Whatever befall me...

The title of this blog is taken from the last lines of one of my favorite hymns, Be Thou My Vision.  Its notes are somewhat Celtic and haunting, its words a beautiful prayer. 

Be thou

my vision

my best thought

my wisdom

my true word

ever with me

in me dwelling

my battle shield

my dignity

my delight

my soul’s shelter

my high tower

my inheritance

first in my heart

my treasure

my vision.

I’ve always been drawn to things that are epic, things that belong in stories.   Through all the fantasy novels I’ve read, at times I find myself wishing that I belonged to one of those people in the world of the books, with fantastical stories whispered through generations.  Heroes who cling to some strange hope in dark times and prevail victorious.  

Then I realize- I belong to something like that.  And one of the reasons that I love this song is because it reminds me.    

So my blog title is taken from last stanza-

High King of Heaven, my victory won

May I reach Heaven’s joys, O bright Heaven’s Sun!

Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,

Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.

Whatever may come to pass in my life, I want God to be my vision.  Forget rose-tinted glasses—I want my world to be resplendently dyed with the character and will of God, that I might know him and bring him glory.

Many things have come to pass this past year.  The death of my father not least among them.

It’s been a year of processing.  A year of loving my family more deeply.  A year of mourning.  A year of rewarding intellectual labor and learning how to be a leader.

It hasn’t been a year of writing.

Consistency was never my main goal when it came to sharing my thoughts here.  

Concepts tend to swirl about in my mind, dropping in and out of precedence, slowly forming themselves into intricate but clear lines of thought.  They simmer on the back burner, gathering flavors until they are ready.  Then, after months of relaxed consideration, the right words come and suddenly they must be written and I scramble for paper before they fly away and I’m left with just a vague impression of the shape of them. 

That is my purpose.  To intentionally think about the things that seem important, to do it with Christ as my Vision, and then to share it.

I’m hoping to share with you more often, friends.  God is bringing me to some pretty amazing places in the time to come, both literally and figuratively, and I want to tell you about it all. 

The lovely.  The heartwrenching.  Whatever befall.  With Him as my Vision.

            

Who I Want to Be

"To think that this is my twentieth birthday, and that I've left my teens behind me forever," said Anne, who was curled up on the hearth-rug with Rusty in her lap, to Aunt Jamesina who was reading in her pet chair. They were alone in the living room. Stella and Priscilla had gone to a committee meeting and Phil was upstairs adorning herself for a party. 



"I suppose you feel kind of, sorry" said Aunt Jamesina. "The teens are such a nice part of life. I'm glad I've never gone out of them myself." 



Anne laughed. 

"You never will, Aunty. You'll be eighteen when you should be a hundred. Yes, I'm sorry, and a little dissatisfied as well. Miss Stacy told me long ago that by the time I was twenty my character would be formed, for good or evil. I don't feel that it's what it should be. It's full of flaws." 



"So's everybody's," said Aunt Jamesina cheerfully. "Mine's cracked in a hundred places. Your Miss Stacy likely meant that when you are twenty your character would have got its permanent bent in one direction or 'tother, and would go on developing in that line. Don't worry over it, Anne. Do your duty by God and your neighbor and yourself, and have a good time. That's my philosophy and it's always worked pretty well.”

-Anne of the Island by Lucy Maude Montgomery

I’ve been thinking about this lately, particularly since I myself turned twenty. Am I who I want to be? Who I feel I should be?

Sometimes there are moments when it hits me that in some small way I’m living a life I’ve dreamed about.

Maybe it’s when I’m practicing phonetics or signing up for classes with names like “Grammatical Analysis”, because when I was younger I used to read books by people like Michael Crichton and Ted Dekker and Madeleine L’Engle and see characters called very specific things like “paleobotanists” and “biochemists” and “marine biologists”, not because of their jobs but because of what they know, who they are. I’d dream of being that too, being an expert at something, being the sort of person that people would call in when they had a certain sort of problem. I didn’t think it would ever be possible, because I’m no scientist and while I was good at math it wasn’t something I wanted to make a career out of. So being sort of on my way to being a “linguist” gives me some deep inner satisfaction.

