Flinging Gold

These days I spend lots of time sitting in the sunny backyard eating blackberries. Normally, I inhale my food. This allows me to hit two birds with one stone: I can breathe AND eat in the same breath. I love being efficient and productive, baby. But lately, I've been savoring these blackberries. I close my eyes and chew slowly and I notice what it's like to eat a blackberry. Tangy, then sweet, then a little bit bitter. Firm, then juicy, then summertime syrup. 
 
Eating blackberries in the sunshine helps me live in the present rather than worrying about the future. I'm tempted to think about the future a lot these days. I wonder what's going to happen in my body in the next few months and how that will affect my life long-term. In the end, my body will be the boss and I will have to do what works for her. This is hard.

Remember how ten days ago I laid on a medical table for a dizziness test? I wore a pair of goggles with a black, plastic sheath covering them and all I could see was inky black. An audiologist sat at my side and stuck alternating hot and cold air in my ears to induce extreme dizziness. The doctor, sensing my anxiety as she stuck the air shooter in my ear, spoke:

"It's okay, Sarah. This dizziness will be over in two minutes. This isn't real."

Later, I wondered at her words. The dizziness was definitely real. A real gust of air really changed the temperature in my real ear canal which really gave me horrible vertigo and really inspired me to try the Lamaze breathing techniques I'd seen on TV.

But I think I know what she meant. As I lay on the table, my reality was a dark void threatening to suck me into its spinning vortex. And that experience was real. But there was a realer real than the one I experienced. The audiologist could see the realer real. She saw a room full of light in which an anxious, goggle-wearing patient laid on a medical table. She knew she was a caring, competent professional in complete control of my dizziness. She knew this would be over in a flash and would soon be a fading memory.

There's this dialogue I've been having with God lately.

"God," I say. "I am tired of being stuck in my body. What could you possibly be thinking by allowing this?"

Sometimes he answers me clearly; sometimes he doesn't. When he doesn't, I imagine how he might respond, based on what I know of him from the Bible.

I usually imagine him saying something like this:

"I want you to know how much I love you. I know it doesn't make sense right now, but your suffering is teaching you my love in ways physical health wouldn't."

"That's really wonderful, God," I respond. "But why don't you just take me to heaven now where I can experience your love in its fullness? Then you could teach me your love AND spare me a lifetime in my body."

His answer is the same every time: "Because there are people who don't know me yet, and I will use your suffering to teach them how much I love them. Courage, dear heart. I'm doing something big that you cannot see."

There's a realer real than one we can see. Our little globe is spinning through the darkness, and sometimes the darkness presses in so thick and close we can't see through it. Sometimes things feel hopeless and out of control. They feel like the realest real. 

But God sees the Realest Real. He sees heaven, bathed in light, and he sees the hosts of heaven peering down at our little planet, waiting with bated breath for the day Jesus will chase away every last ounce of darkness. He knows he is caring and in control, and in the end, this dusty life on earth will be like a fading memory compared to the eternal life he's preparing for followers of Jesus in heaven.

And heaven? In heaven we will feel really, truly known. In heaven all of our dingy facades and tarnished masks will melt away, along with sin's soul scars and stains. We will know what it is to stand before our Creator naked and accepted, and we will know God fully, the way he knows us. And I think, in that moment, it will feel like love and compassion are burning through every inch of us. All at once all of our deepest desires will finally be satisfied. 

What will it be like to hear the voice that spoke the stars into the sky, calls dead men to life, and courses with love say our names...?

Sometimes, when I sit in the sun and eat blackberries, I think I've glimpsed a sliver of heaven's light. And the more I slow down to notice, the more slivers of heaven's light I see. They're everywhere, dancing like fireflies in the darkness. They're especially bright when Christians serve others like Jesus did, with humility and generosity. Jesus said when this happens we're witnessing his children building the Kingdom of Heaven on earth. Isn't it a miracle? That he'd trust and empower us to build the Realest Real right here?

The poet Rumi once wrote:

"Find the real world, give it endlessly away, grow rich flinging gold to all who ask. Live at the empty heart of paradox. I'll dance there with you — cheek to cheek."

Millions of people haven't heard the good news yet: they don't know there's a Realer Real than all this earthy madness. They don't know that the darkness doesn't have to have the last word. They don't know that our chaos can be turned into a story of redemption. They don't know that the God of the ages loves them with an undying, unfathomable love. And they need to know. We all need to know.

