Shattering the Line of Despair

(as promised on Instagram, the background to this doodle. A reoccurring theme in our theology classes this and last semester has been the line dividing the physical and spiritual. This line sometimes has to do with our sin barring us from God, and other times has to do with modernism’s pushing away of the spiritual. Either way, it is, as Francis Schaeffer calls it, “a line of despair.” This doodle doesn’t go into all that that entails; for that I refer you to Schaeffer or Nancy Pearcey.)

In a year like 2020, it’s very easy to sense how the world around us lives under the line of despair. Politics and science become the only hope for many, and even those of us who don’t usually do so still find the heaviness of this year to be despairing at times. This year has just highlighted the fact that we live in a world that is incredibly broken, full of sin, sickness, and suffering. This has been the case since Genesis 3, when sin drew a line of separation between fallen humans and a holy God, a holy God from whom the six-winged seraphim hide their faces, and under whose feet is “something like a pavement of lapis lazuli” (Exod. 24:10; upper portion of the doodle). Sinners attempting to remove the spiritual from the picture altogether only strengthens that line of despair.

And yet.

That God, whose holiness requires the separation from sinners, is the very One who shatters that line of despair. The incarnation of His Son Jesus Christ is what shatters it. By the initiative of the Holy Father, the God-Man bursts through. He is in both the upper story and the lower story (see Nancy Pearcey/Schaeffer). Not only that, He jumps into the “burning building” with us. He suffers with us. He, the God we can never comprehend, lived here on earth with a fragile human body. He comes down to where war destroys walls, where sickness necessitates the bronze serpents be lifted up, where sacrifices were made, where evil brought the judgment of the flood, where men thought they could reach God on their own (Babel), where Adam and Eve disregarded His commands, where death touches every life (all the little symbols on the earth in the doodle). He enters, a baby in a manger, the Sacrificial Lamb and the Good Shepherd both.

The Light breaks through into the darkness, and the darkness does not overcome it.

But His joining our humanity is not the end of the story. Because His work on the cross, the center of the Incarnation, brings us out of the “burning building,” too. He doesn’t join us and remain there with us, He rescues us. Hence the lines/ladder under the cross, because God doesn’t just come down to us, He makes a way for us to return to Him.

And when the Lion of Judah returns to the Father, He sends His Spirit to remain with us until the time we fully dwell with the Godhead.

These truths are worship-inducing, awe-inspiring, and wonder-provoking (especially when paired with the ancient “deities” we are reading about in ancient history as part of homeschooling this year!). We all should be taking daily time to be astonished by Jesus.

But then there’s the high needs baby, I’m irritable because a clogged ear makes it hard for me to hear, and there are surging Coronavirus cases jarring me back to the here and now. What difference does the Incarnation make in those things?  

This is an area I’m giving more consideration, but as a start, here are some initial thoughts:

• A big-picture application is in the way the Incarnation brings us out of despair: God has seen and heard the plight of sin inside and outside of us, and has taken initiative to rescue us. This is huge for me for addressing anxiety regarding the world and discouragement regarding sin. He cares, He loves, He saves, and He is near us and in us in what we face here and now. There is forgiveness for [insert the sin you struggle with daily]. Coronavirus and [insert suffering here] are not the end of the story or the main story happening. Life is not just a cycle of death and suffering. God is taking history somewhere, taking it to full redemption. We have something great to look forward to someday, and in the meantime we have His presence and love and help.
• The Incarnation gives meaning to the physical, as Jesus took on a human body and doesn’t remove us from our bodies upon conversion. We are body and soul, and caring for the body is an important part of life, and many of the ways we do that are places for delight in the good gifts of God (like that springy loaf of sourdough bread, or the cookie dough cheesecake requested for a birthday next week). Beyond this, we also have opportunity now to glorify the One who redeemed us in how we live with all of our person, physical and spiritual/emotional.
• We remember God in the images given by Him – ie, in partaking of water, recalling that the One who created water is the Water of Life. This can feel odd and forced and disconnected from reality, though at times it is powerful. Less forced is expressing thankfulness for the little everyday gifts that remind us of His love that was most clearly demonstrated in the incarnation – life circumstances may threaten our feeling of that love, but the incarnation makes it undeniably clear.
• The incarnation means that Jesus understands. The greatest part of the incarnation is that it is the means to salvation, but it also means that Jesus has lived a life that has encountered difficulty, temptation, death, sickness, and sin just like we have. He understands what we go through.
• This wonder at our God can and should be taken to those around us. The passion and wonder of the teacher stirs up the pupil. I’ve always known this, but times recently when the spark from preachers or instructors has been catching have made it real. As someone who is generally more reserved, sharing the wonder with my children is something I really want to grow in. We’ve been learning Andrew Peterson’s song “Is He Worthy?” and that has been a great starting point for us.
• The abundant love of God demonstrated in the Incarnation and work of Christ also has great application for loving people who are difficult to love in that moment (or even always). The love of God has been poured out on us, and the Holy Spirit indwelt in us makes it possible for us to then love the unlovely around us.
• Not theology of the incarnation, but for parents especially the small moments are related to these kinds of awe-inducing theology, as we play a role in shaping image-bearers to display the image of God more clearly, even as we are further shaped into His image, and have opportunity to demonstrate, in miniscule ways, aspects of the Father’s love for us in our love to them

