness, was the last thing she expected from me. As the day has progressed, I have felt more and more strongly that the group of people connected to the safehouses are being brought together in a Family here, and that includes Unathi and even includes me. There is no place for jealousy or mistreatment of anyone in Our Family. And I pray that I can encourage and support Rachel toward reconciliation and peace to that end. Saying "Hello" very well might have been the first step in that direction. "See, here ya go."

God is good all the time. All the time, God is good. Amen!

Are you excited?!

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Tue, 19 Jun 2012 22:57:00 +0000

So, I am sitting in the Detroit Metro Airport, ready as I will ever be for a two-month stay in Cape Town, South Africa.

Everyone has asked, "Are you excited?!"

And to be honest, excitement hasn't hit yet. A lot of fear, some anxiety, and a dash of hesitation, yes. Excitement, no. Strange, huh?

I think the first statement that comes to my mind in response to those feelings actually explains the source of some of these reactions: "Last year, excitement came when..."

It is not 2011. This isn't last year. This is a whole new experience, even though it is going to a somewhat familiar place.

So, I fear that I will miss opportunities set before me.

And I am anxious that I am putting my own expectations on this trip.

And I hesitate to take this big leap alone.

And it all is a bit unsettling.

But, God is faithful. Through the encouragement and prayers of friends, He buoys me up with something a bit different. Excitement hasn't come yet. But, in response to fear, faith grows; and hope steps in.

And to be honest, I will take faith and hope over excitement any day.

Running from Doubt to Hope

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Tue, 15 May 2012 03:27:00 +0000

There is a situation in my life right now that is a big question mark. I have a lot of questions about it. I don’t know if anything is happening right now behind the scenes on it. I don’t know how it will turn out in the future. There is not an element of this situation that I feel is entirely nailed down and certain. It is a big unknown.

The thing about being in this situation is, because I know nothing for certain, my mind flips back and forth between Hope and Doubt regularly. Some days we hang out with Hope all day long. Others, we muddle through Doubt from dawn to dusk. But, the craziest days are when we visit with both Hope and Doubt repeatedly throughout the day. It is like running Suicides...err, it’s like watching other people run Suicides: Back and forth, back and forth, ready to puke, back and forth, back and forth, actually puking.

I found myself texting a friend today wondering: “It is crazy to me how quickly hopes can turn into doubts. Why do you think that happens?” After sending it, I started thinking of an answer to my own question.

The Hope I have in this situation comes from dreams for the future. Those dreams are birthed in past experiences and current situations. They are a blend of passion, strengths, and location.

This Hope is also very much tied up in who I believe God is and what interaction He has in my life. Is he active in my life? Is he excited by the things that excite me? Does he have a vision and a hope for my future too? Are we in agreement about that future? Has he given me these dreams in the first place?

There’s a lot that goes into Hope. But, still, Hope is tricky. It is strong, confident, expectation. And it is the basis for Faith, the belief in what is not yet seen. Did that one word catch in your mind like it did in mine? Expectation--now that is a tough word for me. I want to KNOW things, I don’t want to expect them. I want to HAVE things, I don’t want to expect them. I hate surprises.

And Hope is kind of like a big, loud, make-you-drop-your-purse scream: SURPRISE!!

I hate when that happens. But for some reason, I don’t hate Hope. Something keeps me coming back to it. I fear it, yes, but I don’t hate it. I don’t want to become one of ‘those’ people who blindly hopes for something totally out of reach. Everyone around can see this girl is cluelessly clinging to a balloon bumping along the concrete behind her, ready to pop at any moment.

But usually, what’s hardest about Hope is that I end up Hoping for something and what I get is similar, but not the same. Sometimes it is better, but what I end up focusing on is that it is not the same. Like if you set out from Detroit for a vacation in New York City and ended up in Montreal instead. It’s a cool place to be, but you don’t speak the language or have reservations or even a guide book or any sense of what you’ll do there. My heart beats faster just thinking of how unprepared I would be in that situation...

Doubt is kind of like the Anti-Hope. It is standing in that same place of Expectation of the future, but instead of holding on with confidence, the prevailing feeling is uncertainty. It’s that moment when you think you might be stood up by a date--you will wait around for a bit longer, but you’re not sure they’re coming. Instead of looking to what will happen in the future like you were in the car on the way to your rendezvous point, you start noting the details of the current situation. You start looking at the circumstances: five minutes late has turned into twenty-five; the server has been to your table a couple times and now is standing at the hostess station whispering to his co-worker; you’re sure your cell phone isn’t working and have even gone as far as taking the battery out and putting it all back together; you start thinking maybe there is a second location of this same restaurant close by (but you’re still waiting for your phone to re-boot so you can’t look it up!).

