Grace Abounding to the Chief of Jane Austen Lovers

Written as part of the "Broken Hallelujah" series with Prodigal and SheLoves Magazine

When October approached and I had been here a year, I felt I was really getting the hang of things. I could go to the tea shop and help my friends sort tea, I could eat the local noodles without gagging, and I found I was actually WANTING hot peppers in my food. My language had improved a lot. Though my grammar was still oftentimes horrific, I could communicate with people pretty well, and I felt I had grown to understand the culture much better. Crowds and honking didn't bother me as much as they had at first. I could keep my cool in chaotic situations that would have made me lose it a year before, and I could now speak to people in situations where before I would have frozen up. Oh, sure, there would still be moments when I used the wrong tone and had to repeat myself, but even the local people have those problems sometimes. All in all, I was feeling pretty comfortable.

A friend invited me to go to her hometown for the Mid-Autumn Festival. I was so excited to be spending a few days with all local people, even though I was a little nervous about it. But I felt I was ready, and I loved this precious friend. So we squeezed into the crowded bus like so many sardines, moving and pulsing as one with the squeaky stoppings and goings of the bus, and then packed ourselves onto a train where I sat across from a shirtless elderly man who liked to spit on the floor. I smiled as I thought how this was no big deal to me. In fact, I enjoyed the smooth motion of the train and was not too bothered by everyone peering over their chairs or strolling down the aisles only to stop and stare at me. Even the people walking down the aisles of the train shouting as they sold things like toothbrushes and light-up bouncy balls just made me laugh, even when they woke me up.

We arrived at my friend's hometown late at night. It was much colder than my city. The entire town has no taxis or buses, as you can mostly walk anywhere or pay the equivalent of a dollar if you want to take a little 3-wheel red vehicle to get somewhere. Or if you had a lot of people, you could take a bouncy white bread truck. We loaded up in a bouncy bread truck and thumpity-thump-thumped all the way to my friend's home. We walked up the stairs to the apartment, and I ate some instant noodles because I hadn't had any dinner. I looked up at the posters of prosperity gods and the Chairman plastered on the aging walls during the local TV commercials.

When it came time to sleep, we turned off the matchmaking game show and I shared my friend's bed, a hard board covered with a thin blanket but with a big poofy comforter on top. The windows were all open even though it was cold outside; I slept like a baby.

In the mornings we would eat the local noodles and moon cakes. We might go do a short activity in the late morning, then her mom might make lunch that consisted of things like greens, beer fish, pigs' ears, and chicken soup. Then we would have a long nap in the afternoon and maybe get up at 3:30pm. I couldn't understand her mom very well because she spoke their local dialect, but she was so kind to me.

There was nothing at all wrong with what we were doing every day. It was wonderful to be so immersed in my local friend's life and language. We would go to beautiful pagodas and hills and temples, we would go visit her various family members - uncles and grandparents - and we were getting some great rest and fresh air. But suddenly a longing for home gripped my heart so tight and wouldn't let go.

It's not that everything was bad - it was just all DIFFERENT: Meeting all her different family members, who all had shrines to the female Buddha in their homes and looked at me as a big curiosity and yet were incredibly hospitable and gracious to me; eating countryside food all the time; eating the noodles not just now and then but every single day for breakfast; constantly being corrected in my language usage because this was the first time I'd ever had to use it all day every day; not being able to understand anything my friend's family was saying because they would all jovially shout at each other at dinner in the local dialect; sleeping on a bed that, while comfortable to me, was so different from my own; being careful to not step into the squatty as I showered and dumping buckets of water into it to flush it; and waking up to the smell of incense offered to the female Buddha every morning. I realized that even though I'd been here a year, I still had always had my little me-centered refuge of an apartment that I could return to at the end of the day, complete with cheese and hot chocolate and heating.

I felt a strange shyness creep over me. I began concentrating very hard on my food at meals and feeling oppressed by the unintelligible local dialect that was being shouted across the table. I began relishing times in the afternoon when I could read the very western Jane Austen and escape back to my culture and to my comfort zone, glorying that English flowed so easily in and out of my brain.

Then one day, after sitting down at another meal with tons of local people I didn't know all shouting at each other, looking desperately through the fat and organ meat for a piece of meat I wanted to eat, I walked out of the room to escape the noise and jumped out of my skin as a bazillion firecrackers went off just feet from me, followed by a whole wedding party staring at me. I ran to take refuge in the squatty potty so I could find a place where I could rest, where I knew no one was staring at me. When I got the courage to emerge, we then rode in my friend's dad's bread truck, where he bounced frighteningly fast over mountain roads and knocked the side mirror off of a fellow bread truck that was hurtling toward us at an equally dangerous speed. Then he let my friend drive and gave her a driving lesson by shouting at her constantly in the local dialect as she swerved off the road and onto the other side of the road quite a few times. This swerving caused my stomach to churn on top of everything I was feeling.

Tears started coming down before I could stop them.

I was so embarrassed and ashamed of myself. I'm supposed to be hardcore and cross-cultural, right? I'm not supposed to let my American-ness get to me. In my heart of hearts, I love the countryside here and the small towns and their precious people. In my heart of hearts, I knew her family was being nothing but gracious and hospitable to me. Even what sounded like "shouting" to my American ears was not shouting to them, but lively dinner conversation and cautious instruction from a loving father teaching his daughter to drive (and perhaps not wanting to die). They were offering the best food they could give, and incorporating me, a foreigner, into their daily lives during a very traditional festival.

