In the "Secret Church" series, Dr. David Platt talks of a seminary in Indonesia, where the requirements for graduation include planting a church--with at least 30 newly-baptized believers--in a Muslim community. 2 students lost their lives in one year as they tried to fulfill this goal.

I've heard a lot of talk recently about living "radically" for Christ and being "bold in the faith," but hearing stories like this completely upsets my neat little idealized Christianity package. Here I am, on summer break, and my biggest stresses are training for a race, getting my room clean, and trying to spend more time studying the Bible. And then I am reminded that there are men and women all over the world who are dying, literally dying, in order that even one person might come to know Christ. That is a boldness of faith that I am severely lacking in, and it's a humbling reminder that there's no "comfort zone" in this life God's called me to.

But if His grace is enough (it is!) then I just need to pursue Him in faith and allow Him to shape my heart and guide my soul into His ways.

Psalm 37: 3-6

Trust in the Lord and do good;

Dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.

Take delight in the Lord,

and He will give you the desires of your heart.

Commit your way to the Lord;

Trust in Him and He will do this:

He will make your righteous reward shine like the dawn,

Your vindication like the noonday sun.

The philosopher George Santayana, in Reason in Common Sense, said that "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." It takes a certain kind of foresight to see that any forward progress requires knowledge gained from turning back.

For my sixteenth birthday (wow, that seems like such a long time ago...), the mother of a friend of mine gave me a beautiful little fabric-bound journal. It was almost too pretty to write in, but I determined that year that I would start journaling. Historically speaking, it was a venture doomed to fail. I had tried on and off to journal, but between the business of life and the annoyance of little siblings finding my diaries and reading them, I had more or less given up. But my best friend had been a faithful diary-writer growing up, even bringing her spiral bound notebooks to sleepovers to chronicle our bleary-eyed 2 a.m shenanigans, so I figured if she could do it, I could, and it was worth another shot. If anything, I felt like turning sixteen was a mile marker, and I wanted to try and document the subsequent coming-of-age years. 

I have since filled up 5 or 6 notebooks and journals with the events, thoughts, joys, trials, spiritual revelations, and heartbreaks that have accompanied me these past seven years. And every year or so I try to go back through some of my old journals to see how I've changed, or not changed, since that time. A couple of days ago, I read through my most recent journal, even though I still have a quarter of the pages to fill. Since I just finished my spring semester at school, and I've had a significant amount of life-changing events in the past year, I felt like it was time to go back and reflect some. I've spent a lot of time these past six months just pushing forward, making it through the demands of life, looking forward. It was definitely time to dwell a bit on the past.

My current journal spans over two years, and while many of the actual events recorded are hazy memories, the very first entry I distinctly remember writing. I was sitting on the bed in my grandmother's guest room on a Sunday evening, after wrestling with convictions, concerns, worries, and uncertainties about my future. And that was the point, on January 17th, 2012, when my relationship with the Lord became markedly different as I caught a glimpse of His glory--the Image I am supposed to reflect in my daily walk--and realized that I will never achieve even the most minute fraction of that holiness. 

And instead of that casting me into a dark hole of depression and hopelessness, it was that knowledge, the fact that I cannot and will not ever be good enough for God, that gave me hope and brought me joy.  "For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Rom. 3:23). Because it was in my current state that Christ sought me, captured my heart, and desired me for Himself. It was in my brokenness and pride and filthiness that He shed His blood for me. There was nothing good about me, nothing worthy of praise or honor, nothing in me worthy of anything but death. But there was God. God chose me. He wanted me. 

How amazing is that? 

Reading my journal entries from early 2010--my thoughts at that time, old sermon notes, scriptures that spoke to me--I found comfort and solace in the past. I took courage in His promise to never leave or forsake me, and saw a pattern of His faithfulness in my life, even in my unfaithfulness. I was reminded afresh of the glory of my calling, and the beauty of His grace. 