Scripture is of course the biggest fodder for worship, but this book and this spoken word + Augustine quote from the spoken word have all been helpful to me in the last week.

In Search of Truth

“What is truth?” Pilate asked, while It stood before him. He washed his hands and gave in to the mob. (John 18)

Our situation in the US in 2020 is by no means the same as Pilate’s. But like Pilate, it is so easy to go along with the loudest or most comfortable voices instead of taking the time to actually look for truth. Yet we must search for it, because we are told to think on whatever is true (Philippians 4:8), and in order to do that, we must know what is true.

In the social media age, how do we do that?

For the Christian, the starting place must be Scripture.
Psalm 19 says, “The instruction of the Lord is perfect,
renewing one’s life;
the testimony of the Lord is trustworthy,
making the inexperienced wise.

The precepts of the Lord are right,
making the heart glad;
the command of the Lord is radiant,
making the eyes light up.

The fear of the Lord is pure,
enduring forever;
the ordinances of the Lord are reliable
and altogether righteous.”

Anything else we come across must be interpreted by our Bibles. If it does not line up with what we find in the Bible, then at least the parts of the philosophy that are contradictory must be jettisoned. For example, humanism assumes that if we remove bad environments, people will then be good and all will be well. However, we know from Scripture that sin lives inside us. So while removing obstacles in environment is a good thing to do, the perfect environment will not result in people acting rightly.

A grounding in the Bible should give us a biblical worldview through which to view history, statistics, and anything else we read. But Scripture serves a specific purpose, and so it does not give us all the answers and details for every situation. And in our current situation, things like history and statistics provide valuable insights. Social media offers us an understanding of what people in our own time are experiencing, filtered through their interpretations of events and personal life.

So we still must ask “what is true?”

Does the history given match the facts? Are the statistics giving the whole picture? Are certain parts ignored because they do not support the narrative? What underlying assumptions are interpreting individual and collective experiences?

Are you only listening to one side, or are you seeking to hear even what makes you uncomfortable? Are you willing to hear why people who disagree with you see things differently, or are you cancel-happy? When you hear a statistic, are you asking why the statistic is so? How well researched and thought-out is a book? Is the social media post shared in the heat of the moment, or is it rooted in a desire for understanding and reconciliation?

These are just a few questions that I have been asking myself in the last few weeks. I’ve found myself challenged in many ways as I hear so many competing voices and find myself in uncomfortable places. And honestly, as we seek understanding in current events, figuring out the whole truth may not really be possible. History is so complex. What caused what is something we may never be able to figure out. Statistics, timelines, witnesses, bodycams, reporters – all may contradict one another at times.

We are not God, to be able to see all and thus judge perfectly and know exactly what to do.
But we can still seek to do justice, and love mercy, and walk humbly with our God. A trendy verse, yes. But justice is necessary, though faulty when it comes from humans. Mercy, which in this verse can also be lovingkindness, is showing to others the love God has given us: the One from whom we should expect nothing, giving us everything (Michael Card’s definition of that Hebrew word, hesed). And this is only possible when we are walking humbly with the God who has reconciled Himself to us.

Raising Kids When I Don’t Know Where I’m From

(follow-up to my previous post, “I Don’t Know Where I’m From – And That’s OK.”)