I was so ashamed that they noticed, and of course they immediately began driving back home. When we got there, I escaped to my friend's room and got away with Jane Austen, tears still blurring my eyes as I tried to read. Even though my eyes were reading Victorian prose, my heart was still in Asia, searching...why was I reacting like this? I'd been in this country a year now. I thought I had outgrown all my weird discomfort over things that were not bad, just different. I felt so ungrateful, so in need of the Father's grace. I felt so ashamed because the last thing I wanted to do was hurt my friend's feelings after all the kindness she and her family had shown to me. I felt like a spoiled, selfish American brat. I told God I was sorry for failing him by failing to have constant joy and love for my friends.

And first, quietly, my friend's little brother's girlfriend walked in. She is tall and thin and soft-spoken and graceful. She has a sweet and gentle heart. You would think she'd listened to all of Beth Moore's lessons or something. But she's never heard of Beth Moore. And the only reason she's read a little of the book I read every day is because I've shown it to her.

Yet she came in and quietly put her arm around me, speaking words of comfort in both her language and mine. I kept apologizing, and she kept showing grace and love. Then my friend who originally invited me came in with a cup of tea for me, sitting down and saying, "JC says not to cry. We are your friends and we love you," and even talking to him for me, though she believes differently.

That night as we sat outside drinking oil tea, I made friends with a cute chubby little boy who wanted to practice his English, and his mom gave me all these local gifts because she was so happy her son had an English speaker to converse with. A guy close to my age who was introduced to me by my friend promptly said, "Sorry, I am shy because you are a beautiful girl!" As we all laughed, I thought to myself how we might all have a lot more dates if American guys were that blunt.

And my friend started opening up to me a lot more. Because I had been open with my ugliness and my shortcomings, she began to open up  - about how it is so difficult having divorced parents in the countryside because it is still very taboo there. How she hates the rush in your late twenties here to get married before you get "left over." How marriage should be about true love, not finances or family connections. And I shared in turn what my favorite book says about marriage, what a beautiful picture it paints. She told me the story of the female Buddha and how people in the countryside still revere her because they had nothing else to pray to during the starving times, and they felt they understood her because she had sought a life of suffering so as to identify better with the poor of the world. We talked about poverty and how Father dearly loves and fights for the poor and the sick and the starving.

On the bus ride home, as I continued to read Jane Austen, I meditated on how even when I'm ashamed of myself and feel like a failure, when I feel like a victim of the comfort I have grown up in, Father lavishes me with grace and good gifts and laughter...even, yes, even through the people I feel I've offended. And this is a grace, not that spoils me, but that refines me and helps me grow. This is a grace that gives me security and peace. It is not conditional, it is not given if I am a good girl; it is freely given that I might have the abundant life and be free to love Him in return with all of my heart. And so in the middle of my shortcomings and failures and chains to my own culture and language, my eyes turn not inward but upward and outward, to Him who gives grace and to the precious friends through whom He gives it. And so when I feel completely unlovable, I can rest in the assurance that I am still eternally loved, and I can still whisper a feeble, contrite, yet hopeful "halellujah."

The Gift of Love

Though I may speak with bravest fire,
And have the gift to all inspire,
And have not love, my words are vain,
As sounding brass, and hopeless gain.

Though I may give all I possess,
And striving so my love profess,
But not be given by love within,
The profit soon turns strangely thin.

Come, Spirit, come, our hearts control,
Our spirits long to be made whole.
Let inward love guide every deed;
By this we worship, and are freed.

- Hal Hopson, inspired by 1 Corinthians 13

If you've never heard it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QITeybpH0U8
or here if you like those awesome deep old-school church voices: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5s_dlh4vtOU

Thoughts on Womanhood

I was a little girl who loved reading - anything she could get her hands on.

From the Bible - even things in the Old Testament that I "wasn't supposed" to read yet (Hey Mom, do you know what's in Genesis 19? Well, if you don't remember, then I'M not going to tell you)...

To history and science magazines like Kids Discover and National Geographic World...

To fiction like Goosebumps and Harry Potter...

To poetry like Shel Silverstein...

and everything in between.

I was a little girl who loved to WRITE.

I would write stories about ducks and aliens and princesses (usually not all at the same time),
poems about nosy neighbors, and endangered species, and towels that became epically-proportioned monsters because no one cleaned them.

I wrote plays, I wrote songs and even composed them on the piano, I designed video games with just notebook paper, with multiple levels and various monsters and bosses to defeat.

Then I began to be told that these things weren't enough.

It wasn't enough to create, to be comfortable in myself as God's creation.
I wasn't supposed to write fanciful stories or dream up video games in my spare time.

I watched MTV and saw women being valued only for their bodies.
I watched much of Christianity and saw women being valued only for their servitude.
I watched at school and saw girls being valued only for their powers of manipulation and exclusion.

so how was I to fight back?

with intellect, right?

No one could value me for only my body if my conversation was good enough. No one could value me for only my servitude if my ideas were good enough. No one could value me just for my popularity (or devalue me for the lack thereof) if I had really good grades.

I became angry and defiant, perhaps not always on the outside but on the inside.

I became prideful.

And I deceived myself by thinking these things were virtues.