“Dude, it isn’t happening. Cut your losses and get the heck out of there before you look even more ridiculous!” That there is what Doubt says. And I have heard that more times than I can count...in more situations than I can count. I hate surprises, but I hate that feeling more. Way more.

And there is nothing redeeming about Doubt. I mean, most of the time you’re uncertain that you will get the positive outcome. If you get it, well, then both Hope and Doubt are obsolete and quickly fade into the background. But, if that uncertainty becomes a reality and you don’t get the positive outcome you want, you’re smack dab in the middle of looking ridiculous, aren’t you?

I am thinking, on the days when I go from Hope to Doubt to Hope and then back to Doubt, what I am actually running between is a view of the circumstances and a view of God. All Hope days are All-Eyes-On-God days. All Doubt days are All-Eyes-On-The-Evidence days. And days like today, when each hour has a different emotion, it is a manic dash between the two. God and Evidence. God and Circumstances.

All-Eyes-On-The-Evidence days: When I start looking at the particulars of the moment in any given situation, I start growing uncertain. The details are fertile ground for Doubt sprouts. There is no way I will ever make it out of this mess. How much work is still left to do?! No one else is showing up--am I going to have to do this on my own?? Circumstances, The Evidence, in the moment is often not pretty.

All-Eyes-On-God Days, though, are different. When I think about who God is, my Hope in all situations of my life increases. I believe He crafts my existence, and guides my path and the more I think of His greatness, the more Hope fills my heart.

There are a couple resources that help me focus on the attributes of God. A friend forwarded me a prayer of sorts from Greg Boyd. It is written from God’s perspective, spoken to the reader, and is based on Scriptural truths about who God is and what He believes about us humans. I recite it to myself when I feel Hope ebbing.

"I love you, _____________, with an everlasting love. ______________, do you know how much joy you bring me because you are redeemed? I rejoice over you with singing and dancing. Because of your faith, _____________, I declare you to be holy and blameless before me. You are so precious to me. You are the apple of my eye. Every reason you could give me about why I should not love you has been taken care of on Calvary. ____________, I am never going to leave you. I will never abandon you. I am here to stay." (Jer. 31:3; Zeph. 3.17; Eph. 1: 3-11; Isa 43:4; Zech 2:8; Rom 8:1, 2 Cor. 5:21, Heb. 10:14; Matt 28:20, John 14:18)

Another resource for growing my Hope has always been music. Certain artists have an amazing ability to help me see God in new and glorious ways. Sara Groves is a long-time favorite. (She actually has so many songs that speak to me that I can’t even think about choosing ONE to highlight!)

Recently, I heard a couple songs by Jeremy Riddle on one of my Pandora stations and I went hunting for more from him. Lines from these songs have stopped me in my tracks, brought instant tears to my eyes, and have me seeing God as utterly amazing!

Stand in Awe

Full Attention

Let’s go back to the whole Prepared thing for a minute, though... I was talking about planning a vacation in NYC but finding yourself in Montreal instead. The idea of preparing for one trip and ending up on a different one entirely gets my heart racing. That is a big nightmare for me. I don’t like being unprepared, or mis-prepared. I like a plan. I like to KNOW the plan. And part of the trickiness of Hope is that the plan is not clearly laid out. There is a part of me that thinks Hope ALWAYS is ending up in the wrong place with the wrong supplies. And remember? That is the part I fear. But, the truth is again woven into who God is and how what He feels for us humans.

I long to Hope in many areas of my life. But, often I fret when I don’t know how to prepare for what I am Hoping for, because it often doesn’t turn out the way I am expecting it to. (That darn Expectation word again!)

The thing is...at the center of Hope is God. And it is my belief that He knows what the positive outcome will be AND He knows the ways in which I need to be prepared! It isn’t my responsibility. I am running around, filling my bag with a guide book for every city from here to Timbuktu because I don’t know where I will land. And God is holding out the one--just the one--that I will need. He’s already booked the hotel. He has the itinerary all set and ready to go. He is just waiting for me to settle down and get in the car so we can start out on our adventure.

