Next weekend is SIM Kenya's Spiritual Life Conference. The theme is "Bound to Serve" and it's about community and abounding in Christ's love.
I've been learning that I am a leader. Whether I like it or not, I am a leader.
I have had several huge projects tossed on me this past week, and I found I've risen to the occasion. In addition, I'm playing guitar at the SLC, so I'm involved with organizing music. The girl that is actually in charge is not a leader- someone just asked her to do it and she has a problem saying no. The other woman who is co-planning is just... strange.
She's a wonderful woman and she wants everyone to be involved, but she has a problem communicating. She asks one family to pick some songs for one day, and then told the musicians that that family will be in charge of music for the given day. However, when I talked to the family, they just thought that she was asking them to make suggestions. Ai!
Occurrence after occurrence has shown me that just as I'm a leader and I don't want to be, some people are not leaders but they think they are.
Why don't I want to be a leader?
My mentor asked me this question a few days ago. I told her it was because people are scared of leaders. Leaders are mean people, I said. People that order others around and yell and enforce the rules. I don't want to be that person.
Meanwhile, Caleb has shown me a new style of leadership that I've never noticed before. It's the same style as my dad's- a sort of nonchalant, suggestion-oriented leadership. He sits quietly and waits for an opening in the conversation, and then he makes a vague statement that gets other people thinking. Someone comes up with a plan and they think it's their own. But really, the quiet leader was intending it all along. Leaders like this can lead from the back row and no one would ever suspect.
Caleb and I are, shall we say, dating. Not dating in the way we think in the States, though. Not going out to dinner and a movie and a goodnight kiss on the front porch. Not hours on the couch in each other's arms talking about nothing in particular and occasionally not at all. Not for fun.
We've become fast friends over the past four months. I don't hesitate to say that he's my closest friend here. We understand each other. So, I wasn't surprised when one morning he came over, made me pancakes, and said, "So, dating. What do you think?"
It threw me for a loop. I knew it was on his mind. He'd passingly mentioned it before, but I hadn't expected it so soon. So, I gave him a vague answer and we said we'd reconvene after I'd talked to a few people.
A few people meant my mentor, the girls in the other apartment, and Dorothy and Dwight, our director and our immediate boss, respectively. They all gave me the same cautions and the same encouragement. I prayed. I read the Word. Caleb and I talked again, and after SLC, we'll begin a formal courtship with the intent of eventual marriage.
I told my parents. They were shocked, but supportive. They said they'd been praying about it. I was rather surprised at their stance and of course they want to be in communication with him, but they were not intently against it.
So now, I'm asking you, my friends, to enter into prayer with me about this relationship. Pray that Caleb and I will know where to set our boundaries. Pray that we'll remain accountable to those around us. Pray that we'll listen to God however He chooses to speak to us.
And pray, please, that in the year ahead God will grow us both into the people that we are intended to be.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
Book Reviews
girl meets GOD: on the path to a spiritual life
by Lauren Winner
Excerpt: "Once, when we were still dating, Steven read aloud to me from an obscure British novel...; he read a scene in which a believer and a cynic are debating God. Of course I know you believe in it, the cynic says, what I want to know is do you believe in it the way you believe in Australia? Some days, I believe the Christian story even more than I believe in Australia. After all, I have never been to Australia, it is just a picture on a map. I don't know if I will ever go there, but I know that eventually I am going to Glory.
"Living the Christian life, however, is not really about that Australia kind of believing. It is about a promise to believe even when you don't. After all, when I stand up in church to say the Creed, it may well be that that very morning I didn't really know for sure that some fifteen-year-old-virgin got pregnant with a baby who was really God. Saying the Creed is like vowing to love your bride forever and ever. That vow is not a promise to feel goopy and smitten every morning for the rest of your life. It is a promise to live love, even, especially, when you don't feel anything other than annoyance and disdain."
When I first started reading girl meets GOD I wasn't too excited about it. I've met Lauren Winner, before I read any of her books, and I felt like she was more put together than this book illustrates. I had to keep reminding myself that when she wrote this book she was a young Christian, single, and not really sure what God was doing with her.
But the more I read, the more I liked her. She was raw and honest. She talks about how God draws to you Himself. She talks about looking back at her life and seeing the clues God dropped along that way to show her that He was seducing her. Her conversion was not a specific moment in time, but a process of slow commitment. She told her friends, "I think I'm becoming a Christian."
Winner starts with the Jewish festival of Sukkot and goes through the year, highlighting Jewish and Christian holidays and melding them together, showing the Jewishness of the Bible. She sheds new light on the Bible and points out nuances that I'd never have realized without some Jewish flavour added.
She's honest. She talks about her experiences and those of her friends. She shows that God sometimes doesn't appear out of the sky with a ray of blinding light and announce that we will now serve Him; sometimes He whispers sweet nothings in our ear until we turn and embrace Him.
Winner has a faith that is rooted in ritual. Having been raised Jewish, she finds the liturgy appealing and the sacraments speak to her heart more, I think, than to your average evangelical. Keep and open mind when you read her book, and let God whisper seductively to you, too.
real sex: the naked truth about chastity
by the same.