I was also reminded that the Christian's walk is filled with ups and down, highs and lows. It's like when you're biking. At least where I live. After coasting down a long hill, the wind whistling by as you soar to a gentle coast at the bottom, you stop and take in a deep breath, adrenaline high. And then, you realize...you've gotta climb back up. The easy way down, no matter how long or fast, is most certainly followed by an uphill climb. But think about it. Where will you grow more? Coasting downhill, your feet stilled on the pedals because your legs can't pump as fast as the wheels are spinning? Or cranking your gears uphill, your entire body thrown into trying to move uphill? 

I feel refreshed now. Encouraged. Inspired. 

And my heart echoes a prayer I wrote down at the end of January:

Lord, You've brought me through another another month of my life, despite the migraines, bumps and bruises, and the times that I've sinned against You and not been a reflection of your glory. Thank you fo ryour grace and forgiveness, Your mercy and Your love. May this upcoming month be a season of growth, both spiritual and emotional, and may I leave...with an even greater love and knowledge of you. In Jesus' name, Amen. 

Walking through a shaded path near the Atlantic coast, the Spanish moss hanging from ancient oaks casting lingering shadows on the dirt trail, I find myself slipping into romantic reverie as the last vestiges of the Southern sun trace orange and pink designs on the dimming horizon. We pass by a glistening lake, it's surface softly reflecting the foliage above it. There's something about the South that I always find alluring...its rich history, perhaps, or maybe the hospitality of the people who live here, greeting you with their slow drawling accent...or maybe it's because here you can get really really really good sweet tea. Whatever it is, I like it. It's comfortable, peaceful even, especially with the distant sound of the waves crashing onto the sandy shore.

Two hours later, peaceful thoughts are dashed from my mind as all nine of us stumble through the darkness trying to find our way back home. Our beach house is nestled within in a maze of paths and forested area, and right now, it seems like we're stuck mostly in forest. I try to scan the pine-needle blanketed floor for any signs of snakes, alligators, or cobras (they have those here, right?) The tall trees, so warm and secure before, now loom over us, blocking what little moonlight there is. I manage a wry smile as we pass a "Please Do Not Feed the Alligators" sign. Wouldn't that be an exciting way to end our vacation...swallowed whole by a congregation of hungry reptiles. We finally make our way to a construction zone by a water tower, which we recognize as being close to our house. After scuttling under a tall fence (all the while expecting sirens to go off and angry LEOs taking us all away to jail for trespassing), we hurry past the fire department and police station and breathe sigh of relief at the sight of our condo ahead.

Just another typical day. The mishaps and mischances that seem to characterize my life keep me humble, I suppose, and make for good "Do you remember that one time..." stories.

I flex my wrist gingerly, case in point. It's been four days and it still hurts, but I don't think it's broken. More likely a bad sprain. But who knows. As long as I keep it wrapped with Self-Grip it seems to be okay. Two days of mountain biking in Virginia last week left me looking (and feeling) like I lost an MMA fight. It wasn't even the jumps that I got hurt on...I lost my balance crossing a bridge and then just plain lost control another time. But otherwise I had fun!

It's good to be away, on a different schedule, in a different environment. A gentle adjustment to summer life. It's always hard for me coming off of a hard semester, where things are ordered and rigid and always stressful and demanding, to the summer, where there's usually no schedule, little order, but still projects to do and things to accomplish.

It's been a little over two weeks since I had my last final and I am finally ready to say...Hello Summer!!!

It's Sunday

Well, technically, it's Monday, but bear with me...

Our pastor played this video yesterday before his Easter message. And it hit me, as I watched the images before my eyes, that it wasn't always Sunday. There was a Friday too. And it must have been the longest weekend of the disciples' lives. Their Lord, crucified and buried. Where was their hope? Where was their joy? Where was the promised Messiah? The Lamb of God to take away the sins of the world?

I've been trying to put myself in the place of the disciples that Friday. Would I have trusted His Message? Remembered His words concerning His glorious return? And as much as I want to claim, as Peter did, that I would never disown my Lord, a part of me fears that I too would have run away from Christ that night in the garden. And the incredible part of that is, even when his closest friends, his very brothers, fell away, Christ still loved them and took their sins upon Himself. Not only their sins, but mine also.

