Tag: Christianity

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Do I know you?

This past week I had the honor and blessing of being able to see Carl Medearis speak at a Perspectives class near my house.

About half way through his lesson, he said something that I haven’t been able to get out of my head since:

Several years back, Carl was given the opportunity to speak in a mosque in Lebanon. As he was walking up to the podium, the shah who was introducing him, tapped him on the shoulder and quickly asked him not to speak of Christianity, but simply of Jesus. (In our American-Christian minds, these two seem inseparable, but in most people’s realities, they’re not. Muslims believe that Jesus was a teacher and prophet, just as Christians believe that He is our Messiah and Savior.) So Carl chose to speak about Jesus as a teacher, sliding in tidbits about His life, love, and Ultimate Sacrifice on the cross as he went along.

At the end of his 45 minute time slot, Carl had run out of things to say. He had told all of the parables that he knew off the top of his head and was feeling stuck, so he tried to end his speech. But when he turned to walk away from the podium, he looked down to see the shah twirling his finger in midair, as if telling him to continue. “Continue? But my time is up…” He mouthed aghast, when a man stood out his seat and shouted, “YES! TWO MORE HOURS!” As he stood at the podium and stared out at the room packed with people, a murmuring of agreement went through the crowd.

This mosque full of men was so enthralled with the teachings of Jesus that they were begging him to continue. But Carl, internally panicking knowing that he was out of words, politely declined his half-request, half-command to continue, prayed, and walked off the stage, with his head hung low.

“I didn’t know anything else about Jesus. I was a “professional” Christian, a man who had given up everything in America to follow Jesus to the Middle East and I only had 45 minutes worth of knowledge about Him– My “Everything”, my Savior. I couldn’t believe it, and I knew that I never wanted to be in that position again.”

As I sat in my chair listening to him recount this story, I was stunned. My first thought? Oh my gosh, could I talk about Jesus for more than 45 minutes? Probably not. I’ve been a Christian for over 6 years, and I couldn’t even tell you more than maybe five of Jesus’ parables, at least not without butchering them. My second thought? AHHHHH! I’m about to give up the life that I love in Denver to go to school to (hopefully) become a Bible translator and I couldn’t even tell you more than five parables right now if you asked me to! Crap!

Hearing Carl talk about these things made me realize a third thing also… albeit later on in my week: I need to stop being a passive participant in my quiet times with God. How often do I read my Bible and think, “Wow, that was nice”, write about it in my journal, pray about it, and then not do anything further than that?

This Perspectives lesson reminded me that it’s not just the job of missionaries or seminary students to learn scripture. As Christians, we should be unable to function outside of the word and will of God. We should constantly be looking at scripture for guidance, and then committing that to our memory so that we can bless others with the words of God when they need it.

As Christians, we need to learn the teachings of our teacher and be able to talk about Jesus as if He really is our best friend, lover, and everything, like we say that He is.

I never want to be at the point again where I can’t think of more than five of Jesus’ parables, or where I doubt that I could talk for more than an hour about the things that I have seen God do in my life and the lives of those around me.

Never again do I want to doubt that I really “know” Jesus the way that I say I do.

(Also, Carl Medearis tells the above story much more eloquently in his book Muslims, Christians, and Jesus: Gaining Understanding and Building Relationships. Check it out. It’s pretty rad.)

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I think…

I think too much.

Sometimes I think that my overthinking comes from living alone and having nearly twelve beautiful hours of silence to process my chaotic life between the times when I get home from work and the time that I walk out the door the next day.

Sometimes I think back to my childhood and realize that I’ve always been a deep thinker. While my social butterflies of sisters would be off gallivanting about the neighborhood, I would usually be doing something nerdy like looking at rocks in the backyard and thinking out loud about what minerals or fossils they might contain. (Let me tell you, talking to yourself out loud about rocks is not a great way to win friends at the age of 7…or 8…or 9.)

Then sometimes, I think about the way that I process arguments and conversations after they happen. I can’t help but think: What could have gone better? What would have happened if that one little thing had gone differently?

And at the end of all of my thinking about thinking, I realize that I am once again, indeed thinking.

My thinking is a problem, really. (Although, I would personally rather be an over-thinker than an under-thinker if I had to choose. But moving on before I make any more snarky remarks…)

My problem doesn’t necessarily come from the fact that I sometimes think out loud, leading me to talk to myself (or my dog), but from the fact that when I start rehashing my life, I’m usually not talking to God. In fact, I usually am taking my eyes completely off of God. I’m essentially saying,

God, I don’t like how that ended. If You could please put Your Sovereign Knowledge and the good that You’re trying to work here on hold for a minute so that we can tend to my selfish needs, that would be great.”