The problem was, though, that I found that whatever other virtues I possessed (intellect, good conversation, hard work),
people could still dismiss me if they wanted to.
People could still treat me like just a body, "just a girl," or something else to be written off.
There is no way to safeguard against dismissal.
Or rejection.
Or humiliation.

But I tried, oh, I tried.

I dreamed of being something important, something that couldn't be dismissed
like a lawyer
or a professor
somebody important
an inspiration for other women
and someone all men would respect

I worked hard. I overcommitted myself. I strived, I strived, I strived.

I was not interested in a family
or kids
or being thought of as anything like a "homemaker"

Then my heart began to change.

Now before you think I did a complete 180...
I'm single
I'm just as curious about the world as I ever was
I love "weird" people, the ones who don't quite fit the mold they're assigned, who don't quite say or do what they're "supposed" to
I thirst for knowledge of all kinds
Faith, philosophy, science, history
and most of all

the knowledge of the Most High.

But as I began to let go of my anger
my defiance
my pride
and began to give it to God
to receive his freedom
his lightness
to spend time with these women I used to think I never wanted to emulate -
[devoted wives
moms
homemakers]
I began seeing something.
I used to imagine that all these women were held back,
that they had settled for something less.

But instead I met women who were kind, wise, discerning, patient -
role models,
inspirations for other women,
respected by any man whose respect was worth having.

I began to be estranged from my previously-held ideas that women needed to fight, to be assertive, take no prisoners
because, oddly enough,
I began to realize that there is more fight in a discerning woman than an aggressive one
more resolve in a patient woman than in a selfishly ambitious one
more passion in a caring woman than a detached woman
more confidence in a selfless woman than a narcissistic woman
more beauty in a wise woman than a seductive woman

and as I met women who showed respect to their husbands and the utmost love to their children, and constantly welcomed guests into their homes,
or treated their small groups as their children, took international students under their wing as their adopted brothers and sisters, took the homeless into their homes for meals without fear
I began to realize that what I had heard was wrong
That these women had not given up their dreams or talents
Among them were actresses, painters, linguists, teachers, naval officers, dentists, counselors, scholars
They listened to God and longed to become who He created them to be, down to every last detail.

I thought,
I am created by an amazing Creator
He knew exactly what He was doing by giving me all my abilities, desires and passions
Yet He also knew exactly what He was doing by creating me as a woman with tenderness and compassion for the least of these and the helpless, a deep desire to love and be loved

And I thought,
Why can't I be all the things God has put in my heart? Maybe not all at once, but through the course of life?

Why can't I be a wife, a mom, a writer, a painter, a teacher, a historian, a reader, a scientist, a dreamer?
Why are we often taught that these things are mutually exclusive?

What is a mom, a wife, a homemaker anyway?
Have we created all these trappings around each of these titles that are not of God?
For instance, what if the point of Proverbs 31 is not the things this woman does, but the ways in which she does them - with a noble heart, with wisdom, and above all with fear of the Lord?
Every woman is a unique creation
an image-bearer
reflecting different aspects of His amazing nature

So perhaps being a mom doesn't mean she has to hover around her kids, shuttle them to everything under the sun, and lose a sense of her own self in them
Perhaps it really does just mean she needs to love them with all her heart, and seek the Lord when she can't by her own strength
For man looks at outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.
Perhaps being a wife doesn't mean she has to have a knockout figure, act perfect all the time, fit a certain "mold"
Perhaps it really does just mean she needs to love her husband with all her heart, and seek the Lord when she can't by her own strength.
Perhaps being a homemaker doesn't mean she has to keep everything perfectly clean, buy only cute and matching things, cook like a pro, have something constantly baking in the oven
Perhaps it really does just mean loving her family with all her heart, and seeking the Lord when she can't.
After all, what is a home anyway?
What is making a home?
Is it building walls, is it painting furniture, is it mopping floors?
Isn't a home rather made of people, just as the church is made of people?
Isn't homemaking, then, primarily building up your family, cultivating hospitality, creating a space of openness and freedom and security and laughter?

so say the stay-at-home mom is able to keep a perfectly clean home (or perhaps she scrambles around cleaning up little ones' vomit all day and then is taken down by a migraine and the husband comes home to a mess)
or say the doctor doesn't have as much time to clean her home, but builds up her family with the purest love in her heart, instilling in her children the love of science and the love of helping people that have driven her to her ministry/career,
most importantly, say they both seek the Father and instill in their homes a love of Him above all,

aren't they both homemakers?
Aren't they both equally women - unique, beautiful creations of the Most High?

I hear the phrase "Biblical womanhood" so often, its meaning debated as we try to figure out what that all means.
I think there are a lot of different ways to be a woman
because there are a lot of different ways to be a human
and I praise God that He has given me legs to play soccer with kids, arms to hold them when they're sad, a brain to create stories, a mouth to tell them, and hands that can bake cookies, hold a book, play an instrument, or wield a scalpel.
I praise Father that even though I'm single, and sometimes my feet get black from walking on my ever-dusty floor (you'll understand if you live in this country), I can proudly call myself a homemaker - not because I love to decorate, clean, or cook, but because I love to welcome my precious friends into my home and create a space in which they can find refuge and a warm heart.

And at the end of the day I love to hear my Father whisper above all the other voices that no matter what my daily life looks like, or how my brain is wired, or how many mistakes I make, He sees my heart and its motivations...and He loves the woman He has created.

He will still love you.