Or perhaps it’s when I’m in yoga pants with my hair pulled up, doing laundry at midnight and eating yogurt out of a coffee mug. Just because being that girl always seemed fun. It feels like college.

Maybe it’s when I’m scrunching the curly hair I wished I had for years before I started perming it, or when I’m learning to teach English and remembering all the people who ever came up to me after a VBS lesson or a study hall or a mission trip report-back and told me that I should be a teacher someday, or when I’m walking into chapel and remembering how much I wanted to come to Moody and how anxiously I awaited that acceptance letter.

But then I think about my prayer life, my devotional life, my inner thought life. And then I’m not always so sure that I’m who I want to be. I remember my junior year of high school, when I was so consistent in the Word and so ardently in love with my God. Then I was so convinced that I would never, ever give up reading my several chapters per day, because I was so utterly convinced that it was truly what sustained me. I understood how desperately I needed it, and I sincerely loved it. Where did that go? There was a time when I was starting to grasp what it really means to pray without ceasing, but somehow that understanding slipped through my fingers. I know there are mountains and valleys in everyone’s life, but—I understood. What happened?

So I thank Jesus for the process of sanctification, for His promise to be the same even when I fluctuate, for the assurance that my sin is cast far from me.

And I take heart in realizing that I do care about these things—that even if I am not that person, I still want to be.

Headphones

Tonight I am studying in the library for the second time in my college career.

(Okay, well, right now I’m writing a blog post. But before and after this, I’m studying.)

As a result, I am also listening to music using earbuds for the first time in who knows how long.

Headphones used to be a staple of my school mornings, essential for drowning out the annoying and profane soundtrack provided by the kids on a public school bus ride. But now that I’m in college there are coffee shops with the radio on and laptops and my roommate’s awesome speakers that practically equip our dorm with surround sound. So I haven’t used my earbuds in forever.

I’d forgotten how much more intimate it is this way. How the music echoes in your mind and grates against your bones and hums through your blood and caresses your skin from the inside out.

It’s a totally different experience.

And maybe this is stretching it a bit, but it makes me think of the way I feel when it’s the first time in a long time that I’ve read the Bible for myself and on my own and not for school or during a sermon.

It’s more intimate. It becomes part of you. When you’re discovering it for yourself it steeps into the corners of your soul the way it simply can’t when all you’re doing is hearing it in the open air.

And when the Word of God is part of you, things change.

Lament

How do you respond to the evils of this world?

When corruption is everywhere, do you plug your ears and cover your eyes, sing a happy song and hide in the bubble where it’s safe?

When you’re tired or feeling ill or inadequate or anxious or sad, do you put on a cheerful mask and fake it till you feel it, or at least until you’re numb and good at pretending?

When Dad has cancer, do you try to stay in crisis mode forever, where you can run on adrenaline and just do what you have to? And focus on things like dishes and logistics and facts? But what happens when crisis mode inevitably ends and you realize that this is life now?

When a man just three years older than you is abruptly and coldly shot and killed just down the street, do you lock yourself in your dorm room and throw yourself into tasks to avoid the creeping fear? And what do you tell your mother?

When the world around you seems to be falling apart, and every time you turn around another friend or classmate has some new emergency or tragedy in their life, and yours seems so fragile… what do you do?

It seems to me that we can’t afford not to feel. Numbness scares me just as much as pain does.

Jesus said that in this world we will have troubles. But He also said that He will be with us, forever and ever. And He said that he is preparing a place for us… a place that will have no tears, no pain, no sorrow.

So for now- until we arrive in that blessed place- we must carry on, live boldly, be light and salt and hands and feet.

“Is it not from the mouth of the Most High that both calamities and good things come? … But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. “ Lamentations 3:38, 21-23

Pondering

It’s hard to be introspective, sometimes.