I will literally dissect and analyze a troubling conversation to death before I offer it up to God, and usually by that time, I have internalized the conversation on a deep level. I understand that sometimes internalizing conversations is beneficial to us as humans and as Christians, especially if the conversations were encouraging or full of wisdom that we need to hear.

However, mulling conversations over and over can easily become detrimental to our walks with God if we aren’t careful with what we are over thinking.

My most recent example of this?

My mother and I don’t have a great relationship, and unfortunately we haven’t for a rather long time. For the majority of the last three years, we haven’t spoken to each other, but just last month she got back in contact with me. For the first few days, I felt like I had a normal relationship with my mom. We caught up on what my siblings were up to, her recent divorce, the happenings of her sunflower farm and ranch, and the like, but unfortunately that quickly fell away and the patterns of verbal abuse that I had grown up with began to return.

Some days when she would call and drill into me, I would turn the other cheek, pretend that her stabbing words didn’t bother me, and give her an excuse as to why I had to hang up. Other days I would blow up at her, serving her insults right back. But no matter how the conversations ended, I always mentally replayed and analyzed them, yet very rarely did I pray for guidance or wisdom.

Last weekend, after absorbing several weeks of verbal assaults I finally blocked her number and tried to go back about my life.

But by then, the conversations and lies were already written on my heart.

Had I simply run to God after every conversation and confrontation and let Him heal my brokenness, I know that I wouldn’t have been so deeply wounded by my mother’s words or the words that came out of my own mouth. But instead, I had replayed them and let them take root in my heart. Slowly her words became my words:

“You’re never going to go anywhere.”

“You’re worthless.”

“You were a mistake.”

“You’re just like your father.”

And because I had started believing these lies, I couldn’t hear the truths that God was speaking into my life at that same time:

“You’ve been accepted into this graduate program because I’m taking you somewhere.”

“You are worth my Son’s life.”

“I created you for a reason.”

“You were created in My image to become more like your Father.”

I don’t think that over thinking is a disease that you can magically be cured of, and I’m honestly still not sure that I would want to be cured of it if this was a possibility. However, I do know that I need to remember where my healing and love comes from, and that is not from my own heart or mind, but from my God.

I am not doing anything productive by metaphorically beating my head against a wall, but God, the author of the Universe (and my own weird brain) would be able to do something with my situation, if only I would offer it up to Him instead.

What is God trying to tell you right now? Can you hear Him? Or are you thinking over your plans and actions instead of offering them up to Him?

6 Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

~Philippians 4:6-7

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Born to be an angel

grad party 045

Six years ago, I wandered into a youth group service and took a seat in the last row of chairs in a crowded high school gym. The transformation that happened in my life that night– the night I became a Christian– was more powerful than I could ever put into words. But something else changed in my life that night too.

As I sat back and scanned the gym full of rowdy teenagers, some of whom I had gone to school and grown up with, my eyes settled on the bright red hair of the girl sitting in the row in front of me. “Hey!” I said, as I kicked the back of her chair, causing her to turn around and look at me. “I like your hair. It’s pretty crazy, but it’s cool.” The girl’s face lit up and she smiled as she shyly said, “Thanks” and went back to the conversation that she had been having with the girl next to her.

Later that night, as I sat crying on the floor of the gym during worship, pouring my heart out to God for the first time, I felt someone put their arm around me. When I opened my eyes, I saw that the strange red-haired girl was sitting by my side, hugging me and crying out to God too.

At the time I didn’t know it, but that strange, wordless interaction on the floor of the Aurora Christian Academy gym was the beginning of one of the most beautiful friendships I have ever known.

I found out later that night that the red-haired girl had a name– Danielle. Dani for short.

I found out in the days and weeks after that night that Dani and I were incredibly similar, and it wasn’t long until we were nearly inseparable.

Over the next several years, we celebrated the small victories in our new walks with Jesus together… and we cried together when we failed. We held each other accountable in late night conversations and we became more like sisters than friends.

But unfortunately, neither of us were perfect and over time, we began to drift away from God, and each other, and in new directions; none of which were particularly healthy.

Around this time, I began college and subsequently “more exciting” things began to attract my attention. As I pulled away, Dani stopped trying to hold me accountable for my stupidity and it was only a matter of time until she had fallen back into her old habits as well.

As time passed, we became a duo of a different kind– the Pharisaical kind.  We were insistent on tearing the other one down by pointing out all of the sin in the others’ life– all in a concerted effort to make ourselves feel better about the amount of sin and pain in our own lives.