"we love because He first loved us."
1 John 4:19

Come, come, whoever you are
Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving - it doesn't matter,
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow a hundred times,
Come, come again, come.

O to grace, how great a debtor
Daily I'm constrained to be.
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love.
Here's my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

Oh what a scandalous love God has shown us. "God is not proud. He will have us even though we have shown that we prefer everything else to Him." - C.S. Lewis

That the sinner, deep in his heart, should never love God of his own volition is a fact. We can never love God or love purity and goodness simply by willing ourselves to do so. We love to fool ourselves, thinking we can love well, thinking we can be good enough for Him on our own...but we will always fail.

Even when I began to follow Him, it was because I wanted Him to stop my pain, not because I wanted to be holy. I wanted to be liberated from depression and anger and loneliness, not from slavery to self.

And this is where His love comes in.

This is where He whispers, this is where He woos.

This is where He comes to us in our deepest fears, in our deepest heartache, when we are confronted with all the crooked places in our hearts, and asks, "Will you let me love you? Will you let me restore you? Will you let me call you my daughter?"

And though we say no, He will still ask a thousand times.
He is a constant lover, who never gives up.

Because He knows that death to self, true repentance and new life, is the only way we can get all the other things our hearts seek. It is the only way we can be truly free, truly alive. It is DIFFICULT, yes. But it is WORTH IT. So difficult, and so worth it, in fact, that He is the only one who can do it.

Gently, gently, we are led to repentance. We can never change by ourselves; if that were the demand, if we who love darkness were to FIRST genuinely love the light to receive it, who then could be saved?

No one.

And that's what makes His love so scandalous.

Ridiculous, even.

He was ridiculed on the cross, and He continues to be ridiculed today.

He doesn't care.

He doesn't love us AFTER we change...He loves us BEFORE.

He loves us while we still hate Him, while we're slandering Him, mocking Him, joking about Him in a bar and then crying to Him from our beds that same night.

He loves us in the middle of our hypocrisy, when we're confronted with the emptiness of our lives while knowing full well how we should be spending them.

He loves even the loveless places in our heart that would make everyone else hate us and turn away, were they to view them.

Even if you never surrender to His love your entire life and curse Him on your death bed, He will still love you.

Even if you turn away and follow your own will, your own way, and walk the wide path of destruction, He will still love you.

Even if you scream at him, angry about your life, about a friend's betrayal, about a tragedy in the family, about the atrocities committed to the helpless around the world,
He will still love you (and He will still love them).

And this love, it is not just a feeling
(though He does dance and sing over you, and angels rejoice because of you; like I said, He is not proud. He is not afraid to show His love).
True Love is not a feeling anyway.
He does not stand on high smiling warmly and thinking good thoughts about you, wishing you well. Prosperity! Happiness! Go in peace!

No.

He will not only lift a finger, He will lift mountains and turn the world upside down to rescue you.

He has hands and feet.

He has a Body.

And His power is beyond all imagining.
It can create planets, it can form humans, it can raise the dead, it can mend the heart, it can cause kings to fall, it can cast out demons, it can heal diseases, it can (will) restore this planet,
And it can change you.

Forever.

Oh, a forever love...isn't that what we all desire? If I could be loved forever, by the Only One who has power to even make my life worth living...what more could I need? What more could I ever want?

When your hair begins to turn gray, and you cry as you look at your deepening wrinkles in the mirror and feel how un-beautiful you are next to younger women,
He will still love you. Cherish you even. Call you beloved, the apple of his eye.

When you have been in a foreign country and haven't worn make-up in ages and feel too fat and too tall and too weird, or like you always have to hide from the stares and whistles that follow you everywhere,
He will still adore you.

When you return home and cry because you want to go back to that other country, because you left a piece of your heart there,
He will still love you.

When no one else understands your feelings or experiences,
He will still understand you.

When you are addicted to something and have tried everything in your own power to fight it, when you have deluded yourself about the magnitude of your own power and self-control,
He will still love you...and yes, even heal you.

When you run, He will pursue.

When you cry, He will hold.

When you scream, He will whisper.

When you are hurt, He will rise in power.

When you are lost, He will find.

Still. Still. Though you break your promise a thousand times, though you wander, though to all others you are a lost cause,
Still.

I pray that out of His glorious riches He may strengthen you with power 
through His spirit 
in your inner being,
so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith.
And I pray that you,
being rooted and established in love,
will have power, together with all God's holy people,
to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ,
and to know this love that surpasses knowledge - that you may be filled to the measure of all the
fullness
of God.

The Best PR

Public relations is good work understood by the public. - Edward L. Bernays (the "father of public relations")

Declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous works among all the peoples! - Psalm 96:3

Asianifications

Most days, I feel very different from most people here and stick out like a sore thumb. I'm very aware of my "American"-ness, my "other"-ness, my tallness, my left-handedness (new writing teacher drew attention to it yet again today), my ginger-ness, whatever you'd like to call it. But sometimes I laugh when I notice ways in which I've become more "Asianified" since I've been here (going on a year now...crazy)!

1. I like hot water.
You say, "Yeah, I like hot water too...it's great for showers, and boiling spaghetti." No, I mean I like drinking hot water. I really don't mind when they give it to me at restaurants and massage places. Not when it's hot outside, no, that's torture. But in the winter? YES PLEASE. And in the summer, room temperature without ice is just fine!