Excerpts: "In Romans 12:1, Paul instructs teh church to "offer your bodies as a living sacrifice." The grammar of that command is odd- we are offering bodies, plural, as one living sacrifice, singular. But that seeming grammatical slip, I think, tells us a lot about community, chastity, and prayer. Those who are not married and those who are married offer our bodies as a single, communal sacrifice to God. It is something we do together- as one Body."
"...Marriage consists not simply or even primarily of a personal relationship. Rather, it crystallizes the love of the larger church community. The couple is not just two-in-one but two together within the whole, with specific responsibility for the whole.... They must presevere in love, because the community needs to see God's love actualized among God's people."
real sex is a real book. When Lauren Winner started writing it, she was single and insistent that this would not be one of those books where a happily married person prattles on about how great marriage is and how all singles should aim for it. But during the course of the writing, she met, dated, and got married to her husband. At the book was sent off to the publisher, she'd been married exactly three-and-a-half months, she explains.
She begins with talking about the Scriptural defense of sex and marriage, not that anyone needed to hear that, but it's a good beginning. And then she starts with communalism. This is probably my favourite part of her book. The chapter is entitled "Communal Sex: Or, Why Your Neighbor Has Any Business Asking You What You Did Last Night." She defends the concept that sex is inherently a part of community and that as Christians, we should actually have very little privacy in our lives. We are, after all, One Body.
She discusses lies that our culture tells us about sex, and that the church tells us. And then she goes into actually practicing chastity. How do you do it? Where is the line? What are the dos and don'ts? "Conforming your Body to the Arc of the Gospel," she calls it. She goes into the value of singleness- what the church can learn from it. And how chastity is a spiritual discipline- something you do to bring yourself closer to God, something you do even when you don't feel like it.
I hardly ever "feel like" being chaste. In fact, Western culture has so poisoned my mind concerning sex, that it seems to crop up everywhere I look (see my previous post). Winner gives me new eyes when looking at chastity. She points out the Body of Christ in a fabulously simple way, a way that makes me want to be chaste, if only to be able to share the lessons God teaches me with the rest of my Body.
Read real sex if you can get your hands on it.
by Lauren Winner
Excerpt: "Once, when we were still dating, Steven read aloud to me from an obscure British novel...; he read a scene in which a believer and a cynic are debating God. Of course I know you believe in it, the cynic says, what I want to know is do you believe in it the way you believe in Australia? Some days, I believe the Christian story even more than I believe in Australia. After all, I have never been to Australia, it is just a picture on a map. I don't know if I will ever go there, but I know that eventually I am going to Glory.
"Living the Christian life, however, is not really about that Australia kind of believing. It is about a promise to believe even when you don't. After all, when I stand up in church to say the Creed, it may well be that that very morning I didn't really know for sure that some fifteen-year-old-virgin got pregnant with a baby who was really God. Saying the Creed is like vowing to love your bride forever and ever. That vow is not a promise to feel goopy and smitten every morning for the rest of your life. It is a promise to live love, even, especially, when you don't feel anything other than annoyance and disdain."
When I first started reading girl meets GOD I wasn't too excited about it. I've met Lauren Winner, before I read any of her books, and I felt like she was more put together than this book illustrates. I had to keep reminding myself that when she wrote this book she was a young Christian, single, and not really sure what God was doing with her.
But the more I read, the more I liked her. She was raw and honest. She talks about how God draws to you Himself. She talks about looking back at her life and seeing the clues God dropped along that way to show her that He was seducing her. Her conversion was not a specific moment in time, but a process of slow commitment. She told her friends, "I think I'm becoming a Christian."
Winner starts with the Jewish festival of Sukkot and goes through the year, highlighting Jewish and Christian holidays and melding them together, showing the Jewishness of the Bible. She sheds new light on the Bible and points out nuances that I'd never have realized without some Jewish flavour added.
She's honest. She talks about her experiences and those of her friends. She shows that God sometimes doesn't appear out of the sky with a ray of blinding light and announce that we will now serve Him; sometimes He whispers sweet nothings in our ear until we turn and embrace Him.
Winner has a faith that is rooted in ritual. Having been raised Jewish, she finds the liturgy appealing and the sacraments speak to her heart more, I think, than to your average evangelical. Keep and open mind when you read her book, and let God whisper seductively to you, too.
real sex: the naked truth about chastity
by the same.
Excerpts: "In Romans 12:1, Paul instructs teh church to "offer your bodies as a living sacrifice." The grammar of that command is odd- we are offering bodies, plural, as one living sacrifice, singular. But that seeming grammatical slip, I think, tells us a lot about community, chastity, and prayer. Those who are not married and those who are married offer our bodies as a single, communal sacrifice to God. It is something we do together- as one Body."
"...Marriage consists not simply or even primarily of a personal relationship. Rather, it crystallizes the love of the larger church community. The couple is not just two-in-one but two together within the whole, with specific responsibility for the whole.... They must presevere in love, because the community needs to see God's love actualized among God's people."
real sex is a real book. When Lauren Winner started writing it, she was single and insistent that this would not be one of those books where a happily married person prattles on about how great marriage is and how all singles should aim for it. But during the course of the writing, she met, dated, and got married to her husband. At the book was sent off to the publisher, she'd been married exactly three-and-a-half months, she explains.