Sometimes my mind seems to overflow with thoughts and words and feelings and concepts. They swirl in an endless fog, a thick one full of little intensely colored sparks that zap my consciousness one after another before zooming away into the mist. Sensory overload combined with numbness. An odd and disconcerting thing.

That’s when I get behind on my journaling.

That’s when new blog posts don’t appear for two months.

Because that sort of mental environment makes me give up on trying to take a snapshot of any one thing and really look at it. Life is too complex; I get caught up in living the big picture and feel exhausted by the mere thought of taking the time and energy to contemplate the details.

But maybe that’s when I most need to take a snapshot.

To take a good hard look at one little facet of life.

To examine its intricacies.

To fully feel what it has to offer- the delight of its joys, and maybe the sharpness of its pain. Because pain can be refining. Because experiencing joy in life brings glory to the God who created it.

To understand. To gain perspective. To see the beauty in the chaos.

To not understand. To practice trusting the Lord.

To learn.

To see.

To think. To think heavily.

Did you ever think about the fact that the word “ponder” carries with it the connotation of heaviness? I didn’t, until my choir conductor talked about it at the beginning of this year.

Ponderings are not light, airy, shallow, superficial. They are deep and real and profound. And I usually can’t feel entirely settled about anything that tugs at my mind until I’ve really thought through it- pondered it.

In choir, we talked about Psalm 101:2. It says, “I will ponder the ways of the blameless”.

The danger in the times I mentioned is this: if I don’t even want to think about my own ways, how much harder will it be to ponder the ways of God? To desire to ponder the ways of God?

Yeah. No tidy conclusion to this train of thought.

The Lord is good. Maybe I’ll just… really think about that for a minute.

Five-Minute Friday: Still

GO.

One of the simplest lessons that I have learned in the past year is the importance of rest.

I’m good at pushing myself, at working hard. I’m also good at resting. But I’m not very good at balancing the two.

My tendancy is to go, and go, and keep going until I’ve reached some stopping place, at which point I collapse and indulge in doing absolutely nothing for as long as possible. Then I start all over. Usually the cycle is a month or two long, with anywhere from a weekend (after a finishing a paper) to two weeks (Christmas break) in between.

In a way, this way of living brings me satisfaction. I feel accomplished. But it also makes me bone-tired, a tired that accumulates throughout the year, because binge-resting does not really help.

What I need is consistancy.

I went on my first Women’s Concert Choir tours this year at Moody. During these tours, my director persevered in ensuring that we all had a certain amount of time each day that was designated as “quiet time”, not only to conserve our voices but to reenergize and focus us.

Since then, I’ve discovered that a little “me time” set aside each day does wonders for my energy, motivation, and emotional stability. It must be separate from my God time (which is, of course, even more essential), and it is not nap time.

Instead, I might read a book, crochet a little, or watch an episode of Psych. I do something I enjoy, something that takes my mind off of whatever is stressing me, something that is not essential. I do it alone. I do it consistantly, regardless of how much work remains to be done that day, because the time is moderated—no more than an hour—and when I am not so frazzled the procrastination dwindles.

I still work hard. But I have learned to pause occasionally, and be still.

STOP.

1,000 Words

The Sea of Galilee.

We were on a boat.

We'd been dancing- the Hava Nagila and other folk dances, twirling and laughing and holding hands and going in circles.

As we caught our breaths, they told us that the water is never that calm.

But I could think of at least one other time that it was. Peace. Be still.

And I could think of another group of people who crossed from one side of that Sea to the other.

And my breath was gone again, for a different reason.



(I have a feeling that many of my Israel moments will come out in this form…)

1,000 Words

I'm borrowing ideas from Gretchen over at The Little Pink House again. She's been doing 1,000 Words posts on Mondays for quite some time and I love it!





I finished the blanket I've been crocheting since Christmas!

Five-Minute Friday: Grateful

GO:

I’m grateful for American life.

There’s a good chance that I’ll spend a large percentage of my lifetime somewhere else. Where I’ll live instead depends on what exactly my ministry call turns out to be (I’m studying for Bible translation as well as ESL teaching). But no matter what, it’ll probably be a different culture.

