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

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…)

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.

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

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.

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.

Elevation

This week in one of my classes, a fellow student said something that struck me. It was along the lines of "The more we humble ourselves, the more glorious God appears to us." It got me thinking.

Two and a half years ago, my family went on a summer vacation "out West". My favorite part was the Grand Teton National Park.

Before that trip, the only mountains I'd ever seen were the Smokies down in Tennessee.

After that trip, I was reluctant even to call the Smokies "mountains". I prefer "large hills".

Since that trip, I have seen other mountains. But the Tetons remain the most awe-inspiring range I have ever seen.

Why? The answer is simple.

Elevation.

In the Smoky Mountains, the elevation is ever-varying between about 900 and 6000 feet over a range of 36 miles. The foothills roll long before the range begins. In Wyoming, though, it's a different story.

The elevation of the town Jackson Hole, sitting just below the Tetons' peaks, is about 6200 feet. The landscape is flat, marked only by fields and rivers, until suddenly

colossal

majestic

snow-covered

jagged-peaked

Mountains

rise almost unbelievably out of the plains.

The peaks reach nearly 14,000 feet, which may not be a big deal compared to the Colorado Rockies, but remember- that's a very sudden increase of about 8,000 feet. It isn't the height above sea level that makes the Tetons impressive. It's the height from base to peak, and the sharp drop between the two.

The Tetons wouldn't really be all that impressive if the elevation of Jackson Hole was much higher, or if the ground rose more gradually. They're not record-setting peaks. As it is, though, they're spectacular, awe-inspiring, breathtaking.

Our God is colossal. He is awesome, powerful, majestic, huge, glorious.

But how can we see that if, in our flawed minds, our own elevation isn't too significantly different?

The more humble we are- the lower our elevation- the more glorious our Lord appears in our eyes.

Seeing Anew

It is so easy to become used to things.

I had a really good cheeseburger the other day, and I realized just how bad the ones at Moody are.

I stepped into the shower upon arriving home for break and suffered a moment of extreme confusion at the water coming from the left instead of the right like it is at school.

After two weeks of Christmas break, I have regained my addiction to reading. I remember before I left, wondering how I would manage a whole semester with not much time for fiction. I wonder how I did manage it.

And tonight, in the brisk air, I noticed the stars. Constellations that I recognize with only a brief glance such as Orion and the Pleiades, sparkling with more depth than the inky sky in which they hang.

They were beautiful. Dazzling. Amazing. Despite the cold, all I wanted to do was stand there on the asphalt with my head tilted back, breathing deeply and indulging the awe that I felt over a sight I’d seen my entire life.

I live in Chicago now. Unlike the cornfields of northwest Indiana, the city rarely allows for even a single star to shine through the clouds and light pollution. I knew before I left that I would miss the stars, and so I do, but apparently I’d become used to not seeing them. Because when I looked at the stars after months of city skies, I saw something that I missed when I saw them every day.

My throat caught at their beauty and mystery. My mind struggled to comprehend their size and majesty. And my soul rejoiced in the God that created those stars, the God that knows them by number and name and holds the entire universe in His hand.

It reminds me of the day that I got my first pair of glasses. I was seven. I’d apparently been having my vision problems for quite some time, because when I placed the lenses in front of my eyes for the first time, I saw the world in a whole new way. I had literally forgotten that it was possible to see airplanes in the sky, not just hear them, as well as the fact that the individual leaves on trees are distinguishable.

I’d become used to a world where things blurred. I didn’t remember the alternative.

That day was one filled with wonder, discovery, and excitement. And I can’t help but wonder what it takes to look at something with fresh eyes. Is an absence required first? Or is it a mindset that can be consciously formed?

For example, as a church-grown girl who prayed the prayer at four years old, what does it take for me to see old Sunday school Bible stories with the new clarity of a new pair of glasses and the awe of a sky full of stars after a sojourn in the city?

I don’t have an answer for that. Faith, prayer, trying? Wanting to? I don’t think it’s trying, because I’ve done that and I’m incompetent.

At my church in Chicago, the sermon series over the past few months was entitled “In Case You Missed It: A Grown-Up Look at Sunday School Stories”. The morning that I visited Edgewater Baptist for the first time, the story was from Genesis 3, the fall of man.

You have to understand something. I’m a Moody Bible Institute student, and that sermon happened to land on the week that I had studied the Fall in at least three different classes and may even have had a chapel speaker talk about it, coincidentally of course (*cough*). So when I saw the sermon title, I automatically began the process of mentally shutting down. I had this covered. I’d heard my Bible college profs explain it to me from three different angles. What more could I get from it?

