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!!!