She begins with talking about the Scriptural defense of sex and marriage, not that anyone needed to hear that, but it's a good beginning. And then she starts with communalism. This is probably my favourite part of her book. The chapter is entitled "Communal Sex: Or, Why Your Neighbor Has Any Business Asking You What You Did Last Night." She defends the concept that sex is inherently a part of community and that as Christians, we should actually have very little privacy in our lives. We are, after all, One Body.
She discusses lies that our culture tells us about sex, and that the church tells us. And then she goes into actually practicing chastity. How do you do it? Where is the line? What are the dos and don'ts? "Conforming your Body to the Arc of the Gospel," she calls it. She goes into the value of singleness- what the church can learn from it. And how chastity is a spiritual discipline- something you do to bring yourself closer to God, something you do even when you don't feel like it.
I hardly ever "feel like" being chaste. In fact, Western culture has so poisoned my mind concerning sex, that it seems to crop up everywhere I look (see my previous post). Winner gives me new eyes when looking at chastity. She points out the Body of Christ in a fabulously simple way, a way that makes me want to be chaste, if only to be able to share the lessons God teaches me with the rest of my Body.
Read real sex if you can get your hands on it.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
A quick note
In case you're interested, my newest newsletter is available for download Here. Please let me know if the link doesn't work.
If in the future you'd like to receive my newsletters via email, please notify me at the address included.
Also, I apologize if the formatting is screwy- I created the document on Vista, and if there's one thing I can't stand it's that the new documents aren't compatible with the old versions. Lesson learned- next time use XP.
If in the future you'd like to receive my newsletters via email, please notify me at the address included.
Also, I apologize if the formatting is screwy- I created the document on Vista, and if there's one thing I can't stand it's that the new documents aren't compatible with the old versions. Lesson learned- next time use XP.
Not for the Faint of Mind.
I think about sex a lot. There's no point in mincing words about it. Sex is on my mind quite often. It has been for many years- more than half of my life now. In fact, I've been struggling with an addiction to sex (mental sex, not physical) for a long time. See my story Here. I'm a missionary now, but I still think about sex more than a good Christian girl should- or at least that's what my ultra-conservative upbringing tells me.
I was a missionary kid, growing up on the border of Mexico and the US, attending a private mission school where I was the only non-Hispanic in my class. During those years, it was communicated to me (never explicitly, but rather implied) that it is improper for women to even suggest that they are sexual creatures. We are not to talk about sexuality or refer to it in any way. We are to be modest in all we say and do, and sex is not a word you utter in polite society except to condemn it.
Along with this teaching was the also-implied lesson that women are not only to hide their sexuality from others and even themselves, but that they are, by default, responsible for the sexuality of men. How, when they don't understand their own desires, they are supposed to control those of an intrinsically different human being, is beyond me. However, that was the teaching. Men are visual creatures, they told us. I purport this to be true- but women are visual too. "Men think about sex every seven seconds," they said, "and they lie about the other six." I can't say that this is true, but I never met a man that disagreed with it. So here we are with two true statements.
But the conclusion they drew couldn't be further from the truth: You, as a woman, have the responsibility of making sure that men think about sex as little as possible. Which is to say, men can't control themselves- they are beasts with no sense of discipline, and your personal willpower is the only thing keeping them chaste.
It's quite a bomb to drop on women, really. You are not only disallowed from thinking about sex, but you must make sure that no one else does either. If a man thinks about sex around you, it's your fault. Gosh, how can I tell what a man's thinking? Heck, I could be belching and picking my nose and he could still be thinking about sex. What am I supposed to do?
Apparently skirts two inches below the knee (and not a millimeter higher, mind you!) shirts with sleeves (real sleeves, not those cap things) and close-toed shoes make men think about sex less. Is there some sort of mental threshold that I'm missing? Does the curve of a shoulder, or the outline of a knee, or the sight of a manicured toenail drive a man wild?
Surely I understand the concept of modesty, but it has nothing to do with not driving men astray. Women are squeezed into ugly one-piece bathing suits while men continue flaunt finely-toned physiques. I confess I've had to look away more than once when one of my male friends took his shirt off. I like the look of a man who takes care of his body and my American culture has taught me to connect sex with the sight of that body. But all in all, I am modest. I like to look good (again, culture tells us that sexy is good and even Christians don't seem to argue with that) but my body is the Temple of God. Still, I think modesty is a matter of attitude more than attire. Meaning that a woman can be more covered than a Baptist preacher's wife and still be tantalizing.
But I didn't set out to talk about modesty. I set out to talk about sex. About unrealistic expectations and what we as Christians should do about it.
Like I said, I think about sex a lot. I dream about it. I've never had sex, so I wonder what it's like. I fear it a little bit when I realize what's expected of me within a marriage and what if I don't do it right and what if it's not good and what if we mess it up and it just ends up being a big fat hole in our marriage? Now that I am romantically interested in someone (though, I must say, not physically attracted to him) I think about it more often.