So in case I end up in a jungle, I’m grateful today for the four seasons of northwest Indiana, for the varied food and the benign bugs, for the sturdy house and air conditioning and readily available medical care.

In case I end up in a non-English speaking country, I’m grateful today for the time I have in a place where everyone communicates in my heart language.

In case I end up in a place with very few Christians, I’m grateful today for the enormous network of believers who love and support me from the same campus or town.

In case I end up halfway ‘round the world, I’m grateful today for my mother’s hugs and the chance to watch a movie with my sisters late at night and the frequency of sleepovers with good friends.

I’m grateful for all the things I have right now that I might someday miss. But mostly I’m grateful that I can trust in God’s sovereignty, rest in His plan for my life, and live with joy and“strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow”.

STOP.

Five-Minute Friday: Welcome

It's been a while. I've been too busy living life to write about it- but there are plenty of ideas floating around in my mind. Give me a bit, they'll show up here eventually. Meanwhile, I've decided to join in on The Gypsy Mama's Five Minute Fridays, which I was first exposed to on Gretchen's "Little Pink House" blog (there's a link on the side of mine to hers). Each week she gives a prompt, and you write for five minutes and post it. So here goes!



I’ve always been welcomed to new places, but this year I’ve been learning about the special joys of being welcomed home.

Sometimes it’s a good, home-cooked meal from my mom, who knows that dining hall fare is never as good as something from our kitchen. A happy dance in the kitchen with my sister. A hug from my dad. Those are the intentional welcomes.

Then there are the things that just are—things that scream, “You’re home!” The way my house smells (you know how every house has a unique scent?). The familiar feel of my bed. The sound of my dad making bad jokes, my dog skittering across the hardwood floor, the train whistle blowing at night.

But my favorite welcome? When it’s late at night, and my parents have gone to bed, and I’m in my room. Maybe reading, or skyping someone, or journaling. At some point there’s a soft knock on my door, and one of my sisters creeps in and sits on the bed with me. She tells a story about something that’s happened, plopping her legs across mine. Soon the other one has joined us, bringing her laptop or her homework. And we spend the evening that way, all doing our own thing, but together and there’s usually a lot of laugher. Because we’ve grown up, we’re not the little squabbling girls we used to be. The youngest is about to turn sixteen. We’re (mostly) friends now. And they’re glad I’m home.

I love college. I’ve started to refer to it as “home”, too, but there’s just nothing like returning to my family and the place where I grew up.

Thoughts on 1 Samuel 8

When my Government teacher in high school was explaining the existence of government, he used an interesting example: the Israelites in Canaan.

People have two inherent conflicting desires, desires that are so strong they are almost needs. One is the desire for independence. The other is the desire for community.

As I said before, those two desires are intrinsically at odds—but God had a plan for Israel that would allow for both. He outlined exactly how to live so that they could exist as free, independent people in a well-functioning community. He gave them the Law.

If Israel had been capable of following the Law to the letter, it would have worked perfectly. Even as sinful people, with the institution of the judges it worked pretty well.

But they weren’t content. They asked for a king, so that they would be like all of the other nations. To protect them, to bring them together to fight battles, to make them prosper. And check out Samuel’s response:

“This is what the king who reigns over you will do: He will take your sons and make them serve… He will take your daughters to be performers and cooks and bakers…He will take a tenth of your flocks, and you yourselves will become his slaves.”

He knows that the price of the benefits that a king provides is a great loss of independence and freedom. God’s balance will be upset. But the people don’t care, of course. So they get a king, and many more kings after that, and out of a good fifty kings in Israel and Judah only nine or ten turn out to be considered “good”.

I just thought all of this was really interesting. God knows the desires of our hearts, and he knows how to respond to them. He knows us and our tendencies and natures better than we ever could know ourselves.