This tit-for-tat pattern wore our friendship raw for months on end. It seemed like I had lost my best friend over night, but we both knew that that wasn’t the truth. We both made poor choices and it took nearly a year of us digging at the others’ soul to come to a place of truce. But even in this treaty, neither of us were ready to give up the horrible messes of lives that we had reconstructed for ourselves. So instead of asking each other the hard questions when we talked at night, we would talk about school and boys, friends and what was on tv.

It was during this period of truce that both of our lives completely dissolved around us and because we were living on a superficial level instead of the sisterly bond that we both knew existed, neither of us were willing to cry “Uncle!” and let the other know how desperately we needed to talk about the tough stuff; how desperately we needed God.

And it was during this period that I got the phone call; my first phone call of 2011; the phone call telling me that Dani had committed suicide.

I could easily write a blog entry today, on her birthday, about the depravity and injustice of suicide, how angry I was at myself for being so petty, and the how much I desperately miss her… and all of those things would be true. But I’m not going to.

Instead, I wanted to write today to let everyone who reads this know that Dani was the most beautiful, loving, gracious soul I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

I want you to know that Dani could put a smile on anyone’s face and had no qualms about being incredibly goofy if it meant that she would make you giggle.

I want you to know that Dani had such a tender heart that she shaved her head when she heard that one of our friends had cancer and was losing her hair from radiation treatments.

I want you to know that Dani was fearless and sang in a regional worship competition, even though she knew that people were going to make fun of her behind her back.

I want you to know that Dani radiated the love of Christ in the midst of persecution and humiliation throughout high school, and after.

And I want you to know that while Dani struggled, hard and long with the scars of abuse and addiction, that she loved God and believed whole heartedly in the redemptive power of Jesus Christ.

Today, Dani wouldn’t want us to weep; Instead, she would want us to go out and be a light to the broken of the world, just like she was to me the night that we met on the rubber gym floor of ACA.

So if you’re reading this and struggling, please know that you’re not alone. Reach out to someone; reach out to God.

Humans are fallible– my friendship with Dani proved this– But God will not fail you, not even when you’re broken and at your worst. Not even when everyone else has.

My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

~Psalm 73:26

[On your birthday, I honor you Babydoll. Not a day has gone by that you haven’t been on my mind or my heart since you moved away to Heaven. I love you & can’t wait for the day when we get to worship, side-by-side once again. Love, Kace]

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Fresh

Typically, I’m not a big “foodie”. Don’t get me wrong– I appreciate eating things that are delicious. But having survived off of my own (rather dismal) cooking for years, food has just become something that keeps me alive– not necessarily something that I go to for enjoyment.

Or at least that was the case until I had a vast array of fresh, California produce at my finger tips this month. Everywhere you turn around out there, there are gigantic, juicy fruits and vegetables and I must say, I was in heaven! (I mean, when our family had a huge block party for the 4th of July, I bar-be-qued corn, mangoes, and pineapples– not because I’m a super healthy person (although I wish I was), but because the produce there is fresh from the source and unlike any food that you can find in Colorado.) And knowing that I was about to return home, I crammed my backpack full of fresh produce and looked like a complete nutjob on the airplane.

But in a weird way, I’m glad I rebelled against TSA’s “suggested items not to pack in your carry-on” list, as I received more joy out of my smuggled treats than I had anticipated.

You see, last week while munching on a smuggled California kiwi and doing some work for my summer job, I had a sermon podcast from my home church, Scum of the Earth, running in my headphones.

The topic of the sermon? Living closer with God

The verses that Mike (Scum’s pastor) felt the Holy Spirit leading him to? John 15:4-5

4 Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. 5 I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.

At first, I just giggled at the coincidence between my snack and the fact that I was listening to my pastor speak about fruit before continuing on to plug information about some software company into its respective email. But as the sermon went on, I began making more and more connections between what Mike was saying and where I currently was in relationship to God.

The first connection: The relationship between fresh fruit and its source. The fruit in California tastes better because it is brought to me shortly after being removed from its vine/tree/root. The farmer harvests (is that the proper term for something that’s not chili? I don’t know… #Mexicanproblems) the crop right at its peak ripeness and because it has a shorter distance to travel before it lands in my hands, it is sweeter. My snack gets to remain attached to its source and be nourished longer, and therefore continues to grow and become better and better.

The second connection: The relationship between my life and my Source.