I'm reading Lauren Winner's Book about chastity and she speaks quite candidly about sex. She addresses a lot of the issues that have always plagued me, issues that I've mentioned above. But the more I read her book, the more I think about sex. My upbringing tells me it's not right to think about sex that much and part of me wants to rationalize it- "But I'm thinking about it in the context of marriage!"
The problem is that I'm not married so even thinking about sex within marriage should be off-limits, by virtue of Christ's treatise that even looking at someone with lust is adultery. I can tell you straight up that I've done more than look with lust.
So the question then is this: how do we single people think about sex without sinning? How do we recognize that God made us sexual creatures to be bound in unity with one another and yet refrain from considering our options before He sees fit to unify us with someone?
And, I think the most plaguing question I have is one that I'd never realize without having listened to James Dobson. Dr. D once said that the Christian community tells its single people to say NO to sex all the time. No, no, no. But suddenly, when you're married, you're supposed to say "Yes!" and say it often, and with great zeal.
How are we to make that switch? How on earth do we live a pure life with a pure mind, not even considering the possibility of sex with someone before we are married, and then, when we say "I do" flip a switch and reverse our opinions entirely?
Paul instructs us that, rather than burn with desire, we just get married. Thanks, Paul. Glad to hear your opinion, but it's not that simple anymore.
One of my best friends told me that she was engaged a couple of years ago because of sex. "That wasn't the only reason I was going to marry him," she said, "But it was a big one. I wanted to have sex." I've long thought that this was a big reason for many Christian marriages. They're forbidden from sex until after the papers are signed and the rings exchanged, so they often hurry the process just so that they can finally be allowed to have sex. That seems a bit warped, but it also seems a right interpretation of Paul's instruction. If you can't control yourself, get married.
But the whole idea seems to me to be somewhat bereft of depth. It seems to me that there is a higher calling somewhere in there- a challenge to live chastely with honor and dignity. Living in chastity both inside and outside marriage can be a greater example to the world around us than simply holding off from sex before marriage because the Bible tells me so.
Living a chaste life free from sexual immorality (whatever that means) seems to be the goal but I, for one, have little or no idea of how to actually carry that out.
I was a missionary kid, growing up on the border of Mexico and the US, attending a private mission school where I was the only non-Hispanic in my class. During those years, it was communicated to me (never explicitly, but rather implied) that it is improper for women to even suggest that they are sexual creatures. We are not to talk about sexuality or refer to it in any way. We are to be modest in all we say and do, and sex is not a word you utter in polite society except to condemn it.
Along with this teaching was the also-implied lesson that women are not only to hide their sexuality from others and even themselves, but that they are, by default, responsible for the sexuality of men. How, when they don't understand their own desires, they are supposed to control those of an intrinsically different human being, is beyond me. However, that was the teaching. Men are visual creatures, they told us. I purport this to be true- but women are visual too. "Men think about sex every seven seconds," they said, "and they lie about the other six." I can't say that this is true, but I never met a man that disagreed with it. So here we are with two true statements.
But the conclusion they drew couldn't be further from the truth: You, as a woman, have the responsibility of making sure that men think about sex as little as possible. Which is to say, men can't control themselves- they are beasts with no sense of discipline, and your personal willpower is the only thing keeping them chaste.
It's quite a bomb to drop on women, really. You are not only disallowed from thinking about sex, but you must make sure that no one else does either. If a man thinks about sex around you, it's your fault. Gosh, how can I tell what a man's thinking? Heck, I could be belching and picking my nose and he could still be thinking about sex. What am I supposed to do?
Apparently skirts two inches below the knee (and not a millimeter higher, mind you!) shirts with sleeves (real sleeves, not those cap things) and close-toed shoes make men think about sex less. Is there some sort of mental threshold that I'm missing? Does the curve of a shoulder, or the outline of a knee, or the sight of a manicured toenail drive a man wild?
Surely I understand the concept of modesty, but it has nothing to do with not driving men astray. Women are squeezed into ugly one-piece bathing suits while men continue flaunt finely-toned physiques. I confess I've had to look away more than once when one of my male friends took his shirt off. I like the look of a man who takes care of his body and my American culture has taught me to connect sex with the sight of that body. But all in all, I am modest. I like to look good (again, culture tells us that sexy is good and even Christians don't seem to argue with that) but my body is the Temple of God. Still, I think modesty is a matter of attitude more than attire. Meaning that a woman can be more covered than a Baptist preacher's wife and still be tantalizing.
But I didn't set out to talk about modesty. I set out to talk about sex. About unrealistic expectations and what we as Christians should do about it.
Like I said, I think about sex a lot. I dream about it. I've never had sex, so I wonder what it's like. I fear it a little bit when I realize what's expected of me within a marriage and what if I don't do it right and what if it's not good and what if we mess it up and it just ends up being a big fat hole in our marriage? Now that I am romantically interested in someone (though, I must say, not physically attracted to him) I think about it more often.