I teased another American lady this past winter when she said she loved sitting with a big mug of hot water in her hands and sipping it to warm up...and then 2 days later I found myself doing the same thing. Sometimes you just don't want any more caffeine for the day, or you realize you're cold AND dehydrated...so drinking hot water is the perfect solution!

2. My squatting proficiency is growing.
Don't worry, there's nothing gross about what I'm about to say. I have notoriously short Achilles tendons, even for an American. I remember when my growth spurt happened and my heels started hurting because my tendons hadn't stretched as fast as I had grown, and I had to do these special stretches everyday. I would have never had that problem if I'd grown up over here! I've noticed that little by little, my heels are able to get closer to the floor, making it much easier to balance on a squatty potty. Will they ever touch the floor, like so many people's effortlessly do? Possibly not, but I'm making progress!

3. I have actually used a parasol a couple of times.
Not too often, but some! Not because I care too much about keeping my skin "bai bai de" (trust me, that takes absolutely no effort), but because sometimes when that sun is beating down, a parasol just makes sense! (Note: my "parasol" is actually my umbrella...but it does the trick).

4. I drive like a local.
I don't honk as much as some, that's true. But I have noticed my electric bike driving is pretty assertive, and also that I pretty much never use my rear view mirrors. You say, "Becky, that's dangerous!" Over here, not really. Actually, it's safer to constantly keep your eye in front of you and to the sides and trust people behind you to adjust accordingly. People here pretty much just look in front of them, and you are expected to watch what's in front of you and honk if you're about to crash in to somebody who's in your way. They then are expected to listen to your honk and move, and if they don't move then you keep honking, and that's the way it goes. Unfortunately, this even goes for cars backing out of spaces. They often don't look behind them and just expect the oncoming electric bike traffic to stop. And stop we do, because we know somebody has to be looking.

5. I am constantly discovering new uses for chopsticks.
Seriously, who knew they could be so useful? With chopsticks, you don't need spatulas, tongs, stirring spoons, real locks on public bathroom doors, or even real plumbing equipment (kind of a joke on that last one, although friends have told me that plumbers have literally fixed their toilets with chopsticks before. And I have most definitely seen a chopstick stuck through a public toilet lock). I use chopsticks to whip my scrambled eggs, stir my coffee, flip my bacon...The uses are limitless!

6. I like tea more than coffee.
Hahahaaaaa, just kidding! I really had you there for a second, didn't I?

Although I do love both.

Probably too much.

Really enjoying that imported Starbucks Autumn Blend right now.

7. I don't accept compliments.
I was never that good at accepting compliments in the States, and people would often get on to me for it...but luckily that means I fit in well here! Here, it's more polite to disagree if someone compliments you than to say "Thank you." So if someone gives me a compliment, I usually wave my hand dismissively and say, "Oh no, I'm not good" or something along those lines.

Now, if I ever have a child and raise her over here, I will NEVER culturally adjust to saying, "Oh no, my daughter's so ugly!" or "Oh no, she's actually very stupid!" ...but that's another thing entirely. :-D

8. I make weird comments.
A couple months ago, some American friends visited and ordered dog at a restaurant so they could experience some special "local cuisine."

When I heard about this, my objection was not to the fact that they were eating dog (and donkey, by the way). Here's what I actually said:

"They're eating dog? But it's summer!"

(Note: only people who have been to this area will get that one. Dog meat is supposed to warm you up and therefore is traditionally eaten in the winter. My objection was the same one a local person would make!)

9. I most definitely had my first dream in Chinese a couple nights ago.
Although, during the whole dream I felt like I was struggling to make people understand me, and I kept having to repeat myself. Still, that counts, right?! :-D

Interestingly, this is not the first time I've noticed myself making cultural adjustments. After moving to Texas, I still remember when my "I" sound started to come out more like "ah", the moment I started liking Dr. Pepper, hearing "like white on rice" for the first time, the first time I ate brisket (and dove, and quail, and other delicious things), and the moment I began to like Mexican food other than quesadillas. I guess it's kinda true what they say about Texas being a whole other country. :) So maybe this wonderful place over here isn't so different after all!

The Gospel according to Esther

I've wanted to write so many "The Gospel according to..." posts and haven't gotten around to it. For instance, "The Gospel according to Exodus" is still in my drafts, and I never actually posted it. As I've been reading through the Bible chronologically, I've been seeing the gospel so much more clearly in each book. This past week, I read Esther.

Esther has been one of my favorite books for a long time. In my elementary school days, I loved that it was about an ordinary girl who becomes a queen. In high school, the phrase "Who knows but that you have been put where you are for just such a time as this?" kept ringing in my ears (adapted from Esther 4:14). As an English major in college, it appealed to my sense of a good story, and I still think it's one of the most well-written stories in the Bible.

But it wasn't until this most recent read-through that I caught a glimpse of Jesus in it.

Though it's been one of my favorite stories for so long, I had always read it as a standalone book and never placed it within the greater narrative of Israel's captivity and return. I definitely hadn't thought about it in the context of the gospel or any of the New Testament. I guess that's one of the great things about reading the Bible chronologically - it begins to all mesh together as one great big story, rather than a bunch of little ones stitched together.

I was struck by Mordecai's incredible integrity. He clearly is a man of God if there ever was one. He takes in the orphan Hadassah (Esther), not treating her as the cousin she is but treating her "as his own daughter" according to chapter 2. He saves the life of the (Persian by the way, not Jewish) king by getting a message to him about an assassination plot. Finally, and most importantly, he refuses to bow to any mere man, especially a corrupt royal official. And this is what gets him in trouble.