I moved back to the US from Dubai when we got married. Part of me was relieved: I was tired of living what felt like a life in the States and a life in Dubai. I had a foot in two worlds but never really belonged to either, and always felt away from home. Life is simpler now because I’m not constantly back and forth, but that feeling hasn’t actually changed. I’m always missing something – people I love, places I go, things I eat.

I was also nervous about moving back to the States. For a long time I had assumed that I wouldn’t marry an American, since many of the couples around me were multiethnic. Ezra obviously changed that but he’s a TCK too! Still, it had been so long since I had lived in the US, and I didn’t remember living in a more “American” neighborhood since in Michigan our neighborhood was predominantly Arab. And I was a bit scared of the “America is best” mindset I had encountered and heard of. Having experienced so many other cultures, I often didn’t actually want to be American.

So how in the world was I going to raise American kids? I spell things wrong and say things wrong and do things wrong. I get antsy after 18 months in one place. I feel strange on the 4th of July. I’m never quite settled, even though I’ve discovered that home is more people than a place.

But me not feeling American is one thing. Them having small worlds is my bigger fear. Sure, they’ve traveled (but won’t remember it) and know gramma and grampa still live overseas. But in our day to day lives, our interactions are with people who are so much like us. My kids may be able to answer “the question” easily, but they risk ethnocentrism (which, by the way, I have been surprised at how for the most part, American ethnocentrism has been a stereotype and not a regularly encountered reality).

When we only know our own culture, or our experience of other cultures is only to help them assimilate to ours, our natural self-centered bent grows into arrogance. “The American way is the best way. I can’t believe they do that. If they only had democracy their country wouldn’t be in turmoil.”

While I’d love to live abroad again, cultivating humility does not take thousands of dollars in plane tickets or finding a job overseas (things that bring with them their own potential for arrogance!).  It starts by loving our neighbor – neighbors who look like us but think differently, neighbors that don’t look the same, or talk “strangely,” or eat “funny” food.

The way we talk about and interact with those who are “different” (whether we know them, see them while out, or watch them on the news) makes a huge impact on our children. This quote from this article rings true:
“We have been inclined in the past to look upon foreigners generally as being of no great importance, sometimes as rather ridiculous people; more lately we have learned to think of them with a certain amount of anxiety, almost of fear, as of potential enemies. If we knew them a little better we might realize that sometimes we seem ridiculous to them; and, knowing a little better still, we might come to look upon them as potential if not actual friends.”

“If we could talk freely to our neighbors… we might come to a real interchange of ideas and points of view, a clearing away of misunderstandings, a realization that all our ways are not necessarily and invariably the best; and at the same time we might be able to expound and defend those of our ways, which, after comparison and argument, we still consider to be sound.”

These quotes are in the context of learning foreign language, but they apply to so much more! In the Charlotte Mason educational philosophy, the same concept is found in her attitude toward geography. Learning about other nations – not just numbers, maps, and stereotypes, but the people and how they live – helps us to embrace them in their distinct heritage without forcing them into ours (listen to the first 10 minutes or so of this podcast for more). In learning about others, we learn to respect them as whole persons just as we are, even though we have many differences. Our own culture may always feel more comfortable to us, but it is arrogant to assume that it is better than that of others.

Aside from foreign language, geography, and the ethnic influence in my cooking, we are also intentional when it comes to praying for the world and seeking to help those who are suffering. America/Americans are not saviors, but because God has put the US into a position to help, whether by political pressure (which individuals can lobby for) or finances (government help or individual). We can work to change the shortcomings of America, while seeking to leverage our privileges for the good of others, all while realizing that some of these privileges are not even experienced by many Americans.

Growing up abroad or in your home country is not better, just different – and either one brings with it its own unique set of challenges and blessings. My kids will likely grow up closer to their cousins. They will probably feel more at ease on the 4th of July and when singing the National Anthem. But I hope they also see the strengths and weaknesses of their own culture and of other cultures around the world. I hope they have compassion for all around them. I hope they understand the plight of those in hard places and the richness of discovering other cultures. I hope that “sometimes we seem ridiculous to them; and, knowing a little better still, we might come to look upon them as potential if not actual friends.”

I Don’t Know Where I’m From – And That’s OK.

I don’t often think about growing up in other countries. My upbringing is so much a part of who I am that I am not introspective about it unless I do something un-American. It just is.
Until someone asks where I’m from.
Then there’s a moment of panic.

My passport is American but I don’t know where in America I’m really from. My parents are from one state but I was born in another and lived in another. Saying I’m from Dubai draws so much attention to myself, but it’s such an integral part of who I am.