Moments and Sensations

Some days, my senses seem to play a larger role in life than usual. Things feel fragmented and instead of people and events, what stands out in my mind are emotions, scents, temperatures, color schemes.

Glasses fogged with raindrops blur the world and make everything insubstantial. Somehow they make me feel as though I look blurred and insubstantial to the rest of the world, too, until I wipe them off.

Juggling a McDonald’s caramel latte (better than Starbucks’, I’ve decided), a FedEx package, an ID and door key, a Walgreens bag, and a purse while holding open the Houghton door with my foot for a dad with a dolly loaded with his daughter’s things. It’s move-out day. Chaos.

Chill air, misty raindrops- wind and water are the elements of the day. Contrast: in three-ish days I will be under the Israeli sun.

Hugs. Hard ones. Prolonged. These are goodbye hugs— some for a few weeks, some for three months, some much longer. These are emotion-filled and bittersweet. And yet it hasn’t quite sunk in that I won’t be seeing all of them tomorrow.

Grey and white and greenish and black. Clouds, empty dorm room walls, my rain jacket, graduation gowns. Those are the colors of today.

Echoes. Calls of “Goodbye!” echo through the halls. The echo of the microphone through the large Moody Church sanctuary as the speaker gave the commencement address. The echo of my voice when I sing (as I incessently do) in my nearly-empty dorm room.

A musty smell. A rainy smell. Nail polish remover. Cleaning spray. The fast food everyone’s brought back for lunch since the dining hall is closed.

These are some of today’s moments and sensations.

100 Days

You know that pattern of conversation where you say, “I just can’t wait for ____!!!!” and someone decides to insert wisdom into your life by saying something along the lines of, “Well, don’t wish away the time till it gets here. You’ll end up wishing away your whole life if you’re not careful. The journey is sometimes the best part” ?

Well, it’s gotten to the point in the year where everything is about “next year”. The ways our floors will change. The things we’ll do differently. The classes. The many different sorts of relationships that have to be put on pause for now but will be resumed in the fall.

There are exactly 100 days until the day I have to be back on campus for choir. 100 days until that much-anticipated “next year”.

What will I do with that 100 days?

I won’t wish them away. In the next 100 days, I will learn some things. I will grow a bit. I will accomplish some tasks, and have some fun, and go through some bad days. I’ll earn some money, and deepen friendships, and move on from some things. I’ll live.

And on August 19th I will still be me, but a little different.

As I was reminded last August by a very wise lady, “Don’t spend your life waiting to live it”.

Going Home

I think I’ve always tended to subconsciously think of going to heaven as going any other new place—it may be wonderful and I may come to love it in time, but it will be an adjustment. It’ll take a while to become home, sort of how Moody did.

Then this morning in chapel, we sang “How Great Thou Art”. As I sang, “When He shall come with shouts of acclamation and take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!” I thought about it. We are not of this world, but that’s not an easy mindset to get into. Will I really, truly be able to be full of nothing but joy when I’m on my way to heaven? After all, my coming to Moody was joyful, but I still had some sadness at leaving home, and that was a natural and good thing, wasn’t it?

Then I was reminded of two things.

First, a line in the movie Sleepless in Seattle, which I watched last night. It’s really cheesy, but it works. Tom Hanks’s character is describing what was special about his late wife, and he says, “I knew it the very first time I touched her. It was like coming home… only to no home I’d ever been before. I was just taking her hand to help her out of the car and I knew.”

Second, a scene from Anne of the Island, the third book in the Anne of Green Gables series. Anne and her friend Ruby are discussing death and heaven, and Ruby says, “I think… and I get so homesick… and frightened. Heaven must be very beautiful, of course, the Bible says so—but Anne, it won’t be what I’m used to.”

Here is Anne’s resolve as she thinks it over later that night:
“When she came to the end of one life it must not be to face the next with the shrinking terror of something wholly different -- something for which accustomed thought and ideal and aspiration had unfitted her. The little things of life, sweet and excellent in their place, must not be the things lived for; the highest must be sought and followed; the life of heaven must be begun here on earth. “

So there, I think, is my answer. Seeking to begin the life of heaven while here on the earth, and trusting God to manage the rest.