That royal official, Haman, does everything in his earthly power to ensure the annihilation of Mordecai and everyone he loves by getting the king to issue a decree that the Jews be killed on a certain day. But little does he know the kingdom's new queen is one of the very people he's trying to kill. Yahweh had ordained what was going to happen and had all the pieces in place ahead of time, ready to display His glory.

So after prayer and fasting, Queen Esther risks her life by going in to the king without being called. Thankfully, he is delighted with her and grants her request of holding a couple of banquets for him and Haman. Esther lulls Haman into a false sense of security with these banquets, as he thinks he is being oh-so-honored, but then Esther outs his whole plot in front of the king. The king then has Haman hanged on the gallows he had built for Mordecai...but not before forcing Haman to parade Mordecai, purple-robed and on a horse, through the streets saying, "This is the one the king delights to honor!"

Mordecai is elevated to a high position, the queen is trusted more than ever, and the Jews not only are saved but also enjoy a period of privilege under this foreign king.

As I thought about how Mordecai was plotted against for refusing to bow to any but God, how one of the most righteous men in the kingdom was targeted by a jealous and prideful official, I thought of Another who did nothing wrong and yet was condemned to death by those in power. I thought about how Mordecai never forsook God even when he probably felt forsaken, that his people had been forsaken. I thought about his commitment, his faith, even while his enemy Haman was being elevated, was succeeding in his evil plan, was indestructible...or so it seemed.

You see, just when Haman thought he'd won, he was destroyed. Just when the enemy seemed to have triumphed, the righteous one was about to gain the true victory.

Mordecai was saved from death, while Jesus actually suffered physical death...but the results were the same. Mordecai was honored above all in the kingdom, given authority second only to the king himself. In that dark moment as Jesus gasped his last words, satan thought he'd won, the teachers of the law thought they'd won. Little did they know that the seemingly defeated one on the cross was conquering not just their very own sin, but also Death itself. Little did they know that after he ascended, he would be placed at the right hand of the Father, given the seat of honor, crowned for all eternity. Little did they know that this one who quietly submitted to the judgment of the religious leaders and Pontius Pilate would judge everyone who has ever lived.

Hadassah, the orphan, one of the lowliest of people, was adopted by an uncle who loved her dearly and raised her as his own daughter. Not only an orphan, but a Jew in the Persian Empire, the odds for success were certainly not stacked in her favor. But because God bestowed grace on her, she found favor with everyone she met and was elevated higher than she could have ever imagined. She was obedient and brave when it counted most, demonstrating her dependence on God and not herself by fasting and praying before she went in to the king. When admonished by Mordecai, she listened, and she became willing to die if it meant God's will would be accomplished. She realized that the favor she had obtained was not due to her charm or beauty, though she possessed these things, but because the Lord Almighty had blessed her. And through his blessing, she was able to release an entire people from captivity and bring them from death to life.

To this day, like Esther, we are always the recipients of grace, and anything heroic or wonderful we do is by His power alone. We can never claim anything as our own, but we hold empty hands up to the Father in worship and praise, and He holds them in turn when we're in distress, pressing his scars closely into our unscarred palms, always filling them with good things. And these good things we can joyfully give to others, speaking life instead of death and truth instead of lies, bringing hope to the hopeless and proclaiming freedom for the prisoners...because we know His goodness never runs dry, and He will be faithful to give even as we feel like we can't give anymore.

The One with the scarred hands...He is not only the one the King delights to honor, as Mordecai was; He is the King. And we are Esther, adopted as sons and daughters, cherished, loved, admonished and corrected that we may grow into heavenly creatures, orphans-turned-heirs, made fit to possess the kingdom prepared for us since before the creation of the world.

Facedown in an Omelet

First week at UT, and there I was, facedown in an omelet.

Well, not in the omelet...I just said that because it's a much more humorous picture. Actually, my face was on the table, exactly eye-level with the ham-and-cheddar omelet, at 3 am in Kerbey Lane as I contemplated life at the beginning of freshman year with a friend I would rarely see again (what UT student hasn't had a moment like this?).

I had recently left a party, was very tired, and THAT WAS THE BEST OMELET I'D EVER TASTED!!11! I ate some pancakes too. The waiter came by and told me to get my head off the table at one point because they'd had too many students pass out in the restaurant recently.

I had just come back from a party with people I barely knew, and was now eating with people I barely knew. Everyone was someone I barely knew, including myself. I mean, a few months ago I could identify myself as a scholarship recipient, cheerleader, leader in the youth group, and Valedictorian, among other things. I'd had an identity and a history. Maybe not one I always liked, but I had one nonetheless.

And here, I was the girl who was being told to not pass out on the table.

I had recently attended Camp Texas, this magical place where everyone seemed to be smart, athletic, good-looking and confident all at once. I'd been completely overwhelmed. Most people already seemed to have a plan - a major, a country in which to study abroad, and even which sorority they would join. My first week at UT confirmed that I was constantly surrounded by smart, driven students. While I loved the new environment in which I found myself, I also let it threaten who I knew myself to be. Jesus couldn't be the same here as he was in my one-stoplight town in West Texas, could he?

I was at a crossroads. I could live for myself in college, or I could live for the God who redeemed me at the age of 13. This was a test. Was he real? Was I serious about this?

