Second Chances

This year is flashing by at an unbelievable speed. Some years of my life have soared by lazily like a seagull; some have passed with a determined, steady pace like a hawk; but this year is darting by like a hummingbird, nearly too fast for the human eye to see.
This year, in some senses, is a marker that I will look back on in years to come. I will remember it as the year I chose to give up the dream that I thought God had called me to. The year I struggled with God's plan and purpose for me. The year that, perhaps most significantly, I chose to heed God's call to a place I thought I would never go again, to confront my hidden insecurities, and hopefully the year that I was able to surrender all of it to Him and set my face towards my fear.
You see, God has called me to return to the school that I left in haste and in tears. The same school where I struggled with who I was when my initial plans crashed down around my ears. The same school where I first confronted deep depression, suicidal thoughts, and many other intense enemies - yet it is a place of God's light and grace. For the time I have spent away from it, though, I have looked at this place which for me once shone with God's presence, and I have seen only darkness, despair, and fear. When the thought crept into my mind that maybe, just maybe, I should return, I laughed in its face. How could I ever go back and subject myself to that again?
This was compounded by the fact that I thought I had found God's plan for me. I had a dream career that was lining up nicely, and I was settling into the comfort I always find in thinking I know what the next chapter of my life holds. How could I give it up to return to the darkness that still haunts me like a specter, with no guarantee that my life would ever turn this direction again?
But God, in His wisdom, set me on this path for a while and then beckoned me to take a fork that leads back to the valley I left behind. It is not because I missed the point the first time. It is not because I forgot to do something or need to undo a wrong I committed. This, rather, is a fresh start. A second chance at beginning, yet with all the wisdom of my time away to guide me.
Jonah, too, heard God's plan and must have laughed in disbelief. He had a comfortable life with a determined future in a field of ministry that God had obviously called him to. Yet God chose him to strike out on a path he had no desire to tread, and he ran from it. God had every right to scrap the whole idea, allow Jonah to suffer the full consequences of his disobedience, and start afresh with a prophet who would be more receptive to the thought. Instead, He held Jonah with an unfaltering hand to the course that He had set, and used him to deliver the message that saved an entire city.
Jonah was given a second chance. He had more to learn from this journey to Nineveh.God wasn't done with him yet; he had a story to complete that was beyond Jonah's comprehension - a story that touches lives even today.
I, too, have a second chance. I have more to learn. I have more to do. For whatever reason, God is not done with me at this school, and that means He will hold me to the course that He has set with a hand just as unfaltering as the one that held Jonah. I am thankful that His hand does not grip my wrist and drag me along, as an irritated parent might drag a wayward child. Instead, His hands hold me close to His heart, like a shepherd comforting a lamb that had been lost. He does not bring me to this place again for a second dose of the pain that happened my first time through; He brings me here to heal me of it.
I am not the person I was then. I will not face the same struggles that she faced. I will not make the same mistakes that she made. Hopefully, the only similarity is that I will cling to my Father as hard as she did; that I will trust in His plan as desperately as she did; and that I will find as much peace in His embrace as she did.
What about you? Is there something you've given up on that still sits quietly in the back of your mind? Is there a fear that still haunts your steps that God wants you to face head-on? Where is your Nineveh? And what would a second chance look like - a grace-filled, beautiful, unexpected second chance?

Thawing

Life has a way of surprising us...of adjusting our priorities and forcing us to consider everything as if it was brand new. Though this will not be the last post, I cannot guarantee any more consistency than I have already attempted. That is why I am grateful for those of you who will read this, and who will stick around to see what else will happen here.
 
I beg day and night
For release
For answers
And peace
For my frozen feet to thaw and dance
For my heart to worship
For my hands to reach to the light
For my mind to be freed of the demons

But You do not swoop down from the sky
Your hands do not snatch me out of the ice
And so I groaned within
As one who has seen so many troubles her soul can hold no more
And I said in my despair
"The Lord has forgotten me
My God has abandoned me
I am alone"

But You do not pull me out of this turmoil
Until I take my first step out
You do not thaw my feet of ice
Until I hold them to the fire
You do not provide the answers I think I need
Until I ask the right questions
You do not allow trials to come upon me
That are not for my growth to be like Yourself
And You do not let me come out of them
Until I have learned what You sent me to learn