“My parents are from Washington,” I used to mumble in the end, especially with people I wouldn’t see again. But that doesn’t work so well now that I’m a parent. And if I’m going to live in community with the person I’m talking to, it’s got to come out sometime and is more awkward if I skip over it initially only to be found out later.

“I’m from Dubai.” But I’m not really “from” there. That answer inevitably brings with it a barrage of questions. The one I dislike the most is the general “What was it like?” I know Dubai is exotic to you and I don’t take for granted that I grew up abroad. But when was the last time you sat and pondered what it was like where you grew up and tried to describe it to someone else? It’s just where I lived.

I spoke Arabic fluently at age 4 (not that 4 is very fluent in anything). I lost it when we moved back to the States, but I never remember learning to read Arabic, I just always have (but I’m sure that’s not true). The pronunciation of it has never been difficult for me. I crave the foods. I miss the warm hospitality. I long for someone to greet in Arabic on Easter (“Al Maseeh qam!”) and have them respond (“Haqan qam!”). People’s generalized fear of Arabs can make me angry. Headlines from Syria or Yemen feel like a gut-punch. Those are my people.

In Jordan, people touched my white-blonde hair and pinched my pale cheeks. In Michigan, we were the only Caucasian kids in our neighborhood gang. I knew we were different, but never thought anything of it – perhaps because those neighbors were third culture kids, even moreso than I was.

And then Dubai. Dubai kids are their own breed of third culture kid. Most return to their home countries for a brief period every year. The Dubai culture is not homogeneous, so rather than immersion in one culture, life is a smattering of many. My piano students were Algerian-Australian, Belgian, Samoan, and more. Two of my closest friends in high school were Indian. We ate foods from many cuisines, learned that some words that are off-color in one English-speaking country are not in another, imitated accents, and recognized the scripts of many languages.

I may not know where I am from (especially since the moving around hasn’t stopped since we got married), but I’d rather panic and stutter than lose the rich third-culture I’ve received. I’m aware, especially when we lived in small-town USA, that talking about my past can seem like boasting or attention-grabbing. But while I’m aware of its uniqueness and the privileges it brought, when I talk about growing up abroad, it’s not because I want people to be amazed or impressed. It’s because growing up around Arab culture and in Dubai is a part of who I am. And so rather than mumble around it self-consciously, I will answer confidently and (hopefully) humbly,
“I grew up in Dubai.”
Between now and the next time I get to say that, though, I guess I’d better think more not just about what being a third culture kid has made me like, but what Dubai itself was like… though the best answer for that will always be “home.”

What Can I Do?

Without news emails delivered to my inbox daily, I feel disconnected from the world. I like my little bubble of ignorance. But that leads to an unhealthy withdrawal from the world around me, leading to life centering around me and my small needs.
But when I do take the time to read news emails or scroll through Facebook, I am quickly overwhelmed by all that is wrong in the world. I feel helpless regarding the lack of justice against groups like ISIS. I feel angry about the immigration situation and children separated from their parents – through immigration, yes, but even more, through abortion. I feel sorrow over the endless wars in Syria and Yemen. That’s only a fraction of the list, the most common issues I see. Other troubles are less reported: Boko Haram, Andrew Brunson, Venuzuela…
Recently I have struggled with that feeling of helplessness. I have wondered how to balance understanding the world around me with not being so overburdened I burn out or become numb to the sheer volume of tragedy. I don’t feel like I have a clear answer, but I did find five helpful things on the road to balance.

1. Focus
There are so many news outlets and so many opinions that you will certainly be overwhelmed to the point of numb scrolling if you try to take it all in. Find one or two news sources you trust, and follow them. Know whose social media opinions you respect, and don’t think you have to click on every link or read every post. Pick a handful of issues to focus on, and don’t feel guilty that you can’t do something about everything.
Also, make sure it isn’t all gloom and doom. Funny videos are nice, but even better are stories of people, Christian or not, reflecting the image of God in their sacrificial love to others. Check out WORLD’s Hope Awards. The news that brought the most joy to my heart recently was that of Israel rescuing White Helmets.