All through freshman year, I don't think I was quite sure. I had one foot in the world and one foot in the Kingdom. This was not the first or last time my life would be like this. We all have moments when we have one foot in the world and one foot in the Kingdom, one hand holding God's and the other holding money/power/people. I wanted to have everything. Jesus was not my only Pearl.

Then, I ended my first semester with a 3.4 GPA. Even though I'd been Valedictorian in one of the tiniest schools ever, I still had delusions of the unshakable awesomeness of my brain. That even at UT, I could do everything and still make the grades I wanted to make. That wasn't the case.

Don't get me wrong, a 3.4 is not awful. Having a 3.4 instead of a 4.0 is definitely a "first world" problem (as many girls don't even get to go to school), but at the time, being the product of the first-world system and the middle-class family that I was, I felt like my world was shattering. My identity was gone. I wasn't the best. I wasn't even close. I was one of 50,000 students who had all been at least the top 10% in their high schools, and I was competing against them. Sure, I was in an honors program, but so were many others...some who had already started their own nonprofits that cured AIDS and written a Tony award-winning play about it (maybe slightly exaggerating there).

And then my idolatry smacked me in the face. In high school, I had grown to love Jesus. But I still wanted to love the things of this world. I wanted to be the Christian girl, the beloved girl, the smart girl, the successful girl, and the creative girl. The blow to my pride in the form of a 3.4 GPA was almost more than I could take, as pathetic as that sounds. The kind of girl I wanted to be was not the kind of girl who had a 3.4. She was the girl who had a 4.0, yet somehow managed to still be the lead in a play, a leader in a Christian organization, an intramural sports player, obtain a coveted internship, learn a foreign language, and study abroad...perhaps even obtain a perfect boyfriend while doing so.

When all this did not just magically happen, I needed to reevaluate who I was. Who I wanted to be. In a one-stoplight town, there are seemingly only so many choices, but in a big, diverse city like Austin, you can be whoever you want. The possibilities are endless, and you can always find people to agree with you. You have to throw the sand away and choose your pearl.

If this were your typical "success" story, I would say it was all an uphill trajectory from there. That I chose to be a follower of Christ and stuck with it. That I got my head in the game, as Zac Efron would say in High School Musical 3, and never got out of it. By God's grace, my GPA got much better, it's true; I whittled down the things that were good and focused on things that were best; Father blessed me with brothers and sisters who walked beside me through good and bad.

But the truth is, even now at any moment I know I am just a change, a mood swing and a bad choice away from being facedown in an omelet. There were still awkward moments after that, over omelets or pancakes or other late-night fare. There were entire months when I genuinely believed God didn't want me to be happy or care about me. There were times when I got angry at people who had been nothing but good to me, when I had thoughts that I'd be ashamed to tell even the devil, when I let my joy succumb to worry. When I found out I would officially be going overseas for 2 years, my first reaction after the momentary rejoicing was to cry my eyes out. Fear gripped my heart, I'm ashamed to say, more strongly than the love and faithfulness of my Savior.

And so often, it still does. I constantly struggle to love the people I should love easily. I'm faced with the prospect of yet more dear friends leaving our city, after saying goodbye to so many local friends going off to college. I'm faced with the prospect of nothing being the same when I get back home in a year, the uncertainty of where I will live and who will be there for me. That all-too-familiar demon of loneliness always hovers close at hand, never quite vanquished and always ready to pounce. That fear of being alone for the rest of my life, of never having permanent community, of always bouncing around without clear direction or purpose or guidance. There's that too.

My point in saying all this is: I haven't arrived. You haven't either. I know that every day I'm growing more and more, growing in freedom and love and peace. But we've never arrived until we cross over that river and possess the kingdom prepared for us since the creation of the world. As long as we are here, we are sojourners. There is no destination here, only the journey. Here, we travel, we grow, we struggle, we sin, we love, we forgive, we taste and experience the kingdom we have not yet fully known or possessed, and sometimes we pass out in omelets. And the minute we think we have sufficiently distanced ourselves from that omelet is the minute we slip on a giant one that just happens to be frying on the sidewalk. And we think we've made a big fat gooey mess of our lives.

Thankfully, Jesus has an even bigger spatula.

Psalm 23.

What's a rod for, anyway?

What I Learned from Editing Wikipedia

Photo cred: Josephine Icaro

We're all doomed.

Okay, not really, although I really wouldn't wish on ANYONE to try to edit a Wikipedia page at all involving religion, politics or other controversial matters. It is dangerous territory.

It's like that time in my first-ever high school debate meet when I made the unfortunate mistake of calling the United States a "democracy," and the next girl got up and said "democratic republic" with a look so smug you would have thought she'd just won a case in the Supreme Court. Never mind that the word "democratic republic" had little to do with actually winning the debate. That's how I feel when editing Wikipedia. Everyone out there is that girl.

Information is an important, yet dangerous thing. It's why critical thinking skills are emphasized from the time we're tiny children all the way through college. You can't just take everything you read or hear at face value. Even "facts" can say different things, depending on the presenter's biases.

First, some background on why I attempted to edit a page in the first place. I am reading the Old Testament right now, namely the prophets. There are two idols these prophets are always raging against: Baal and Asherah. It's always, get rid of your Baals and tear down your Asherah poles, because Yahweh is angry. He's the one who's helped you people, so why do you go off running to other gods? In the Bible, both gods are imports from other nations.