“I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now. The reason why we loved the old Narnia is that it sometimes looked a little like this.”
--The Chronicles of Narnia: The Last Battle

Blog it. But live it first.

‎"…the real meat of life, the stuff that really matters, the part that makes it beautiful to be human–well, none of that stuff has a USB port. You can’t really Twitter the music of a child’s laugh, and no Facebook page will replace the beauty of taking a casserole to a sick friend.

So blog life, Twitter it, IM it, podcast it…and do it well.

But first?

Live it."

-A blogger named Shannon

I think that pretty much speaks for itself.

Real life is beautiful. There's nothing wrong with capturing and sharing what you can. I think that's beautiful, too, and I want to do more of it. But let's not forget to place LIVING life at higher value than creating an online representation of it.

Enough

I attended a Seder dinner here at Moody last week. I'm so glad I did- I feel like I understand the Lord's Supper and of course the Passover so much better now. So many things about it were just very cool. There's one part I keep thinking about, though.

There's a word in Hebrew, "dayenu" (basically pronounced "die-AY-new"), that means "It would have been enough". In this section, the host of the Seder reads a series of phrases, and after each one everyone else repeats, "Dayenu!"

If He had only rescued us from Egypt, but had not punished the Egyptians,

(It would have been enough.)

If He had only punished the Egyptians, but had not destroyed their gods,

(It would have been enough.)

If He had only destroyed their gods, but had not slain their firstborn,

(It would have been enough.)

And so on. For a Messianic Seder it goes all the way to:

If He had only given us eternal life, but had not given us abundant life,

(It would have been enough.)

If He had only given us abundant life, but had not called us to serve Him,

(It would have been enough.)

If He had only called us to serve Him, but had not indwelt us with His Spirit,

(It would have been enough.)

If He had only indwelt us with His Spirit, but had not promised us rewards,

(It would have been enough.)

Now here's my favorite part. The last line.

Every time it seems the Lord has done enough for us, He always does more.

All I can say is, Amen.

Stress and Philosophy

I've been wound pretty tightly lately. Nothing particularly worth mentioning- I'm just a college student, and there are always times when the various stressors of life seem to meet up and talk you over, and decide to all attack at once. I've had lots to do, lots to think over, and not lots of sleep.

That all changed pretty quickly. Not that there aren't still things to think over. But the homework stress has gone down tremendously with the turning in of a paper this morning, the opportunity for sleep over the next week looks promising, and I'm going home for Easter weekend in three days.

It's funny. You would expect that when everything that's been stressing you out suddenly disappears, you'd feel light and relaxed. But I don't.

Instead, I feel similar to the way you feel when you've run a lot- say a mile, for those of you who (like me) are not runners. You push yourself to keep going for that mile mark without walking, and you do it! Your immediate instinct is to stop, or to instantly slow to a walk. You're done. You've accomplished what you're trying to do. But it doesn't work that way. If you just stop like that, your insides seize up and breathing isn't fun and your entire body is just out of rhythm. It wants to keep running. You have to slow down gradually.

I guess life is like that, too. When you just stop, you seize up and just feel kind of twisted and ill inside. You want to keep stressing over something. I'm not sure what the "life" parallel is to slowing down gradually. But for now, I'm going to take a nap.

A final thought: In my philosophy class today we talked about Friedrich Nietzsche. He's the guy who said "God is dead. Man has killed him." He's basically of the opinion that Christianity destroys everything. And unfortunately, a lot of his philosophy makes sense. When someone mentioned that at the end of the lecture, my professor said something that really resonated with me. He said that we don't necessarily have to deny everything that pagan philosophers said. Often their observations about the world and humanity are correct. But we don't have a God who is bound by the systems of the world. He came lowly and contrite, and He overcame anyway. So even though these people are trying to make God obsolete or powerless or nonexistent… all they really do is give us more reasons to praise Him.

Very cool.