And then, praise God, came Sunday. The Resurrection. Hope. Rejoicing. A promise fulfilled. The shout of a thousand voices singing

Christ is risen from the dead
We are one with him again
Come awake, come awake!
Come and rise up from the grave

Oh death! Where is your sting?
Oh hell! Where is your victory?
Oh Church! Come stand in the light!
The glory of God has defeated the night!

Christ is risen from the dead
Trampling over death by death
Come awake, come awake!
Come and rise up from the grave
Christ is risen from the dead
We are one with him again
Come awake, come awake!
Come and rise up from the grave

Rise up from the grave...

(Matt Maher)

It was Friday, but Sunday has come, and its promise remains and rings true for every man and woman and child. There are those who only know Friday...and they will never know otherwise unless someone tells them about Sunday.

10,000 Reasons for My Heart to Sing

This past Friday, I was tired. Really really tired. It had been a long week, and I wasn't going to have any time over the weekend to do my homework. Which means I was getting a little teensy-weensie bit, well, grumpy. I was home with the kids, and when I was trying to put the girls to bed, they all decided that they were hungry--again!--and they didn't want leftovers, and they didn't want apple slices, and they didn't want toast...they wanted hummus on a corn tortilla with melted cheese and a slice of ham. So I went to pull the hummus out of the fridge and the container slipped out of my hands and hummus fell all over the freshly-mopped floor. And I (almost) lost it. I was exhausted, overwhelmed thinking about all I needed to do. Saturday morning at 6 am I was carpooling a Suburban full of guys (and me) and their guns for an Airsoft event two hours away and I was behind in my reading for my lectures and I had two projects due and *sob* I just splattered hummus all over the floor. It was really time for me to throw a pity party for myself.

But of course, if I did that I wouldn't learn anything, now would I?

One thing that our pastor has been focusing on the past couple of weeks is the importance of hiding God's word in our hearts. For me, that involves not only spending time in the Word, but also keeping my mind focused on things of God. It's just so easy for me to slip out of my God-centered mindset, so the more time I spend with Him, the better. Go figure :) It's not rocket science...if you want to know God, you need to spend time with Him.

So anyhow, as the container of hummus flew from my hands, like a slow-motion action shot (I'm pretty sure I tried to stop it from falling, a "NoooooOOOOooooo!" of dismay escaping my mouth), my gut reaction was to allow my frustration to spill out. Sharp words. Angry tone. But before I reacted, my spirit was checked by a fountain of truth spilling over me.

Be still and know that I am God.

Be quick to hear, slow to speak, and slow to anger.

Momentary light affliction.

All things work together for the good of those who love God.

Peace, be still.

Blessed are the meek.

I AM that I AM.

God of All.

The LORD is my Shepherd, I shall not want.

Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you.

And I felt the tension diffusing from me, like a big balloon deflating, coming down from its elevated height and settling in a crumpled heap on the ground. What an incredible perspective it is to look at your life through the lens of God's grace. There's no other way to pass through trials and storms. "For neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Rom. 8:38-39). NOTHING, absolutely NOTHING, can separate me from my Jesus. Grasping even the slightest hint of this truth, with the knowledge of who I once was, and who God has destined me to be, and the absolute dichotomy of the two, makes even the biggest container of dropped hummus utterly irrelevant. 

The old hymn "Count Your Blessings" may not be on the Billboard Top 100, but I guarantee it has a deeper message than any pop song. When I truly count my blessings, listing all that God has done for me in my life, there is simply no way that I can feel sorry for myself. I am a child of God. There's only glory at the feet of Christ. Knowing that nothing will cross my path that I cannot overcome because the Lord is mine, and I am His, is an incredible comfort. Because I know that bigger things than a spilled container of hummus will come my way. Bigger things have already come my way. It just happened that the hummus was all I could handle Friday night.

Matt Redman's "10,000 Reasons" is my song of the week, and my soul is truly worshipping at the thought of every reason I have to praise. From the sunrise this morning to "whatever lies before me" I want to have His praise on my lips. And let me be singing when the evening comes. 