I'm reading Lauren Winner's Book about chastity and she speaks quite candidly about sex. She addresses a lot of the issues that have always plagued me, issues that I've mentioned above. But the more I read her book, the more I think about sex. My upbringing tells me it's not right to think about sex that much and part of me wants to rationalize it- "But I'm thinking about it in the context of marriage!"
The problem is that I'm not married so even thinking about sex within marriage should be off-limits, by virtue of Christ's treatise that even looking at someone with lust is adultery. I can tell you straight up that I've done more than look with lust.
So the question then is this: how do we single people think about sex without sinning? How do we recognize that God made us sexual creatures to be bound in unity with one another and yet refrain from considering our options before He sees fit to unify us with someone?
And, I think the most plaguing question I have is one that I'd never realize without having listened to James Dobson. Dr. D once said that the Christian community tells its single people to say NO to sex all the time. No, no, no. But suddenly, when you're married, you're supposed to say "Yes!" and say it often, and with great zeal.
How are we to make that switch? How on earth do we live a pure life with a pure mind, not even considering the possibility of sex with someone before we are married, and then, when we say "I do" flip a switch and reverse our opinions entirely?
Paul instructs us that, rather than burn with desire, we just get married. Thanks, Paul. Glad to hear your opinion, but it's not that simple anymore.
One of my best friends told me that she was engaged a couple of years ago because of sex. "That wasn't the only reason I was going to marry him," she said, "But it was a big one. I wanted to have sex." I've long thought that this was a big reason for many Christian marriages. They're forbidden from sex until after the papers are signed and the rings exchanged, so they often hurry the process just so that they can finally be allowed to have sex. That seems a bit warped, but it also seems a right interpretation of Paul's instruction. If you can't control yourself, get married.
But the whole idea seems to me to be somewhat bereft of depth. It seems to me that there is a higher calling somewhere in there- a challenge to live chastely with honor and dignity. Living in chastity both inside and outside marriage can be a greater example to the world around us than simply holding off from sex before marriage because the Bible tells me so.
Living a chaste life free from sexual immorality (whatever that means) seems to be the goal but I, for one, have little or no idea of how to actually carry that out.
Monday, January 14, 2008
The Rain
So stand in the rain
Stand your ground
Stand up when it's all crashing down
You stand through the pain
You won't drown
And one day, whats lost can be found
You stand in the rain
-Superchic[k]
The movie was over. I didn't think "Walk the Line" was as good as everyone had said it was, and I could see a lot of room for improvement. We sat around for a bit in the hangout room before going outside. It was raining, I noticed. Caleb groaned a bit, knowing he'd have to ride his motorcycle home.
He's very task-oriented, and so he went straight from their house to my house, where all his stuff was. I danced. In the rain.
It is dry season, meaning that it hasn't rained in a good three weeks. It was a bit cold, but I stood in it. It started coming down harder, so I stuck my glasses in my back pocket and twirled.
I love the rain. I love the feeling of being cleansed by the heavens with all of nature. Being from San Diego, I don't get to stand in the rain very often, but when I do, it feels right. It feels like God is renewing His covenant with me. It feels like my sins are washed away and I can start afresh.
My meticulously-straightened hair began to go back to its natural curl. The faint scent of perfume ran down my arms and dripped unceremoniously from my fingertips. I laughed and giggled and danced and twirled.
"You're going to die of exposure," Caleb said, laughing at me from the balcony.
"More likely of acid rain," I said, gaping my mouth wide open to the sky.
He came and stood with me until the deluge faded away into the night.
Stand your ground
Stand up when it's all crashing down
You stand through the pain
You won't drown
And one day, whats lost can be found
You stand in the rain
-Superchic[k]
The movie was over. I didn't think "Walk the Line" was as good as everyone had said it was, and I could see a lot of room for improvement. We sat around for a bit in the hangout room before going outside. It was raining, I noticed. Caleb groaned a bit, knowing he'd have to ride his motorcycle home.
He's very task-oriented, and so he went straight from their house to my house, where all his stuff was. I danced. In the rain.
It is dry season, meaning that it hasn't rained in a good three weeks. It was a bit cold, but I stood in it. It started coming down harder, so I stuck my glasses in my back pocket and twirled.
I love the rain. I love the feeling of being cleansed by the heavens with all of nature. Being from San Diego, I don't get to stand in the rain very often, but when I do, it feels right. It feels like God is renewing His covenant with me. It feels like my sins are washed away and I can start afresh.
My meticulously-straightened hair began to go back to its natural curl. The faint scent of perfume ran down my arms and dripped unceremoniously from my fingertips. I laughed and giggled and danced and twirled.
"You're going to die of exposure," Caleb said, laughing at me from the balcony.
"More likely of acid rain," I said, gaping my mouth wide open to the sky.
He came and stood with me until the deluge faded away into the night.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Jesus in his eyes
I always laughed to myself at how awkward he is. It surprised me to learn that he is a professor at a theological institute- he doesn't seem to do well in front of crowds.
He always stutters over his words, he goes off on rabbit trails, and takes forever to do his job when he is elder of the week (his job being greeting the visitors, taking prayer requests, leading the prayer time, and reading the Scripture passage for the day).