Time to sleep now.

The Power of the Spoken Word

Jun 29, 2010. I am standing in a room with 6,000 believers at an EFCA national youth conference, and I am tired both physically and emotionally. I feel cold. I am enjoying myself, but simply not able to connect on an emotional level. Then as a part of the worship service, the man on stage asks us to recite together what the people in Revelation say to praise God. Thousands of voices mumble in sync.

Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God of hosts; the whole earth is filled with His glory.

“Louder,” says the man.

Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God of hosts! The whole earth is filled with His glory!

“Louder!”

Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God of hosts!!! The whole earth is filled with His glory!!!

This time he doesn’t need to tell us to be louder. Something in my heart has ruptured, and although ninety seconds ago I was about as passionate as a stone, no more. Suddenly I am overwhelmed, and large, hot tears are streaming down my face, which is tilted towards the ceiling, my arms outstretched though I do not remember consciously raising them.

HOLY, HOLY, HOLY IS THE LORD, GOD OF HOSTS- THE WHOLE EARTH IS FILLED WITH HIS GLORY!!!!!

~*~

There is something about proclaiming aloud the truth of who God is that makes Him seem more real. The spoken word is laced with power. It brings density and glory to my vision of Him, not seen and yet perceived. He has weight. And I am moved.

That night last June is a perfect example- but then, so are the few minutes I spent praying with some brothers at the beginning of New Testament Survey class this morning. As we prayed over an ill professor and the school’s financial situation, our were filled with phrases of praise and truth, thanking God for what He has done and declaring Him to be loving, just, and powerful. And though we were sleepy and school-minded, those words are powerful and engaging.

~*~

I am on spring tour with the Women’s Concert Choir. In between songs, girls step up to the microphone to recite verses of scripture from memory- from the heart. The words come to life in a way they never have before, and when I read the verses for myself I hear their voices ringing in my head. Rachel says, “But I will heal them,” and I shiver, and my arms are all over in goosebumps. Sarah says, “It is done! I am the Alpha and Omega!” and I cannot help but grin. Kirsten says, “Cast down, but not destroyed.” and I feel strengthened.

~*~

There is something about hearing scripture recited- not read impersonally and stumblingly, but vocalized from the hidden places of the heart where it has been stored and meditated on- that brings is to life and sharpens it to pierce the very soul.

It reminds me of reading Shakespeare. On the page it is like a puzzle, requiring thought to work through. It was a mental exercise, filled with themes and figures of speech, appreciated for it’s inherent genius but not on an emotional level. But oh, the difference when it is performed! On stage or screen, from memory with emotion and body language, every obscure metaphor and passionate speech comes to life.

I have found scripture to be the same way. On the page, scripture is full of meaning and truth and power and goodness. But recited, it is full of Meaning and Truth and Power and Goodness.

~*~

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth

and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord

who was conceived by the Holy Spirit;

born of the virgin Mary;

suffered under Pontius Pilate;

was crucified, dead, and buried.

The third day He rose again from the dead.

He ascended into heaven, and sitteth at the right hand of God the Father Almighty.

From thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Spirit

the holy catholic Church

the communion of saints

the forgiveness of sins

the resurrection of the body

and the life everlasting.

Amen.

The Apostle’s Creed. A large part of my life this semester. The end to every choir concert; the beginning to every Christianity and Western Culture I class each Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 11:00 am.

~*~

There is something about together declaring belief and hope in the Most High God that unites a body, in Christ and to Christ. It is solidifying. It strengthens one’s concept of what exactly is meant by “I believe”, by sheer repetition and vocabulary.

Sitting in chapel as I think about this (as these thoughts are being composed on the back of a to-do list), if I close my eyes I am very aware of the presence of the people on either side of me. They are solid, dense, each a thick and heavy mass of connotation and identity.

Why, then, is my perception of the presence of God more akin to a vague mist, everywhere but wispy?

God should be the densest, the most REAL.

Creeds and rituals may sound “too Catholic”. But if they bring a proper density to my perception of God Almighty, they are more than worth my time.