So I raise my hands to the sky,
though they tremble
I move my unsteady feet to the dance of the fire
And feel the first spark of returning life
I place the light of Your word in my mind
And the darkness flees
And I commit to new tenants as I send the demons packing
Lord, You fight this battle for me
Yet You choose to wait for my hand to join with Yours
You do not force this change upon me
Only the circumstances that can make it so
If only I will trust
Now the choice is up to me

Beloved

Tonight, I heard one of many stories that have wounded my heart and made me desperate for my generation. It was the story of a young man who had hit a rough patch in life and decided that the best way to fix all of his problems would be to end his own life. In his car, preparing himself to drive off a cliff and let the fall do the rest, he suddenly pulled over and turned on a Christian radio station, and the song that played was enough to convince him to keep going.
This is one story of many among my generation - stories of beautiful people, filled with hope and dreams, who are dashed to pieces by circumstances and poisoned by their own minds until they are convinced that suicide is the only answer. There are many more I could share - a girl searching for love and, finding human love lacking, turns to a knife on her wrist as her way out; a young man, shattered in heart and mind, reaching for something to end it all; someone, scared to do anything permanent but hurting too much to ignore, finding a safety pin, a razor blade, and wondering just how much it would hurt to drag it across their skin. And these are just the stories I know, and only the ones that ended well. There are millions more, and most do not have happy endings.
The thing about my generation is, we've figured out the message of Ecclesiastes, many of us without ever opening a Bible. The entire point of this book is to give us a glimpse into the abyss, the eternal darkness that is life without Christ. For Christians, this is a reason to thank God for saving us out of such a life; for the rest of the world, it is their life. The byproduct, after all, of a chance-created universe with happenstance conditions and accidental life, is meaninglessness. Meaninglessness drives us to despair; and despair, to anything that we think will make it better. Many don't struggle with suicide or self-harm - they might be drawn towards work obsession, promiscuity, alcohol, substance abuse, pornography, or anything else that might, just might, take the pain of meaninglessness away. And as Solomon himself discovered, all of these fade away, and all that is left to man is death.
That's the darkness that the lost are faced with, and my generation knows it. What they don't know is that it doesn't have to be this way.
What if we attacked these skyrocketing figures at the source, instead of merely treating symptoms of the disease? What if we introduced our friends, children, coworkers, parents, to the way out of a meaningless existence? What if we showed them exactly how beloved they are, and by the God of the universe no less? What if, instead of cringing away from our supposed impending doom, we gave them hope?
Hope. Now there's a word we could use.
You see, it's not some abstract concept that we give a name and no explanation to. It's summarized in the person of God, of Jesus. It's a cross-shaped beacon of light that could shine out across the world, turning millions of hope-thirsty millennials to the only way out of the abyss. It's His tender hands pulling them out of the mire and His gentle voice whispering that they are His beloved.
His beloved.
Can we showcase what we do not accept ourselves? Can we demonstrate this love that we do not recognize? Can we declare others to be Christ's beloved when we do not believe it of ourselves?
I've been radio silent for a few months, as some of you likely noticed. This is the reason. I have been struggling to determine where I stand, floundering in sinking sand of my own misconceptions and grasping for anything to pull myself back onto the solid ground. I've been struggling and struggling with my relationship with God and with others, and realizing that it comes back to my stubborn refusal to see God's love for me.
I am His beloved. And so are you.
What steps could you take, knowing He holds your hands as a Father teaching His child to walk? What heights could you reach, flying on the wings of eagles provided by your sustaining Hope? 
What would change in your life if you could see yourself as God's beloved?

One of the best ways for me to remember that I am beloved is by listening to music designed to remind me of that fact. Here's a link to a playlist of my favorites on YouTube. Enjoy!

A Wanderer's Cry

My sincere apologies for my absence. As you'll soon see, my time and energies have been diverted elsewhere, and the effect will not soon be forgotten. I will try to get back on a more regular schedule from here on out, but please bear with me as I figure everything out. In the meantime, a gift for you:

 

 

A Wanderer's Cry

My well is dry

My cup is spilt

My soul weighed down

By shame and guilt

I try so hard

My time is gone

Sleep runs at night

I'm up at dawn

So much consumes

Many good things

But stress and darkness

Still have stings

And my hands shake

While my eyes fill

For how could God

Yet love me still?