2. Pray
REALLY pray. This ties in with focus. When the emotion of your Facebook feed changes with every swipe and every post carries information, all you have energy and time for is a quick prayer. But when you cut out noise and focus on what really matters to you, then you can devote time to pour your heart out to God about the troubles you – and He – care about.
If you feel He doesn’t hear or answer your prayers for current events, you may be encouraged by this sermon, unpacking Revelation 8:1-5.
“As we pray for any given thing, our prayers are stored up on the altar of God with the prayers of others for that thing until they reach God’s appointed proportion and then God pours them out in blessing in the best way for all concerned. So that no believing prayer is in vain. Ever.”

3. Help
This is the one that we think of as “doing something.” But all of these are doing something. And again, you can’t donate to every cause. You can’t volunteer at every event. You can’t even call your senator every time. Once more, focus is important. But so is any dollar or minute you give.

4. Educate
Spread awareness. Again, you can’t share everything you come across. But others may not know about something that happened. By sharing you can mobilize others to pray, or to help where you might not be able to.

5. Love
While we can do small things about global problems, we can do a lot about the problems of those around us. In a recent issue of WORLD there were articles on the correlation between broken relationships and mass shootings or suicide. I know it sounds cheesy, but change starts right where you are. By not shouting at your kids. By forgiving your husband. By showing up for your friends. By taking a meal to your neighbor. We want to solve the problems “over there” and cry out about the wrongs others are committing. And that is not wrong. But we are hypocrites if we are ignoring what we have more power over: the relationships we have with those closest to us. Hitting the key to donate is so much easier than dealing with tantrums. Laws, elections, and airstrikes may bring some change, but the only path to lasting change is if it reaches hearts.

“So, as those who have been chosen of God, holy and beloved, put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience; bearing with one another, and forgiving each other… just as the Lord forgave you… beyond these things put on love, which is the perfect bond of unity.
“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body; and be thankful.
“Let the word of Christ richly dwell within you, with all wisdom teaching and admonishing one another with psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with thankfulness in your hearts to God.
“Whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks through Him to God the Father.”
Colossians 3:12-17.

Word for 2018: Discipline

I wasn’t going to pick a word for 2018, despite it being the thing to do right now. But two weeks in to 2018, I realized I needed to be more disciplined – self-controlled – in a lot of areas, so picked it as “my word” for 2018. It encompasses a lot of what I have been thinking and reading about in Galatians, and continues on from “faith” as one of last year’s words.

Discipline:
with food
social media
focus on projects/reading
waking girls up and going to bed on time
putting aside my lists for others
my tone of voice
fidgeting/nail biting habits
consistent, loving correction to the girls*
memorization
not letting my mood be determined by circumstances**
slowing down to ruminate and process.

Discipline, to let Christ be the Master of my appetites, submitting them to Him, offering them to Him, being satisfied in Him instead of fleshly cravings.

Self-control comes not from saying “no” over and over again… then it wouldn’t need to be a fruit of the Spirit. It would be a distortion of the gospel, thinking I could save myself from my sins by my own will power.
Self-control comes from changing desires: crucifying the desires of the flesh, looking to Christ in faith that He is better.
I’ve posted this quote before, but it’s fitting to share it again:
“As faithful eyes perceive the unseen glories of God and reborn hearts embrace them, all the visible glories of God in the world seem to thicken in substance. The more eagerly we embrace God, the more gratitude we express for His created gifts for us, the more clearly we begin to discern the sinful distortions and the hollow promises of sin.” – Tony Reinke.

*This quote by Paul Tripp is on my mind a lot: “If your eyes ever see and your ears ever hear the sin, weakness, and failure of your children, it is never a hassle, never an interruption, never an accident, it is always grace. God loves your children and has put them in a family of faith, and He will reveal the need of their hearts to you so that you can be His tool of rescue and transformation.”
**How much S obeys me, how much I get done, not even how disciplined I’m being! Even that is a subtle way of thinking something other than Christ saves me!

Modern-Day Heroes

It’s hard to move 19 months after you moved to a place. It’s even harder when that place is where you made your first home as a married couple, walked through your first pregnancy, and began the journey of parenthood – all supported and surrounded by loving people, who loved you when they barely knew you and didn’t relent in their loving when you were getting ready to leave.
It’s also hard to leave the first friends your baby had – the one that looks like her polar opposite with the ‘fro and chocolate skin, the one who handed down head bands and tries to play with her during church, the one people asked if they were twins – the blue-eyed fair-skinned blonde fall-babies of GBC.
As I think about leaving behind yet another place and another set of friends, I’m reminded yet again of what Eleven said in Doctor Who:
“We all change. When you think about it, we’re all different people all through our lives, and that’s okay, that’s good, you gotta keep moving, so long as you remember all the people that you used to be. I will not forget one line of this. Not one day. I swear. I will always remember when the Doctor was me.”
We may be leaving our home here, but we won’t ever forget the people we love here and everywhere. It’s hard to leave, but it’s easier when you remember that leaving doesn’t mean forgetting and starting life in a new place and enjoying it doesn’t negate how wonderful where you were before was.