Because there is power in the spoken word.

Beautiful Diversity

The sermon series at my church in Chicago right now is “The Next 10”, a look at what we want our piece of the Body to become over the next ten years. One week in particular got me really excited (ask my roommate- she had to listen to me talk about it to everyone for the next few days): “By God’s Grace We Aim to Be a Diverse but Unified Church.” The actual sermon can be heard here (http://www.edgebapt.com/media.php?pageID=5) but I’m going to use my notes (which ended up in paragraphs rather than in bullets) to recount what I got so excited about.

…

This is a Biblical history of diversity.

Old Testament.

In the beginning, God created one people group: united in language, descent, culture, and purpose. To be one and fill the earth with that one-ness, reflecting God’s image…

And God blessed them. And God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth…” (Genesis 1)

… but the Fall tarnished that purpose.

… and to dust you shall return… (Genesis 3)

Instead of scattering and filling the earth, man came together to avoid being dispersed. Instead of seeking God’s glory, they sought their own. So God confused their language.

And from there the Lord dispersed them over the face of all the earth. (Genesis 11)

This was the beginning of the nations. It was a judgment… but it was also a grace. God called one man, Abram, to make His own great, blessed nation- and to bear the seed that will bless the world.

And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you… and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed. (Genesis 12)

For Israel, God created a bit of an incubator in the midst of a diverse and sinful world. He sanctified them, set them apart. A nation by definition requires a people, a land, and a law. So He gave them, His people, a Land and a Law.

You shall therefore keep all my statutes and all my rules and do them, that the land where I am bringing you to live may not vomit you out… I am the Lord your God, who has separated you from the peoples. (Leviticus 20)

All of this is done to one day draw back the rest of the earth.

And many nations shall join themselves to the Lord in that day, and shall be My people… (Zechariah 2)

New Testament.

Finally, Jesus arrived! The seed through which all the world would be blessed.

For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life. (John 3)

God calls all the world to repent and believe in the gospel.

…a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in Him… (Ephesians 1)

Jesus said that the gospel will be proclaimed in all nations and exhorts His disciples to go and make more disciples in all the earth (Matthew 28; Acts 1).

The Holy Spirit soon followed. At His advent the disciples proclaimed God, each of their listeners hearing in his own language.

This is a monumental event. This is the first time since Babel that the people have been together, united by space and understanding.

Parthians and Medes and Elamites and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea, and Cappadocia, Pontus, and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt, and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabians—we hear them telling in our own tongues the mighty works of God. (Acts 2)

Peter had his visions about eating unclean animals, representing the new cleanliness of the Gentiles, and protested at first. But God said, “Ohhhhh no—things have changed—what I call clean is clean!” (Acts 10)

So Peter began to reach out to the Gentiles.

God even sent an angel to prepare them for his coming. The Jews had been set apart, guarded by the Law, but now things are different.

There is no longer Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3)

And what will happen in the end? What does all of this come to?

A multitude. From every tribe. Every tongue. Every nation. All giving praise to “our God” –

Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen. (Revelation 7)

—inheriting the New Jerusalem, dwelling with God, in unity, just like the original. Just like in the Garden… but, dare I say, better.

And the city has no need of a sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of the Lord gives it light, and its lamp is the Lamb. By its light the nations will walk… (Revelation 21)

God’s plan included diversity. It will be even better at the end because of the multi-everything-hodge-podge of people who had NOTHING in common and now have EVERYTHING in common, a forever marker of God’s grace and His plan to bring His people to Him.

I think it’s beautiful.

Still, Small Wind

Sitting in a hammock on the Houghton roof at 9:00 on the first really warm evening of the spring, looking out over the city with pen in hand and journal on my lap, my bare feet brushing the cool stone tiles and a gentle breeze wrapping its way around me.... it's easy to believe, in such moments, that God was in a still, small wind.

More blogs to come when I have time. I have lots scribbled on various bits of paper, waiting to be polished and typed.