So we remain faithful in suffering. We keep our hands at the plow, pushing through the hard stuff, because, somehow, God will use it like a megaphone declaring the love of our very Real God who is preparing an eternally glorious home for those who love and serve him. 

Somehow, he'll turn the darkness to gold that we can give away.



Cheering and praying for you today, Skillets,

Sarah



© by scj

My flood: Gift #1

This is the second post about my apartment's flood this weekend. You can read part 1 here.

Last week, after dealing with frustrating and worrisome health insurance issues (thank you, [un]Affordable Care Act), I was aware — very aware — of the effects of sin. Governments mess up, bodies break down, and life can be so stinking hard. Our lives are not the way they were supposed to be, and we all know it. Deep down we all know we were designed for perfection, for paradise, for the greatest good we can imagine.

And we can imagine. We can imagine a life of comfort, ease, and pleasure — a life insulated from pain and loss. And since God endowed us, not only with imagination, but with free will and sovereignty to effect a measure of change and control in our lives, we strive to make our lives better. We manicure our yards, keep our homes free of mold and critters, make our bank accounts swell, escape to tropical vacations, and break away from routine to grab a nice dinner. We create our own little utopian Kingdoms, trying to recreate the perfection God intended for us before sin's curse ruptured, poisoned, and twisted the good, true, and beautiful in us and our world. 

Deep down we all know we were designed for perfection

All this striving is evidence for Eden. Our controlling, our reaching: they're signposts pointing to heaven, the place we belong. We all feel the pull of paradise, but few of us feel peace in the face of that gnawing, aching pull. Jesus, in the book of Matthew, explained why: 

"For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few."

Few find Jesus; few find peace; and it grieves God's heart because oh! how he longs for everyone to be saved, to be pulled back into paradise, to participate in re-creating a utopian Kingdom of heaven on earth. The difficulty is that the Way of Jesus doesn't guarantee manicured lawns, swelling bank accounts, and lengthy vacations. God is the giver of good gifts — bank accounts and nice dinners included — but the best gift he can give us is himself. Unity, fellowship, and co-creation with God are our greatest possible goods. Sometimes, if he's going to give us more of himself, he has to take away the comfort and ease in our lives. He uses the hard stuff for good. Really good good.

And yet, when I tell God I want him to turn the hard stuff into good stuff, I find I don't always want fellowship with him or opportunities to tell other people about restored relationship with him. Instead, what I often mean when I pray is, "God, please turn this hard stuff into comfortable, pleasurable gain and fulfilled desires.  Please use it to help me create a utopian Kingdom in which I am safe from the difficulties of the world. Thank you, and Amen." 

My tendency to fixate on cultivating my own, self-serving utopian Kingdom is one of many reasons I'm thankful for Corrie ten Boom. Because her decision to thank God for the fleas, with the assurance that he'd use them for good, did not result in comfortable gain. After she thanked God for the fleas, she was still in a concentration camp; she was still surrounded by dying friends and family; she was still starving, cold, and covered in flea bites; she was still assaulted by sorrow and loss. But those fleas gave her and her sister space to share the Bread of Life freely with hungry fellow prisoners. They enabled them to participate with God in recreating his perfect Kingdom of heaven on earth. Corrie ten Boom modeled for me how to press into Goodness — the Goodness for which we were created — when life is a sad, hard, far cry from paradise. 

Corrie Ten Boom

This Saturday, 10 hours, 12 towels, 5 blankets, 4 sheets, and 1 pair of sweat pants after my apartment flooded, a contractor came to survey the damage. He was hispanic, and soon we were speaking Spanish. I wanted to know where he was from; he wanted to know where I was from. We talked about Mexico, his culture, his people, and then he asked about my job.

"Does your job give you peace?" he asked. 

And so I told him how my job is wonderfully satisfying but doesn't give me peace. I told him that the only thing that's ever given me peace is restored relationship with God, and that this peace was available to everyone because of Jesus' work on the cross. 

His listened intently and he asked questions, and we talked about suffering and sin and how to understand God's goodness in the thick of it all. And then he looked me in the eyes, with tears in his eyes, and said,

"When I walked in here I thought to myself, 'This is a place of peace, and the girl who lives here is at peace.' And now, I see it in your eyes."

I felt my eyes well up, and the carpet underneath us squished and splashed, and the towels in the tub were heavy with water, and I thought how utterly, heavenly perfect it was that all this water would give me an opportunity to share how Grace has changed my life, because His embrace is like taking a warm bath in acceptance, purity, hope, renewal, and peace.