 

I avoid Him

I don't have time

To read His words

Or sing His rhymes

 

My busyness

All of these needs

Will kill my soul

With all their greed

 

Now my heart sinks

My tears soon fall

My eyes avoid

The Lord of all

 

Where can I run?

Where shall I go?

Could Holy God

Still love me so?

 

Through woods I run

Till my feet fail

Against my will

A plaintive wail

 

Falls from my lips

A desperate cry

From on the ground

I face the sky

 

For though my hope

Is all but gone

I cry out now,

Searching for dawn

 

"Almighty God,

Because I'm weak,

I need you, Lord,

Won't you please speak?"

 

A gentle voice

A still, small, sound

Then sweet embrace

At last, I'm found

 

He lifts me up

And dries my tears

And He and I

Then face my fears

 

And now we run

My heart is free

For somehow, my God

Still loves me.

Called to Die

Note: This is a very difficult thing for me to share, as I've only discussed my struggles in this area with a few close friends and family members. These are not Bible verses, but I believe they are Scripture-based ideas, and they helped me through a dark time in my life. If you notice an error in my thinking, please correct it in compassion. I post it only because I hope that through my own struggles, I may comfort others with the comfort I have received. Thank you.

It’s a hard thing to admit, because my life seems so perfect. Amazing family, strong Christian background, wonderful parents, fantastic friends, incredible school, a life of travel and adventure in which God proved His faithfulness time and again. So why would such a person spend a good portion of her freshman year of college depressed beyond belief and battling self-harmful and suicidal thoughts? And, beyond the why: how is she supposed to deal with it?

It seems unfair at first, really. One can never assume Jesus struggled with suicide, as He is claimed to have struggled with all of our struggles (Hebrews 4:15). Any other struggle, perhaps, but one can never say that Jesus had a suicidal thought, because His entire life revolved around His death. It was the God-ordained purpose of His coming to Earth in the first place. So can we call it suicidal, and say that our Great High Priest struggled with this as with all sins?

No, we cannot, for suicide is encased in selfishness, and Jesus’ death was anything but. Suicide is about ‘fixing’ a problem for one person who decides they can’t live with themselves any longer. Jesus’ death solved all problems for all people, and had to do with Jesus’ thoughts of Himself only because He knew this was His mission – it was for this very purpose He came into the world (John 12:27).

Suicide is taking one’s own life. Jesus laid His down for the sake of all.

As followers of Christ, then, we are not called to live and die in selfishness and self-focus. We are not called to take our own lives, for in the end that still places the power in our own hands, but we are called to die.

Yes, to die, but not by taking our own lives. When Jesus spoke of His death to His disciples, He did not say that He was taking His own life by deliberately going to His death. Rather, He said that no one, including Himself, took it from Him, but He laid it down freely for the sake of all (John 10:17-18). That is the death we are called to as Christians; not deliberately and selfishly taking our lives, but openly and sacrificially giving them for the sake of others. This, too, is death, an offering of our bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God (Romans 12:1); a fire consuming every trace of self and burning our grime off to polish our silver until we can reflect God’s glory to the world around us.

This death is not necessarily, indeed not usually, a dramatic moment of sacrificing our own lives by jumping in front of a bullet or sheltering others from a bomb. This death is harder because it lacks the drama, the sense of visible nobility, the acclaims we could posthumously receive in giving our lives in one powerful moment. It’s a day by day, piece by piece, moment by moment death to self and death to our own desires. In every situation, we can choose to put others before ourselves and God before all, and we can choose to let our old selves die and fully put on the new selves God is making us into.

Never will God require us to take our own lives. Always will He require us to give them, for no other repayment can even come close to the sacrifice He made on the cross.

Brokenness

Let me apologize for missing last week's post. There was a lot going on that I had to take care of, but that's no excuse. If there's any way you can forgive me, any way I can make it up to you, please let me know in the comments. For now, please enjoy this week's discussion.