As I look back on the last year and a half and the people we have had the privilege of knowing here, especially at church, I have thought a lot about the people who have taught me so much by their lives, from when I was a child through to today.
I keep thinking of a stanza from the Getty’s “O Church Arise” –
“As saints of old still line the way,
Retelling triumphs of His grace,
We hear their calls and hunger for the day
When, with Christ, we stand in glory.”

Some of those people I’m not in contact with much any more and we’ve grown apart. Others I have sporadic contact with but it’s the kind of friendship that we can just pick up where we left off. Most of the ones I write about below I don’t know that well but the way they live inspires me.
In “A Sacred Sorrow” Michael Card wrote,
“The deep things of the faith we learn less by didactic principle and more through people of faith and their simple stories. After all, the gospel is not a systematic/theological presentation to which we give assent or not in order to become “believers.” No, it is a story, which we enter into even as it enters into us. We, iint eh most real and literal sense, become characters in this ongoing incarnating of truth and of the gospel. Its story continues to be told in and through us, and along the way we begin to understand.
“I believe the same kind of incarnational process is at work in understanding lament. Eventually, when we are struggling to explain a difficult topic like prayer, faith, or perhaps servanthood, we resort to naming a person who incarnates that ideal. … When we seek to understand discipleship, we think of someone like Deitrich Bonhoeffer, not because of his book on the subject, but because his life and death validated everything he spoke about in his writings.”

I’ve found that the people I want to learn from most don’t have lessons they can teach you very well. The things I respect and love and want to emulate in them aren’t usually things they can tell you. They’re often lessons learned through trial. These people are often ships battered by many storms, yet coming out triumphant through the guidance of Christ.
There’s the woman at church who lost her husband to cancer soon after they remarried after they had divorced, and said “grieve, but don’t be downcast.” (Among so much other wisdom I can’t remember).
And another who shared wisdom on marriage (that also applies to parenting) – “He’s not irritating, I’m irritable.”
And the mother who commented that she had nothing to share about parenting, then said – “Jesus, help me! That’s my advice.”
And the one who stayed with her unbelieving husband, holding on through difficult times, and then God changed his heart.
And Amanda, who died of cancer a year ago, whose hope of heaven and joy in Christ was so beautiful to see as she shared her struggles with the church.
My cousin, Kristen, hanging on to life and finding joy in it through Christ despite long-term health issues.
My mother-in-love, who had to take care of new mothers just hours after giving birth to her fourth, braved homes with rats and lands with many poisonous snakes, and is such a wonderful example of godly marriage and parenting (as are my own mother and Mrs. C!).
Mrs. Y, who opened her home to me and gave of her time to let me come in and learn from her, the way they disciplined their kids with gospel, her joy in motherhood, openness in sharing things with me and letting me open up, choosing marriage and motherhood above a career.
The M’s – Mr. M who takes such care of his wife and has taught their sons to do the same, and in it all their use of their home for hospitality and evangelism. Mrs. M who digs down to the root of the issue and turns it so you can see it in the perspective of Christ, who so openly and clearly loves her husband, who has such a great strength from being steeled -yet also softened – in fire of trials where she had to let go and let the Lord work, and trust Him.

There’s M, who my dad discipled and endured persecution by co-workers for his new-found faith.
And my friends who lived in an Arab country filled with turmoil, staying for years after most others left even though it meant being “stuck” there and knowing every day could be their last. They were faithful during the trials, hard though days are with little water, gas, or electricity. These things they gave up and suffered for the gospel – because Christ and the souls of the lost Brothers are worth those hardships.
And two others who the world calls our enemies but who counted the cost yet had great joy in Him as their satisfaction and certainty in their faith in their Lord, a willingness to give their lives if necessary.
And another whose testimony I heard before I met him, how God saved him from a wild lifestyle. I met him and was immediately amazed at his humility, boldness, and intentionality. His favorite question to ask people is “What are you reading right now?” and he uses that to channel conversations to eternal things. He’s ready to be a martyr. He’s ‘planning’ on putting his life on the line in a place where Christianity is unknown – because he loves Christ and His glory so much more than life.