So I'm thankful for that flood. I'm thankful because, even though it was discouraging and far from my utopian weekend plans, God used it for good. A deeper, truer good that tastes like Living Water.

Image Credits: sosickwithit.com; thetinytwig.com

 © by scj

Thursday Things, on a Friday: Solidarity

1. Last week, someone I know (who shall remain anonymous) wore their shoes on the wrong feet all day before she realized it.

It is a great comfort to know I am not the only one who is a few tacos short of a fiesta platter. Solidarity, people; it's a wonderful thing.


2. If anyone asks me for good book recommendations this year, I will tell them to read The Boys in the Boat.

It's a true story about the University of Washington's crew team, a group of mostly poor, hard-working, humble kids, who ended up winning the 1936 Berlin Olympics during Hitler's rule. (No spoilers; this info is in the prologue). The story is fantastic and beautifully written. It made me laugh and cry and breathe deep satisfaction. I highly recommend it.


3. Yesterday I told my dad that "I no longer feel like a dead muffin." Which is to say, this Tracy Anderson dance cardio video — a combination of flailing kicks and windmill arms — did wonders for my body and brain yesterday.


4. The clouds cleared and the sun came out the other day.

It made my endorphins perk up and do the cha cha before tempting me to throw myself prostrate on the ground in order to soak up as much warmth as possible. Washington, you have been good to me, but you are sorely deficient in vitamin D...


5. But the horizons here. They take my breath away.

Washington State University, flanked by mountains not visible in this photo

6. I've discovered a Russian artist and mother who lives on a farm and takes the most magical, whimsical photos of her kids and the farm animals. They take my breath away, and may make your day a little more magical:

http://www.boredpanda.com/animal-children-photography-elena-shumilova/


7. This morning, seconds after waking up, I realized that my life, if I'm lucky to live long, is almost halfway over. This feels problematic. It's not just that my skin will sag and my triceps will jiggle (even more), although to be fair, my friend, John, has discovered a way to slow the aging process:

And goodness, my resistance to aging (dying, really) confirms that we were (and are!) meant to live forever, and things have gone terribly awry. And that's the problem: there are billions of us who will die in the next 40 years, and so many of the dying ones don't know the resurrected Jesus of the Bible who died on the cross so Death doesn't have to have the last word in our lives... There's so little time to spread and live this Good News. You guys, we've got to get busy and bold proclaiming the Gospel that's changing our lives!


8. Last year, while on a walk in my neighborhood, I met and befriended a lovely elderly couple. I wanted to get to know them more, and felt a deep stirring in my spirit that they needed to hear the good news of Jesus. But I was still feeling so lousy as a result of my health problems that I didn't have the energy to get to know them. I felt heavy with responsibility and regret. Months later, I discovered the elderly man had died, and that my neighbors, who are Christians, had befriended the couple, and got to sit with the them on the man's death bed where they shared Jesus with them both. It was a timely reminder that we don't Complete the Great Commission alone; we're members of a Body that brings the Good News, and we're in a yoke with Jesus. This is very good news, for which I am exceedingly grateful. Solidarity; it's a wonderful thing, isn't it?!


Happy Friday, friends! I hope your week is full of hope, laughter, and opportunities and courage to share and live out the Good News of Jesus!

-Sarah


© by scj

Preaching the Gospel: Words are Just as Important as Actions

My affinity for Duck Dynasty began last July. I watched all three seasons in a month. Twice. Since then, I like to keep tabs on the Robertson family. I google 'em, read up on 'em, youtube 'em, and even sport their gear.

Last week I stumbled across Phil Robertson's I am Second video. I am Second videos feature testimonies of prominent (sometimes not-so-prominent) American figures. I could watch them for hours. Sometimes I do. Prior to watching Phil's I am Second video, I knew a bit about his life before Christ. He'd been wild in his younger years, partying and sleeping around while his wife and kids kept the home fires burning. But I'd never heard how he came to know and give his life to Jesus.

The story goes like this: an acquaintance asked young, wild Phil if he could share the Gospel with him. Phil declined to listen in favor of his partying ways. Later, Phil's wife remembered the acquaintance and begged Phil to sit and listen with him, just to see what he had to say. She was desperate for a change in her husband, and he agreed to sit down with him.

And so he listened to the man talk about Jesus, God in the flesh — Love embodied to show people with bodies what Love looks like, and to assure us that Love, Life and Light can have the last word in our lives.