Two things were wrong with that attitude. First, I was falling into the pride trap that so many Moody students succumb to. Superiority. Second, I was forgetting that the Bible is a living book. That morning I got more out of the sermon that I have in a very long time, and I’ve heard some very good, effective sermons. My notes filled the margins of the bulletin and I looked at Genesis 3 in a way I’d never seen it before. With clarity and awe.

That doesn’t tell me what it takes to see with new eyes. But it tells me that it’s possible, and as long as I know that, that whole “faith and prayer” thing sounds like a pretty good idea to me.

As One Being Taught

I am an extremely habitual person. There are countless things that I always do, often without thinking, simply because I always do them.

Some tendencies are innocuous, like sitting on the same side of the Bro-Sis table at each meal. Some are beneficial; for example, using the same shower in our community bathroom makes me feel more at home. Some are just plain silly, such as always putting certain foods (like potatoes) in certain spots on my plate (bottom left).

But some habits are harmful.

When I’m in class and my professor is halfway to the “Amen” before I’ve consciously realized we’re praying (though my head is bowed with eyes closed and hands folded anyway) something is wrong.

When I’m studying for a theology quiz and the notes in my own handwriting don’t look familiar in the slightest, there is a problem.

And I’m beginning to get concerned about the pattern that has been emerging in my mornings lately. The one involving an epic struggle to stay awake and alert until after my first class and chapel, at which point I collapse for an hour-long nap and wake up just in time to go to lunch.

So I’m resolving to change some of my habits.

First of all, prayer should not be a mindless routine. Actually, I believe that the root of these concerns is a deficiency in my prayer life. Praying consistently and wholeheartedly is something that I have always had a hard time with, but especially lately.

In light of this, I’ve decided to make prayer a focus. Just recognizing that I need to work on prayer is not enough, though. I need practical goals to help make sure that I am progressing.

So here it is: After chapel, instead of going for a nap, at least three times a week (Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays is the plan) I will shut myself in the Houghton 1 prayer room or somewhere else private. I will set my phone alarm for thirty minutes and I will not leave until that alarm goes off. Maybe I won’t be able to focus the whole time, but I will stay there. And I’m telling people about it (my roommates, my friends, whoever’s reading this) to ensure that I actually do it.

So ask me how it’s going sometime, and slap me if I make excuses (figuratively, please).

As for the rest of it:

“The Sovereign LORD has given me an instructed tongue,

to know the word that sustains the weary.

He wakens me morning by morning,

wakens my ear to listen like one being taught.”

--Isaiah 50:4

I will rely on God to help me not just to wake up every day but to thrive, to really live that day.

And not just to listen.

Now there is an interesting concept. Not just “to listen”, but “to listen like one being taught”. When my notes are unrecognizable and every effort is focused on staying awake, I am certainly not listening like one being taught. I might be listening well enough to write down what I need, but no further.

To listen as one being taught I must be engaged, fascinated, receptive. And I should be. After all, what I am learning is of the utmost importance and interest to me. But I’m weak, and I’m flawed, so I have to rely on His aid.

I’m changing my habits… but I can’t do it alone.

Something Bigger- Whispers in the Stairwell

Smiling, I said goodbye to the girls I’d gone to Jewel with. The door to the West hall clicked closed and Houghton 2 fell silent- almost. A girl sat at the piano on the opposite side of the room, next to the door to the stairs. As I walked closer I saw what she was playing- “God of This City” by Chris Tomlin. When she heard my footsteps, she turned her head and I smiled at her before slipping into the North staircase. Laden with a grocery bag full of ingredients for pumpkin muffins, I walked slowly up to the third floor where I live. But something made me pause as I reached the landing.

In that tiled, echoing staircase, piano and voice were rising from Houghton 2. “Greater things are yet to come, and greater things are still to be done in this city…” And suddenly there rose in my mind a single thought, almost as clear as if someone had whispered it to me: Something bigger than myself. I am part of something bigger than myself.

I turned, looking back at the stairs I had just climbed. A streetlight shone through the frosted window.

Something bigger than myself.

That moment, the world seemed to stop as I was overwhelmed by God’s presence.

Be still, He said. Be still and know Who I am. I am God, and I will be exalted in all the earth, and you’re going to help me.

That’s what I was going to blog about tonight. How the last half of that verse is usually left out. The part that says, “I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in all the earth.” The part that gives the rest meaning. But I guess I didn’t know enough about that verse yet. God showed me a new side this time. This time “be still” meant “Megan, stop getting so wrapped up in your own life, just stop for a second and see My reality. I AM GOD. You are part of My body. I have put you in this place. Just stop and think about that.”