He's about the most attractive man I ever met. He's Indian (the real kind- from India) and his face just exudes intelligence. He's lean and conservatively built. I had a minor crush on him from the moment I saw him.
And then I saw his wife. It felt a bit like that Alanis Morrisette song "Ironic". But she was gorgeous too. She's kind and graceful and perfect. The two of them have to be the most attractive couple in the world. Now I have what I call a "couples crush" on them- couples that you see and think I want to be them someday.
But yesterday, as he was looking around for new people, our eyes locked for a moment. I felt a bit guilty looking at him but I held his gaze. That moment seemed an eternity. And I saw Jesus.
I've never seen Jesus so much in someone. It was as if I were staring right through Hash Gudka and looking at his inner being. He was entirely transparent. I saw only Jesus.
It was like that Michael Card song "Forgiving Eyes" about the woman caught in adultery.
"In His eyes so gentle I could see
A father and a brother and a son
Just as I saw Him,
The hope I had lost
Became born again
I was not hopeless!
Though I'd been lost
Now I felt I was found
When He looked at me
With His forgiving eyes"
I was suddenly convicted for laughing at Hash's awkwardness. I realized, if Almighty God lived so completely within me, if He was so close to the surface that whenever people looked at me they saw Him, I'd be awkward too!
We talk about having God in our hearts, but I'd rather have Him in my eyes, under my skin, behind my teeth, oozing out under my finger nails. I don't want to keep Him locked in my heart-box anymore. I want to let God flow through my veins so that whenever I look at someone, or say something, or do something, or think, He leaks out.
I want to leak Jesus.
He always stutters over his words, he goes off on rabbit trails, and takes forever to do his job when he is elder of the week (his job being greeting the visitors, taking prayer requests, leading the prayer time, and reading the Scripture passage for the day).
He's about the most attractive man I ever met. He's Indian (the real kind- from India) and his face just exudes intelligence. He's lean and conservatively built. I had a minor crush on him from the moment I saw him.
And then I saw his wife. It felt a bit like that Alanis Morrisette song "Ironic". But she was gorgeous too. She's kind and graceful and perfect. The two of them have to be the most attractive couple in the world. Now I have what I call a "couples crush" on them- couples that you see and think I want to be them someday.
But yesterday, as he was looking around for new people, our eyes locked for a moment. I felt a bit guilty looking at him but I held his gaze. That moment seemed an eternity. And I saw Jesus.
I've never seen Jesus so much in someone. It was as if I were staring right through Hash Gudka and looking at his inner being. He was entirely transparent. I saw only Jesus.
It was like that Michael Card song "Forgiving Eyes" about the woman caught in adultery.
"In His eyes so gentle I could see
A father and a brother and a son
Just as I saw Him,
The hope I had lost
Became born again
I was not hopeless!
Though I'd been lost
Now I felt I was found
When He looked at me
With His forgiving eyes"
I was suddenly convicted for laughing at Hash's awkwardness. I realized, if Almighty God lived so completely within me, if He was so close to the surface that whenever people looked at me they saw Him, I'd be awkward too!
We talk about having God in our hearts, but I'd rather have Him in my eyes, under my skin, behind my teeth, oozing out under my finger nails. I don't want to keep Him locked in my heart-box anymore. I want to let God flow through my veins so that whenever I look at someone, or say something, or do something, or think, He leaks out.
I want to leak Jesus.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Snapshots.
I feel important.
I always have to be careful about feeling important because it seems that during these times I am at my most fragile, and the slightest thing can tip me off.
Yesterday I woke up at seven, like I usually do, and looked at my clock. I haven't been feeling well in the morning for about a week (no I'm not pregnant), so I decided to roll over and go back to sleep. I reawoke at nine, got up, and was in the bathroom inspecting my face for blemishes when the chime on my mobile phone sounded, informing me that I had a new text message. I thought it might be from my friend here, telling me to get online so we could chat, but it was from Dorothy, my boss. It said, "Pls see me when u r free".
I hate messages like that. They make me nervous. I always feel like I'm in trouble. The last time I got a message like that I was on my way home from a week-long trip out of town. We were stuck in traffic when the message arrived and I spent the next two hours before we got home wracking my brain trying to figure out what it was I'd done that would warrant having to go see Dorothy. Consequentially, I dreaded actually arriving home. But it ended up being nothing.
Well, not nothing. She asked my roommate and me to move. I wasn't in trouble. I just had to change apartments.
Nevertheless, yesterday morning when that message came, I began playing the game in my head again. What could I have done? What was she going to reprimand me for?
Again, it was nothing. Well, not nothing. She gave me a stack of things to do and showed me that she was making a box for me in her file area so that I could check for things there. It was actually quite exciting and that's when I started to feel important.
I have a box!
-----------
Yesterday evening a group of us went out for Indian food that ended up not being really Indian. Some of it was, I suppose. I got chicken kebabs that tasted like beef and looked not at all kebabish. I ate them, but my friend Melissa, who was strangely grossed out, didn't. So I ate hers too. We had bhajia (Indian chips, sort of) which was amazing. We had fresh fruit juice and Caleb and I shared two cups- one passion and one mango.