I think it’s people like this Hebrews has in mind when it says the world was not worthy of them.
What a privilege it has been to know each and every one of these, and many more, and some even greater that I just don’t have the words for because they’ve taught me so much (like our pastor’s wife, and my parents, and the C’s).
I’m excited to see who we meet in all of the places we live in the future and how God uses them in our lives.

“I saw what I saw and I can’t forget it
I heard what I heard and I can’t go back
I know what I know and I can’t deny it

Something on the road
Cut me to the soul

Your pain has changed me
Your dream inspires
Your face, a memory
Your hope, a fire

Your courage asks me
What I’m afraid of
And what I know of love
And what I know of God.”
– I Saw What I Saw – Sara Groves

On Fear, Again.

Over the past six years, I’ve had recurring struggles with fear, starting when we went to India for a missions trip (or perhaps earlier, when we thought I had appendicitis) and continuing on today, with many in between.
The past few years I’ve resolved not to fear in the coming year, but it always continued. I always felt like there was a piece missing, some ammunition I didn’t have and therefore couldn’t fight properly.

I don’t think the fear always stemmed from the same root, but in recent years I began to see a trend: I usually struggled the most with fear when life was the most rich and thus I was afraid of losing the people I loved so much and the life that was so good. It helped to know more of WHY I have seasons of being more fearful. But even still, I couldn’t really fight it apart from frequently reminding myself that God was good and sovereign, which assuaged the fear but didn’t take it away.

Whenever there was discussion of fear in sermons and such, it was always about fear of death, and I never connected with that. The only thing I thought I was afraid of concerning death was the dying itself, and that only if it was going to hurt.
I did, however, resonate with Valjean’s statement at the end of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables, “It is nothing to die; it is frightful not to live.” It put into words fear stemming from not wanting to lose those I love.
I always denied that I had any fear of death, but the other day I got the last piece to the puzzle, the ammunition to fight. When fear comes from putting too much love in the gifts He’s given, taking my gaze off of heaven and the future being better, then I AM fearing death. I am fearing that what comes next won’t be better, fearing the unknown of what it will be like.

But rather than the realization that I do fear death causing me to be more afraid or distraught, it brought HOPE, because now I know what to do with it. Now I know how that fear can be transformed by Him.
I knew to fight fear by reminding myself of His love and sovereignty – that whatever happened I could trust Him, and that He had put us in certain places at certain times.
But that only helped so much, because of the piece that was still missing.

What is that piece?
I think fearing death the way I do can be transformed – not just held off for a time, but really transformed into joy and hope – in Christ and His death. In Hebrews 2 it says that through His death He freed us from fear of death, which is lifelong slavery (true!).

But how does His death free us?
His death and resurrection tell us who God is (love + sovereignty at work in His children’s lives, among other things), and that we don’t have to fear judgement and hell because Christ was punished in our stead – but it tells us more than that.
It tells us that because He destroyed death, what’s coming is abundant life, more abundant than here, which is why we don’t have to fear the leaving behind and the changes that happen in life and death. It tells me, too, that there’s forgiveness for the idolatry of loving His gifts too much and hope to overcome the fear of death.

It seems so simple when I put it all into words, but somehow I’d missed it until yesterday.
I’m thankful for His revealing it to me, and it’s even more exciting that it comes on the brink of a new year. I’m curious to how it will change the struggle with fear in the future, although it also brings up a new struggle: how do you balance not clinging to life here but still enjoying it and loving the people most dear to you that you don’t want to lose?

I’ll probably post more on 2015 and what we hope it holds for us soon, but wanted to close out 2014 with those thoughts.
I HAVE struggled often with fear in this last year, but God has always shown Himself faithful, whether in safe travels, S’s birth, or anything else we faced in 2014.
Happy New Year!

looking back: 2013

just a few words and photos on 2013.