Outside, the band warming up for Thursday Night Praise drowned out the piano from downstairs. The sound swelled, an accompaniment for what was happening in my soul.

Something bigger than myself.

In the last post I talked about preparing diligently for my future ministry, about having focus and direction. Well, it’s time to think about today. There are greater things yet to be done in Chicago. God has put me here. This is my mission field.

Something bigger.

As the music outside faded and the piano again became audible, I dropped my bag and sank to the floor in prayer- the most real prayer I’ve experienced in a long time. And it wasn’t about me. Not at all.

Bigger than myself.

It was only a minute before the spell was broken by someone rushing down the staircase to get somewhere. But that minute shifted the way I think in a way I don’t think I fully see yet, and encouraged me in a way I cannot put into words.

Don’t ever think that God doesn’t speak to people anymore. He whispers to college students in stairwells on Thursday evenings. And when He whispers, you pay attention.

There is special providence...

I watched a sparrow die today.

It’s been a summer of endings. High school. My relationship with my (now ex-)boyfriend. Band. Bible studies with my wonderful youth pastor. Wednesday night drives to Dairy Queen with secret-sharing on the way home. As the summer ebbs, so dwindle the days left with the people here who mean so much to me, living at home, having my own room.

Today was another “last”- the last meeting of my Impact group, composed of all the girls in my grade at church. Our leader of the past two years is a wonderfully wise and kind woman whose home is down the road from mine. Due to our collective busy-ness, this meeting was both the first of the summer and the last of the group’s existence.

I was the first to arrive. Anneliese, the daughter of my leader and hostess, showed me a baby sparrow they had found at the side of the road. The tiny thing’s legs were limp, and its beak opened and closed soundlessly but ate nothing.

“I think it’s dying,” said Lydia. “I had some baby chicks once. One was doing that panting thing and then it died.”

Even so, we gently placed it in a basket on top of a t-shirt of Anne’s. We offered it a worm or, upon discovering that sparrows do not eat worms, some bread crumbs. It merely sat, its chest heaving.

Other girls arrived, and as we seated ourselves in the living room with chunks of watermelon and peanut butter cookies, I forgot about the sparrow.

Two hours passed. I sat pen in hand as we soaked up as many final drops of wisdom as possible.

1. The way to lead a blessed life is to seek God with all your heart. Communicate with Him- read His word, pray. Look for Him in people. (Ps. 119:2)
2. Keep your way pure. Even if you’re going to a Bible school, there will always be temptation even if it’s “just” to gossip, be critical, or worry. (Ps. 119:9)
3. When you make a mistake, admit it and take it to heart, but don’t go on grieving about it. The joy of the Lord is your strength! (Nehemiah 8)
4. Don’t spend your life waiting to live it. Don’t let the future be a stumbling block.
5. God has given you His ear- so call on Him! (Ps. 116:2)
6. A life well-lived is more about who you are than what you do. Maybe I’d like to meet someone who plays the flute really well. But if they’re not a nice person, I wouldn’t want to have a relationship with them, to be friends, to spend time. It’s who they are that counts.

And so on.

Eventually we moved outside. Green grass tickled our feet as we stretched out on beach towels under a tree, just a few feet from the corn field marking the yard’s border. The sun warmed our skin when it found its way through the branches. The sparrow, having caused a minor distraction when we’d traipsed out through the back porch, was now nestled unobtrusively in the grassy center of our circle.

We discussed our fears concerning college, exchanged advice that had been given to us, and wondered aloud about the contents of our hazy, distant futures.

In the midst of our talk, the sparrow stopped breathing.

We grew silent, simply gazing at this small shell of a creature whose life had just ended.

“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.” Matthew 10:29

God saw and cared about the death of this small, funny-looking thing with feathers, whose life had been perhaps a few days long, who had been noticed by humans only because Lydia had gone running along a certain road that morning, whose life had no meaning or impact... only it did.

You see, we are always stewing over our stories. God may be timeless and live eternally in the present, but I think that we humans live almost entirely in the future while here on earth. We discuss it and worry about it and try to manipulate it, prepare for it, foresee it. As we get ready to enter adulthood (sort of) and leave for college, it’s nearly all we can think about. And after endless conversations, advice, encouraging verses.... it was the witnessing of this sparrow’s fall that fixed firmly into my head a peace and comfort.

If even something so small is important in God’s eyes, and if something so inconsequential can be an Event... well, what does that say about me?

There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow. There is Someone who is going to make Something out of my life.