Afflictions Eclipsed By Glory

He is jealous for me

Loves like a hurricane

I am a tree

Bending beneath

The weight of His wind and mercy

When all of a sudden

I am unaware of these

Afflictions eclipsed by Glory

And I realize how beautiful You are

And how great Your afflictions for me

I've had this song playing in my head all week...driving to school, working out, lying in bed...I feel like I'm at such a critical point in my life right now, where the Lord is drawing me to Himself with such an intensity, requiring me to abandon, literally cast aside, myself in the light of His all-surpassing greatness (Philippian 3:7-11). What an incredible image...our afflictions, eclipsed by His glory. It's like waking up and seeing the most beautiful sunrise ever, and multiplying that by a million. A glory too terrifying to behold, too bright for our human eyes to gaze upon, too perfect to grasp. A Glory that was nailed to a cross, mocked and broken, all so that I could have a relationship with the Father.

Wow.

Suddenly all of my life plans, or lack thereof--my worries about whether or not I'll have a job after I graduate, if I'll ever get married, WHO I'm going to marry, what I'll be doing ten years from now, God-I'm-so-tired-of-where-You-have-me-in-life-right-now-can-I-please-just-run-away-to-Belize-and-start-an-orphanage-there? prayers--seem so incredibly silly when I think about the magnitude of this love that Christ has for me. So Lord, I thank You for EXACTLY where You have me right now. For each and every trial that drives me to my knees and brings me closer to You. For every heartbreak that reminds me that this is not my home, not my final destination. For Your blood that was shed, for the Life I now have in You. May my life be eclipsed by Your glory, so that You are all that can be seen when others look at my life.

Gratefulness, Joy, and a Blind Beggar's Request

A bird does not sing because it has an answer

It sings because it has a song

(Chinese Proverb)

Today's sermon was on blind Bartimaeus (Luke 18:35-43), and how he waited each day by the road, begging for his existence, waiting for something to change, something to happen. He had heard about this Jesus, how He healed the sick, restored the cripples, and gave sight to the blind. And here He was, walking down the road, surrounded by a multitude clamoring for His touch, His words. Crying out, Bartimaeus tried to get Jesus' attention, but the crowd hushed him, and told him to be quiet. Yet above the tumult, Jesus heard the cry of the blind beggar and summoned him to Himself. "What do you want Me to do for you," Jesus asked. Bartimaeus responded with a single request: that he might see. "Receive your sight," the Lord cried out, "Your faith has made you well."

Can you imagine living your life, alone, blind, penniless, crawling the streets every day begging for a crust of bread to gnaw on or a drink of water to quench your thirst? And every day you go to bed on a stone stoop or under a bridge, still hungry, thirsty, and alone. You can't see the sun rise in the morning, you don't know what it looks like after a rainfall when droplets of water are still cascading off of flower petals, and you can't appreciate the change of seasons, when the luscious green of summer changes into autumn hues. You are in darkness.

But one day, you hear people talking about a Man who can take away your blindness, Who can heal your hurts, Who can comfort your soul. Every day you pray that this Man will come and rescue you from yourself. And every day you wait and listen for the sound of His coming. Scripture says that after he received his sight, Bartimaeus "began glorifying Him, glorifying God; and when all the people saw it, they gave praise to God" (verse 43). 

Like Bartimaeus, I too was once lost, blind, poor, and wretched. Without hope, and helpless on my own. But by the grace of God, he restored my sight, and gave me the gift of hope--an eternal life with Him in glory. Yet so often I forget the mystery of His mercy. Take for granted each breath that comes from Him. The lesson of a blind beggar waiting for God's miraculous touch is a reminder to me of my own spiritual regeneration. 

It's an inspiration for me, as well as a challenge, to live each day in the shadow of His grace, letting His light radiate from me. In a world full of selfishness and pride, qualities such as joy, peace, gentleness, and patience are becoming increasingly rare. Tomorrow, (as I take an exam I'm not prepared for and try and finish projects long overdue), I want to be defined by a song of joy, not a voice of complaining. 

Like the proverbial bird, I sing not because I have the answers; I sing because I know Who does. And that's something worth singing about.