 

It’s one of the hardest things in the world, to admit I am broken. It’s hard because broken means weak. It means I no longer fulfill my intended purpose. It means I am beyond repairing myself, that the little cracks running through my jar have expanded and forced me to give up whatever hold I had on wholeness. A broken jar of clay – what is that worth, in our world where replacement is cheaper than repair and so few material things are worth fixing? In a world where so many brilliant minds go untouched by the cracks in our own – or so we think?

Here’s the thing about those cracks, the first lie we believe about them: we think we're the only ones who have them. We think the rest of the world isn't cracked, broken, shattered, flawed - and it's just not true. Those cracks,they’re present in everyone. Some are on the outside, where everyone can see and those who care can help, while those who don’t or who take a dislike to the jar can ignore or exploit them. Others have cracks on the inside, and they watch carefully to see what it looks like when they are admitted. If those around them care about the cracks on the outside, maybe they can reveal their own; but if others are apathetic or destructive, only the greatest of stress will make them reveal their flaws. Some pretend they have none, and hide them well, while others show them off, proud of the damage done.

I’m rereading a trilogy called Angel Eyes, by Shannon Dittemore – outside of my normal genres, but nonetheless I’m drawn to it because of the ideas it discusses. Besides dealing with the supernatural realm of angels and demons through a Christian lens, it also addresses how to be broken as this fallen world demands, how to struggle with the grief of life, and how to turn to God and trust Him despite the hardships we face. Brielle, the main character, begins the first book as a very broken girl. Her mother died of cancer before she could remember her, a hurt she’s dealt with and moved on, but now her best friend has been killed and she believes she could have stopped it. She tries to convince a trusted teacher and mentor of hers that she’s fine, she’s doing okay, she’s not as broken as he thinks. And he responds with one of the most grace-filled and powerful statements I’ve heard outside of Scripture.

“It’s okay to be broken. You know that, right?”

It's okay to be broken. And it's okay to acknowledge that you're broken. Those who admit their cracks, their scars, their mangled mindsets and broken beliefs – they’re the ones who can get help. Once they’re out in the open, they are seen by those who care.

Only when we are broken can we be fixed. Only when we are sick can we be healed. Only when we are sinful can we be forgiven. Only when we are torn can we be restored.

But it’s not safe to admit it, you may think. It’s not safe for you because you’re vulnerable; it’s not safe for them because it may hurt them. To some extent, you’re right. The whole world can’t handle our brokenness. There are too many fools who stoop to run their fingers through the broken shards and open old wounds of their own. Many would take a ragged-edged shard in their hands and clench it until they opened their own skin, and then blame you for the breaking. Some would even take that same shard and grind it into another, smashing the pieces into dust and wounding beyond repair.

But there are some you can trust – and as soon as I said that, someone surely came to mind. Some see your brokenness already, better than you do, and are merely waiting for you to open your mouth so they know you're ready for their help. Some care deeply, but haven’t seen that side of you, and they’d be at your side in a moment comforting you if you only asked. Some will have advice, small bottles of glue and plaster, that they can help you apply to bring the pieces back together. Others will only have listening ears, a sympathy beyond expressing, acknowledgement of the pain you’re feeling. Hopefully, all will point you to the Master Potter, the One who can take your shards of broken earthenware and reform them into a more precious, more durable, and even more valuable vessel than before.

There’s a subcategory of pottery created by the Japanese and known as kintsugi. Kintsugi takes shards of broken jars, some of which look to be beyond repair, and painstakingly fit the pieces back together, filling the cracks with molten gold. This makes a jar that was once useless useful again, a container that once leaked hold fast, a vessel once shattered now whole. And the shards of pottery which were worthless to others come together and are worth more than ever – the more cracks it had, the more gold is used, and the more it is worth.

We are all kintsugi. We have fallen to the ground, shattered into a thousand pieces. But our Father, the Master Potter, has gathered us back together. Once we allow Him to work in us, He takes the gold, the blood of His Son, and mends every crack in our skin, our hearts, our minds. He restores us in ways we could never have dreamed, making us more beautiful and valuable than we ever could have been as whole, untouched jars of clay. 

No matter how broken we are, He can use us.The more cracks, the more gold, the more blood of Christ covering us, the more story we have to tell. Yes, He can use us.

He can remake us.

And we can be whole again.