Hope is strong, confident expectation of who God is and what He is doing in my life. It isn’t actually expecting certain outcomes. It is expecting that God is who He says He is and He will care for us like He has said He would.

Doubt is getting caught up on the circumstances of the moment. Losing sight of God and thinking that the plan is the most important thing, while realizing that the circumstances don’t fit into the stated plan.

Hopes don’t become Doubts. They are two separate things. They aren’t even comparable, really. One focuses on the majestic Creator of the Universe, Author of all life, and Sustainer of all things. The other focuses on things like missed deadlines, pesky weight gain, cultural demands, debt, and implied meaning in conversation.

Yes, I fear the one sometimes. And it almost seems too big to hold.

But I am coming to despise the other. And I will rejoice the day it no longer is able to get me running to it.

Fool Me Once...

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Tue, 15 May 2012 01:50:00 +0000

So, somewhere in the relationship between blogger and my ipad operating system, 2 of my blog posts disappeared. I have moved beyond being angry or heartsick about it. Finally.

But, I learned my lesson and am typing all future blog posts in googledocs before posting. You veteran bloggers probably already knew to do that.

Oh, yeah, thanks for the head's up! ;)

As for the TEVC and Donald Miller posts that went AWOL, I will work on re-creating them at some point. The wound is still a bit fresh, though. I am hoping time and space will bring the words flowing back to me!

This is the Body

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 17:23:00 +0000

Ok, this is one of the blog posts that was lost thanks to a glitch of some kind between blogger and my ipad.

I was trying to figure out how I would recreate it, but that is a really difficult task because I wrote it as moment of grief was unfolding. I can't go back.

But, in addition to writing that post, I had processed that grief into an email to my pastor, Dan Kopp, and others.

And last week, Dan asked me if I would share my story with the whole church as part of the application of his message, "We are Family."

So, instead of re-creating the blog in writing, here is a link where you can hear me speak the words of my heart regarding The Eastside Vineyard Church, the family I have come to know there, and ultimately, The Body of Christ. My portion begins around the 24 minute mark, though you should listen to the whole message to get the context!

The Eastside Vineyard Church; May 13, 2012; "We Are Family"

(Sidenote: It is taking amazing amounts of restraint not to share my reaction to hearing myself speak! Oh goodness!)

And then, finally, here is the picture from that original blog post. Tony is just right of the center in a bright yellow shirt.

Life is Happening!

noreply@blogger.com (The Weckler) — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 00:56:00 +0000

I have, honestly, a million things to do. But, this afternoon I found myself watching the latest episode of "30 Rock" instead of crossing anything off my To-Do List.

I used to watch a lot of television. But, over the past year, my interest in most shows has really dwindled. But, if you know me, you know that it would take a lot to shake my interest in "Late Night with Jimmy Fallon." So, this afternoon, I headed over to NBC to see if there were any new Jimmy episodes I hadn't seen--Commence Ramble: truth be told, for some reason I thought it was Tuesday and I would be able to see Monday's episode if it was a new one but alas, it isn't Tuesday and there won't be a new episode on tonight...though tomorrow night Obama is on...

So, upon realizing my calendar mis-judgment, I was staring at the main screen of the NBC iPad app, which was advertising other recent full episodes. The title of the "30 Rock" episode caught my eye: "Murphy Brown Lied to Us." Growing up in a single-parent home in the 80s and 90s, that sentence had specific meaning and application in my reality but I wondered if the writers of the "30 Rock" were hitting on it or on something else. So I tuned in.

They were indeed hitting on the fact that being a single parent isn't anything close to easy and were jokingly saying that the portrayal of that life on Murphy Brown was pretty unrealistic. In typical "30 Rock" style, though, they hit on one topic with references to about 567 other things as well. So, rather than get into summarizing the entire episode, I would like give brief background then skip to the very last moment of the show which really hit me.

Liz Lemon is the goofy heroine of "30 Rock." She is in a perpetual state of Singledom and has, in the past, contemplated adopting a baby. She has had a wide array of equally goofy boyfriends. Her current beau matches her in wackiness. The topic of her interest in children comes up and by the end of the episode they are on the same page about trying to have one of their own.