Sarah gave me nasty looks when I ate a piece of bread that was near her but which I didn't know what hers. And when Dwight offered the last french fry, I grabbed for it, saw the look on her face, and tore the fry in half (it was a big one). But she glared at me and said, "I don't WANT it," shoving the plate back at me. I cowered visibly, Dwight said, "Do I sense a conflict?" and Sarah shook her head at me, "Wewe (swahili for you), I'm not that mean!" but it sure felt like she was.
After supper, some of the girls went over to the ice cream place and a few of us stayed put. Caleb finally nudged me. "You want to go check out that place?"
Sure.
So we went to where the girls were hanging out and I looked in the display. They had French vanilla. My eyes must have lit up considerably because Caleb said, "So I guess that's what you're getting." I shook my head and explained that I only had five hundred shillings on me which would pay just for my meal. I didn't have enough for ice cream.
"I have money," he said.
"I'm not going to spend your money," I replied, remembering that just Monday we went out for Ethiopian and he bought my dinner and my roommate's.
"It has to be spent," he said in his low voice. "Besides, you're not spending it. I am." And without looking at me again he ordered my ice cream on a cone.
"Thanks for the ice cream," I said later.
"Sure."
I always have to be careful about feeling important because it seems that during these times I am at my most fragile, and the slightest thing can tip me off.
Yesterday I woke up at seven, like I usually do, and looked at my clock. I haven't been feeling well in the morning for about a week (no I'm not pregnant), so I decided to roll over and go back to sleep. I reawoke at nine, got up, and was in the bathroom inspecting my face for blemishes when the chime on my mobile phone sounded, informing me that I had a new text message. I thought it might be from my friend here, telling me to get online so we could chat, but it was from Dorothy, my boss. It said, "Pls see me when u r free".
I hate messages like that. They make me nervous. I always feel like I'm in trouble. The last time I got a message like that I was on my way home from a week-long trip out of town. We were stuck in traffic when the message arrived and I spent the next two hours before we got home wracking my brain trying to figure out what it was I'd done that would warrant having to go see Dorothy. Consequentially, I dreaded actually arriving home. But it ended up being nothing.
Well, not nothing. She asked my roommate and me to move. I wasn't in trouble. I just had to change apartments.
Nevertheless, yesterday morning when that message came, I began playing the game in my head again. What could I have done? What was she going to reprimand me for?
Again, it was nothing. Well, not nothing. She gave me a stack of things to do and showed me that she was making a box for me in her file area so that I could check for things there. It was actually quite exciting and that's when I started to feel important.
I have a box!
-----------
Yesterday evening a group of us went out for Indian food that ended up not being really Indian. Some of it was, I suppose. I got chicken kebabs that tasted like beef and looked not at all kebabish. I ate them, but my friend Melissa, who was strangely grossed out, didn't. So I ate hers too. We had bhajia (Indian chips, sort of) which was amazing. We had fresh fruit juice and Caleb and I shared two cups- one passion and one mango.
Sarah gave me nasty looks when I ate a piece of bread that was near her but which I didn't know what hers. And when Dwight offered the last french fry, I grabbed for it, saw the look on her face, and tore the fry in half (it was a big one). But she glared at me and said, "I don't WANT it," shoving the plate back at me. I cowered visibly, Dwight said, "Do I sense a conflict?" and Sarah shook her head at me, "Wewe (swahili for you), I'm not that mean!" but it sure felt like she was.
After supper, some of the girls went over to the ice cream place and a few of us stayed put. Caleb finally nudged me. "You want to go check out that place?"
Sure.
So we went to where the girls were hanging out and I looked in the display. They had French vanilla. My eyes must have lit up considerably because Caleb said, "So I guess that's what you're getting." I shook my head and explained that I only had five hundred shillings on me which would pay just for my meal. I didn't have enough for ice cream.
"I have money," he said.
"I'm not going to spend your money," I replied, remembering that just Monday we went out for Ethiopian and he bought my dinner and my roommate's.
"It has to be spent," he said in his low voice. "Besides, you're not spending it. I am." And without looking at me again he ordered my ice cream on a cone.
"Thanks for the ice cream," I said later.
"Sure."
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
A Weekend of Superlatives. Or, The King of the Mountain
Last weekend I was given the opportunity to climb Mt Kenya, which happens to be the second-highest peak in Africa, topping out at around 17,058. Since I grew up in the San Diego area around sea level, this was, needless to say, the highest I had ever been outside of a motorized flying transport.
Our group climbed to the second peak, which was around 16,355 feet. Still high. Base camp 2 was at 13,800 feet and base camp 1 was somewhere around 11,000 feet. All of this, higher than I have ever travelled in my life.
This weekend was the
hardest
highest
longest
coldest
bitterest
most painful
most beautiful
most awe-inspiring
most enlightening
most challenging
most tear-evoking
thing I have EVER done.