Midnight thoughts: last stars of 2013\don’t want to say goodbye to this year\”everything has got to end sometime. Otherwise nothing would ever get started”\first stars of 2014\I get married this year {sometime I’m going to go to bed in one year and wake up in another – the closest I’ll ever get to time travel}

Worship changed a lot for me. It’s become much easier to be delighted in God, especially in little daily things like clouds or stars, because I’ve come to see His hand in everything, and remember that everything comes from Him. Worship isn’t just praising Him but also beholding Him. And I think with that has come what I want my life to be about. I want to behold God, and want to help others behold Him, to see how great and awesome God is, not only in how He saves us but also in other areas, like how He orders creation.

All that thrills my soul is Jesus,
He is more than life to me,
And the fairest of ten thousand
In my blessed Lord I see!

Music also changed a lot. Throughout the year there were lots of mini-revolutions in the way I think about practice, technique, and music in general. Practicing slower to always practice it right. Using technique to get out of the way so the music speaks. Music showing the culture of its time. How music should be different for Christian musicians, in how we practice and perform and use it to communicate.

I realized how much this introvert really loves people, and also how much I am loved, and how worthwhile relationships are. This was made clear in both family and friends. With all the wedding and moving deadlines and other things I wanted to get done, whether it was practicing or otherwise, I was always reminding myself that people were so much more important, and because of that life was so much richer. And then watching the most recent Doctor Who episode, and watching others go through change and goodbyes and thinking about all the people the Doctor loves and helps and then has to leave behind – and some really profound quotes and thoughts and faces and feelings as I was thinking about change and goodbyes and all that {more on this coming}.

Marriage just around the corner, and wedding planning taking up time, energy, and creativity, but it was mostly enjoyable. And in just a few days, I’ll be married to Ezra, and we’ll start life together. I can’t wait!

Highlights of 2013
going to the US in April to visit Ezra and do wedding planning, have special cousin and mom time.

Csehy. That’s almost all I’ll say about it because I’ve said so much elsewhere and the words and highlights of Csehy overwhelm. But it sparked the musical and worship revolutions and also began the realizing of how much I love people and how much I am loved by people.

The trip Hannah and I took to RAK, two really special days with my friend of many years who’s like a twin sister.

seeing Sarah T. in Hong Kong

desert trips

Fontgoneano escapades

lessons and fellowship with Sarah M. (and baby Isabelle!)

the lovely shower the C’s and M’s hosted for me

playing music with DCO, NSO, DWB, and singing with the Dubai Singers.

last visit to the W’s.

snow mountain with my dad’s family}

stargazing & cloud chasing

playing volleyball

hospitality –all the varied and wonderful people we had in our home and who had me in theirs

Well Group

piano teaching

Nate getting Eagle

travels: Greece & Lyons, Bahrain & US

times with Cait, Joel, and Jacqueline

And 2014?
Getting married is the big one! So is moving across the ocean and starting a new life. And new stories and compositions and ensembles and people to love and foods to cook and thoughts for the blog {big ones coming after the wedding}.

Happy New Year!

The Dandelion

Most people think of dandelions as weeds.
I’ve always thought they were pretty, especially in their puff-ball form, when they’re the most fun to play with.
In recent years, they come to have meaning to me. Not just meaning, but lessons. Some from a few years ago, from Kate.

There were also very important ones from this summer, for anyone who has to let go of anything, because life is like a dandelion. At certain times we “get ripe” and it’s time to move on. The winds blow, and sometimes we go easily. Other times we hold on tightly, fighting what’s taking us elsewhere, and even though we have more time together it hurts more to leave because the wind has been battering us longer. We may still fight against the wind as it carries us far away, to a new place, away from all the other seeds we were close to for a while, not knowing if we’ll ever return.
But it doesn’t end there. Like the seed that remains alone unless it is planted – but then bears much fruit – it doesn’t have to end in fighting.

“He who goes out weeping,
Bearing the seed for sowing,
Shall come home with shouts of joy,
Bringing his sheaves with him.”
– Psalm 126:5

Leaving places like Csehy and Dubai is going out weeping. But it’s bearing seeds for sowing, taking with me all I’ve learned at both places. What’s striking is that the weeping doesn’t turn to joy until we plant, until we let go of the old and let ourselves be in a new place and grow there.
I think that as much as we want to hold on to those people and places behind us, moving on doesn’t mean we leave them behind or forget them, and if we pour ourselves out at home like we do at Csehy, if we let the dandelion spread – we will come home with shouts of joy, bringing our sheaves – the harvest of our work – with us, whether that home is back together at Csehy or Dubai or our reunion in heaven.
Wherever it is – we shall come with shouts of joy.