In quirky fashion unique to "30 Rock," Lemon says something like, "Ok, now that we're on the same page, let's do something fun! I will go open a puzzle!" and the BF, Chris, says, "And I will make a stew!" As he walks away, Lemon picks up a bottle of wine, scrunches up her face excitedly and says in a whisper, "Life is happening!"

Life is happening. Life--LIFE!--It's HAPPENING! I totally know what Liz is talking about! She isn't talking about puzzles or wine or stew...she is talking about the REAL matters of life: commitment, children. That moment in her existence was different from the others. The mundane ground was shifting and breaking up a bit. The sprout of something bigger was breaking through. Life. It is happening.

I have had this shifting, shake-up feeling in many areas and seasons of life. Graduating from various schools, getting or leaving certain jobs, the building and breakdown of my marriage, etc. Life indeed happens in the big transitions. And everything that pertains to South Africa has felt like Life Happening. The learning and preparation in 2006 and 2007 that resulted with my feet on the ground in eSikhawini--that was Life. The four years of dreaming, praying, researching, planning, and finally going that got me to Cape Town last summer was Life too. Even the very confusing back-and-forth between logic and passion of the past eight months has smacked of Life in its own way. Life is Big and Life is Happening!

But, what hit me about Lemon's sentiment was actually a twinge of sadness for her. And for all of us. She is just a character on a television show, I know, but I think she speaks for most of us as she expresses excitement about something in her life moving forward. Something bigger than herself pushing up and breaking through. We all want that, right? It might not be a child, or a calling, but there is definitely a big something each of us desires to happen or move. Something that we define as Life. And we want it to Happen!

What made me sad in that moment is the realization that Life is ALWAYS happening. And it isn't in one decision to get on the same page with a boyfriend to maybe try to have a kid that said Life is expressed. Life happens in the puzzle and the stew too. Life happens in the walk to and from the subway. Or the insane conversations with narcissistic celebrity co-workers. Life is ALWAYS happening.

But, for most of us, we don't register those moments as Life Happening. Those are the moments we get through on auto pilot until the big moments come. Those everyday, mundane snapshots of our lives (and the real ones of our lives are even less interesting than Lemon's on "30 Rock"!) are actually the foundation and sustenance of the Big Life Moments. And like Lemon, most of us swing past them not even realizing it.

The odd thing that I have been learning lately is, the ways in which we engage in our mundane life moments has a direct effect on our Big Life Moments. I have a passion for going to South Africa and interacting with underresourced children there, right? Well, I have found that it is incredibly easy to flip the "autopilot" switch and coast through my days here in Michigan without thinking about that passion or engaging it in any way. But, when I intentionally engage in activities that keep my mind on that passion, I find that the mundane routines and activities that fill my days also end up pointing to that passion. They end up becoming Life Happening!

So, for instance, I journal and I contemplate and I pray. I record moments and interactions that spark a little something in me. I start seeing more and more the connections between all things in this world. If I didn't stop to observe them, these moments would slip into the hum of the day and be lost.

Or, because I long to interact on deeper levels with kids, I work and volunteer in a number of ways throughout the week with kids from all different walks of life. I play games with beautiful preschoolers and I get to laugh until I cry at their antics. Or, I stand in a field of tall grass watching little boys learn the rules of football from grown men with the arms of a little girl whose mother left her around my waist. Or I engage pre-teen boys on the autism spectrum in goofy inside jokes just to see them giggle and even guffaw. My days and weeks are chock-full of these moments. Small, yes, but Life Moments nonetheless and if I weren't intentional about them, they probably wouldn't even happen and I definitely wouldn't ever notice them as Life Happening!

I also share my life with the people around me. I openly talk about the ups and downs of the decision-making process with the wonderful people God has brought into the close circle around me. I tell stories of South Africa to middle school kids and encourage them to jump at an opportunity to travel the world. I make spending time with people I love a priority--dinner shared with friends, an evening crafting with my mom, a trip to Eastern Market, or visiting an ailing friend. These are the moments of which life is crafted! And without fully engaging in them, we run the risk of missing out on an element of Life.

Don't get me wrong. I totally look forward to the Big Life Moments. But, I am learning that I can't move through life passively expecting those Big Moments to come. Life is Always Happening and by actively engaging in the ways in which the mundane moments play out, I actually have the opportunity to positively affect those Big Life Moments I am looking forward to.

Liz Lemon, Life is Always Happening! Big or small, cataclysmic or mundane. May we each have the strength to experience it all as such...Life Happening!