And he thought, "How have I never heard this before?"

Phil Robertson, born and raised in the Bible Belt south, in an originally Christian nation, had never heard the Gospel.

I was incredulous. How had he never heard it before?

I was reminded of a young man I sat next to on a plane several years ago. He was on his way back to Bible college after visiting his family. As we talked, he revealed he was spiritually conflicted and trying to figure out what he thought of his parents' faith. I was able to share the Gospel with him, from the Eden to the return of Jesus, and was startled by his response,

"I've never heard the Gospel like that before."

In college, I first heard an exhortation that is sometimes attributed to Francis of Asissi's:

"Preach the Gospel at all times. Use words when necessary."

When my peers cited it, they often did so in an attempt to create a dichotomy between actions and words. When it comes to influencing the nations for Christ, then it's your behavior that counts, not your words, they'd say. Preaching with words, in many of their experiences, was empty and hypocritical, and had the power to quickly and easily repel people from Christ. Many of them thought it was better to avoid words altogether.

I see what they're saying. In some ways, they're onto something. Truly effective preaching starts on the inside, not the outside. Jesus said you could tell what's in a person's heart by their fruit. The apostle Paul said our lives are the fragrance of Christ to a dying world. The Spirit of God puts his Light in us, a spotlight on the soul he's remaking. The good work of God starts on the inside and bubbles up, splashing onto people on the outside. Who we are and what we do, both in public and in secret places, becomes genuine and compelling when we open ourselves to the recreative work of the Spirit of God.

I'm thankful for the biblical examples we have of evangelism. After Jesus said, "Go into all the world and proclaim the Gospel to the whole creation," the apostle Paul, Peter, Timothy, Barnabas and others obeyed. They preached with their lives, and they preached with their words. Imitating their example can be scary. Preaching with words can make our knees knock and teeth chatter in fear. It can feel like taking a big, neon highlighter to our inadequacies. Surely the goodness and beauty that leak out of our souls will be self-evident? Surely people can connect the dots as soon as they find out we're Christians?

Somehow, in spite of my love of words, I forget that words are powerful. Words can influence a person's trajectory. We see this when words that aren't backed by actions send people running from Christianity. But words backed by actions can be equally as powerful in changing a person's destiny. Words can work to save a soul and grow a Kingdom.

And if Phil Robertson, born and raised in the Bible belt; and my airplane friend, raised and trained in a protestant church, hadn't heard the Gospel by the time they were adults, then the cashier at Trader Joe's down the street, and your pediatrician, and your colleague, and your neighbor, and your great aunt Belinda may not have heard the Gospel either. In fact, they probably haven't

And they need to hear it. Because they'll see the goodness and beauty pouring out of your life. They'll see it even when you're weak and mess up, because the Spirit likes to showcase his glory in our weakness. And they'll want what you have. But without knowledge of the Gospel, they may just settle with trying to live good and beautiful lives, rather than giving their lives to the Creator of all goodness and beauty. This would be a tragedy, like a single woman trying on a wedding dress but never knowing there's a groom waiting for her, loving her, ready to marry her.

One conversation can have a ripple effect, changing
all of eternity

My mom grew up in the Catholic church but never heard the Gospel as a child and young teen. When she was 16, a former drug addict came into the restaurant where she worked and shared the Gospel with her. After that meeting, my mom gave her life to Christ. The man will never know how a conversation he had in passing has changed eternity. My mom and dad raised four kids who love Jesus, and who are learning to share him with other people. For years she's worked at a church in which her faithfulness and giftedness has influenced thousands upon thousands of people. She supports my dad in the pastorate, and shares Christ with the people she meets at the grocery store, community center, and soccer field. Her life has shown me that using words to preach the Gospel changes the world.

This week I'm asking God to open my eyes to opportunities to share Gospel. I'm praying he'll make me courageous. I'm thankful that when he emboldens us to take advantage of opportunities he gives us to share the Gospel, the Spirit of God, from whom all goodness and beauty flow, will give us words to say. And if we stumble and sputter and spew out feeble attempts, he'll make them good and beautiful. All we have to do is share with others the life we enjoy with Jesus.

What stories do you have of people you know coming to Christ as a result of someone's courage to share the Gospel? These stories embolden my faith and I know they'll do the same for others. Let's share!

Image credit: www.breathecast.com; wiki.ucfilespace.uc.edu

© by scj