That mountain defeated me. After two days of heavy hiking (on the first, and 17.5 on the second), we rose at two in the morning to begin the three-hour hike up the remaining 2000 feet. I made it half way. It was dark. It was cold. Asthma prevented my lungs from filling in the frigid air. I couldn't see the step in front of me, not because of the darkness, but because my vision was failing me. Black enveloped my eyes and I stumbled. I knew that I wouldn't make it.
Of the nine that started on our mission (quest... thing), only six rose that morning to attempt the peak. Five made it. I turned back down the mountain. I begged those with me not to think less of me for failing, but the voice tugging at the back of my head told me they would. I had the willpower to do it, but my body would not allow it. Crying on the way down, I asked God why He would do this to me- why He brought me all this way just to fail at the last moment.
The day before I had injured my knee on a jump and hadn't really noticed much until now. Going down that slope was the second-hardest thing I've ever done. The first was turning back. Pain graced every step down the scree and shale back to my camp and the semi-warm tent. Tears froze to my face as I prayed and pled with God to show me why I'd failed.
Amid the intense spiritual warfare (ask me about this if you want to know), I remembered the Scripture I had read the night before: "I lift my eyes up to the mountains. Where does my help come from?" Psalm 121:1
I realized that I had been trying to climb the peak for my own reasons. I wanted God to help me do something that would glorify me, but that's impossible. I would have arrived at the top thinking of how great I had done, the wonderful accomplishments I've had, and how cool I am. I would have bathed in the praise of the people around me. And though it would have been in God's power that I had made it, He would have been left entirely out of the victory.
I also found that I had been trying to impress people. I am a bit (okay, a big bit) of an elitist, which translates to Pride. It's probably my biggest weakness. God had to remind me that I've forfeited my will to Him and that my accomplishments don't matter on Earth- they only count in an eternal perspective. What would climbing a mountain have accomplished for the Kingdom? Nada.
I had looked to the mountain for my help, my self-respect, my identity. But my help doesn't come from the mountain. It comes from the Creator of the heavens and Earth. It comes from the King of the Mountain.
And, as I learned this weekend, the King of the Mountain is the Prince of My Heart.
My knee ached me all the way down to the point where I had to stop several times and weep, unable to restrain the tears that pain brought. I was reminded of Jacob- he wrestled with God and was given a new identity, a new blessing.
I wrestled with God. He touched my leg and made me walk with a limp. And He blessed me.
Our group climbed to the second peak, which was around 16,355 feet. Still high. Base camp 2 was at 13,800 feet and base camp 1 was somewhere around 11,000 feet. All of this, higher than I have ever travelled in my life.
This weekend was the
hardest
highest
longest
coldest
bitterest
most painful
most beautiful
most awe-inspiring
most enlightening
most challenging
most tear-evoking
thing I have EVER done.
That mountain defeated me. After two days of heavy hiking (on the first, and 17.5 on the second), we rose at two in the morning to begin the three-hour hike up the remaining 2000 feet. I made it half way. It was dark. It was cold. Asthma prevented my lungs from filling in the frigid air. I couldn't see the step in front of me, not because of the darkness, but because my vision was failing me. Black enveloped my eyes and I stumbled. I knew that I wouldn't make it.
Of the nine that started on our mission (quest... thing), only six rose that morning to attempt the peak. Five made it. I turned back down the mountain. I begged those with me not to think less of me for failing, but the voice tugging at the back of my head told me they would. I had the willpower to do it, but my body would not allow it. Crying on the way down, I asked God why He would do this to me- why He brought me all this way just to fail at the last moment.
The day before I had injured my knee on a jump and hadn't really noticed much until now. Going down that slope was the second-hardest thing I've ever done. The first was turning back. Pain graced every step down the scree and shale back to my camp and the semi-warm tent. Tears froze to my face as I prayed and pled with God to show me why I'd failed.
Amid the intense spiritual warfare (ask me about this if you want to know), I remembered the Scripture I had read the night before: "I lift my eyes up to the mountains. Where does my help come from?" Psalm 121:1
I realized that I had been trying to climb the peak for my own reasons. I wanted God to help me do something that would glorify me, but that's impossible. I would have arrived at the top thinking of how great I had done, the wonderful accomplishments I've had, and how cool I am. I would have bathed in the praise of the people around me. And though it would have been in God's power that I had made it, He would have been left entirely out of the victory.
I also found that I had been trying to impress people. I am a bit (okay, a big bit) of an elitist, which translates to Pride. It's probably my biggest weakness. God had to remind me that I've forfeited my will to Him and that my accomplishments don't matter on Earth- they only count in an eternal perspective. What would climbing a mountain have accomplished for the Kingdom? Nada.
I had looked to the mountain for my help, my self-respect, my identity. But my help doesn't come from the mountain. It comes from the Creator of the heavens and Earth. It comes from the King of the Mountain.
And, as I learned this weekend, the King of the Mountain is the Prince of My Heart.
My knee ached me all the way down to the point where I had to stop several times and weep, unable to restrain the tears that pain brought. I was reminded of Jacob- he wrestled with God and was given a new identity, a new blessing.
I wrestled with God. He touched my leg and made me walk with a limp. And He blessed me.
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