I don’t know about you, but I can feel a difference in myself when I spend time with God and when I don’t. If God and I aren’t in communication either overtly or subconsciously, suddenly, “old, ghetto me” peeks out of hiding. I get easily annoyed by the little things, short-tempered, overly snarky, and if enough time goes by, just down-right mean. And while I’m not proud to admit it, toward the end of my last stay in California, I was beginning to get revert-igo and was sliding right back into those old characteristics.

Galatians 5:22-23 tells us that the “fruit” that John 15 is referring to “is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control”…and as I grumpily sat working on a coffee shop patio, listening to Mike speak, I was lacking almost all of these.

Why? It’s simple: I wasn’t actively in communication with God.

As Mike says in the aforementioned sermon, “Not to advance is to retreat. When does a plant stop growing? When you stop watering it and it starts dying. There is no middle ground here.”

I was grumpy, impatient, and lacking in joy because I wasn’t watering my spiritual plant. I was allowing myself to die, day by day, choice by choice.

As someone who tried to plant a garden in her classroom and accidentally killed it by not watering it over spring break, you would think I would have this elementary principle of gardening down pat.

But, I guess I don’t…

My last few days in California, and even for my first few days back home, I wasn’t intentional about tending to my relationship with God. Sometimes I would wake up late and forget to have quiet time in the midst of a chaotic morning. Other times, I was too apathetic to pick up my Bible instead of my iPad on my break or late at night.

We’ve all been there.

But unlike my classroom garden that I didn’t exactly mourn after I killed it, my relationship with God is important to me. Who I am in Him and whether I am doing His work or not, is important to me.

Too important for me to simply stop watering it and allow myself to shrivel away.

So yes, I’m a sucky gardener, but I’m making an effort to, well… make an effort.

Where are you with God today? Are you picking up something that is going to draw you closer to Him? Or are you allowing yourself to shrivel up and die one decision at a time?

Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.”

Philippians 4: 6-7 (The Message)

(If you’re interested in hearing the wonderful sermon I’ve mentioned, the podcast can be found in the Scum archives here. It’s worth a listen, I promise.)

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Tell me once again…

I am many things.

I’m a daughter, a student, a teacher, a friend, a sister, an auntie, a niece, and a cousin— just to name a few of the many positions that I fulfill in life.

This summer, I have had the privilege of bouncing back and forth between Colorado and California, focusing on the last two “jobs” on that list as I act as a live-in nanny for my aunt’s two-year old daughter Monica.

Staying out in the Bay Area again has been great. I’ve met new people, seen old friends from Berkeley, and have had amazing home cooked Mexican food and fresh fish for almost every meal. But most importantly, I’ve gotten to build a new layer into my relationship with my aunt.

Being the only two girls on my dad’s side of my family for nearly two decades, my aunt and I have always been very close. In fact, when I was a little kid, I essentially wanted to be my Aunt Vee when I “grew up”.

She has influenced every decision in my life from wanting to be a cheerleader in high school to where I applied for college to what NFL team I cheer for. (Raider Nation, baby! Sorry… couldn’t resist.)

When we’re together, my aunt and I always have a great time. But no matter how much I love my second home with her and her little family, I can’t help but feel a bit stressed out here.

You see, in Colorado I know exactly who I am. I have a routine. I have my job and friends. I even have a regular coffee shop where the owner knows exactly how I like my coffee (and occasionally my breakfast) made.

In Colorado, I’m someone’s teacher, someone’s intellectual equal, someone’s best friend.

But here, I’m just “Vee’s niece. You know, the tall one that used to have a cute Latina afro and little pink boots when she was three…”

Here I’m the bridge between two generations; not an adult in the eyes of my family, but certainly over qualified (and far too tall) to be considered a child by anyone’s standards.

I’m living in a weird flux state where I can’t quite figure out my identity in this new place. I don’t know if I’m coming or going, but I do know that this situation makes me want to get on the first plane and go back home to Colorado.

I know that retreating back to my comfort zone won’t do me any favors. I know that my identity is in (or should be in) my Heavenly Father, and not rooted in who I say I am or who my family views me as.

I know all of this, but I still have identity vertigo.

I’m well aware that I’m not the first, or only twenty-something-year-old to feel this way. But I want a definite answer about who I am, in every situation, not just at home. I want to take the control away from God and say “Look Buddy, I’m getting whiplash here. Just give me an answer before I lose my mind!”

And there in lies my problem. I am trying to discover who I am on my own… and in that process I am removing God. The same God who is the one true root of my identity; The one who knows me better than anyone, including my aunt or even my closest friends.

In the middle of my panic and vertigo, I am reminded…

I’m the one You love, that will be enough.”

“But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.

~Isaiah 43:1