Remember that famous story with Elijah? Okay, there are a lot of famous stories. In the one I'm thinking of, he was the only prophet of Yahweh left in the land, but he challenged 850 other prophets (450 of Baal and 400 of Asherah) to a duel of sorts. They both put sacrifices on altars and asked their gods to rain down fire from heaven to consume the sacrifices. The Asherah prophets aren't mentioned after, so maybe Elijah gathered them to just be an audience, but the Baal prophets go crazy and dance around and cut themselves and call on Baal, and he still doesn't answer. 450 of these guys, crying out for a few hours, and still no answer. But at Elijah's first request, even after drenching the wood and sacrifice with water, Yahweh rains down fire from heaven and consumes the whole thing. This is just one example of Asherah being clearly named as an idol, in the ranks of Baal, not at all related to or approved by Yahweh.

Asherah is mentioned many times in the Old Testament; if you search her name on Bible Gateway, she will show up approximately 40 times. And each time her name is mentioned, it is usually coupled with a command, like "Cut down your Asherah poles!"

I then looked up Asherah on Wikipedia to find out more about what kind of goddess she was. She was a Near East fertility goddess, check; she was imported to Israel from Canaan, check; she was the consort of El (another god who functioned as a sort of Yahweh in another nation), check; most scholars the world over now accept that she was Yahweh's consort - wait - what?

That contradicts everything I'm reading in the Bible.

Okay, you might be totally bored at this point, but bear with me. It's not just about information, but how information is presented. Read this:

"The majority of scholars the world over now accept that Yahweh had a consort...Further evidence includes the many female figurines unearthed in Israel, supporting the view that Asherah functioned as a goddess and consort of Yahweh and was worshiped as the Queen of Heaven."

First of all, there is a HUGE difference between the phrase "Yahweh had a consort" and the phrase "At one time, the Israelite people worshiped Asherah as Yahweh's consort." The first phrase necessitates that the Bible has been falsified (there is a theory floating around that Asherah was Israel's female goddess and was edited out of the Bible by chauvinist men). Since the Bible as it is now only refers to Asherah as an idol and not as God's wife, such a phrase as "Yahweh had a consort" would mean that the "editing" theory was definitely true. The second phrase (made up by yours truly) acknowledges that Asherah was worshiped as a goddess by most of Israel at one point (and the Bible already tells you that; it must have been pretty hard for Elijah being the ONLY Yahweh prophet left in the country in the above story!), but leaves room for the monotheistic Hebrew faith that we know by the famous phrase: "The Lord our God, the Lord is one."

Here is what the artifacts show and that the Bible corroborates, as far as I can tell: The Israelites worshiped Asherah, they had her buried with them, and she was known as "The Queen of Heaven" (this title is also acknowledged in the Bible, though as idolatry, and is one of the reasons Yahweh's wrath came down upon his people). Those things are true. One of the articles I read says that after the Israelites' exile to Babylon, which is what I'm reading about right now, is when their faith solidified (or re-solidified if you believe as I do that the Torah has not been edited) as monotheistic. And from the perspective of one who believes the Bible, I believe their faith became monotheistic because of all the prophets who had foreseen that Israel would go into exile under Yahweh's wrath, due to their continuous idolatry. Even after Elijah's miracles, it took exile to Babylon for them to see that Yahweh's prophets had been right all along, and that Yahweh was the one true God. Now, I don't expect people who don't rely on the Bible to trust that, but it definitely makes sense to me.

The problem is that when people spin true artifacts and evidence to suit their preconceived notions. And I don't just mean atheists. Christians do this too. It's a huge problem, and we have to let facts just stand as facts and theories stand as theories. It's like what Lee Strobel said at the beginning of The Case for Christ: The evidence may all line up and seem to point one direction, until you reexamine it closely and see that it points even more clearly in the opposite direction. We have to leave room for this and make sure that our biases don't infect our reading of historical data.

When I tried to edit part of the Wikipedia article to acknowledge that, though there many references to Asherah in the Bible, none of them are positive or acknowledge her as the genuine Queen of Heaven, someone immediately changed it back because of biblical citations (a controversial change-back given that the subject was the Hebrew people, though understandable). They also deleted my encyclopedic citation for undisclosed reasons. What's ironic, however, is that up above in the same article, someone referenced Jeremiah, and this reference has not been removed because it doesn't cast doubt upon the research of those who believe the Bible was edited.

I changed it again the other day, in such a way that I believe makes the article more neutral while still not contradicting what a source said. So far no one has touched it, but perhaps someone will have changed it back by the time you read this. If you have a Wikipedia account, read the talk page for Asherah, and you will see that I am not the first person to take issue with the unequivocal phrasing that "Yahweh had a consort." And some of those people express their reasons better than I have here.

All that to say, this is what I learned, or re-learned: Don't take everything you read at face value. Realize that people can phrase factual findings to support any conclusions they want to support. This includes even what I'm writing here. When you read something that troubles you or casts doubt, look into that claim. If you are a Christian, read the Bible and know that Book like the back of your hand. Then, even though you can't convince anyone else of anything, you can at least stand your own ground and know why you believe what you do.

Okay, that's enough. As important as this stuff is to realize, I'd rather be out learning how to live more like Jesus than writing things like this.

My Favorite Pinterest Recipes (so far)!

Yes, this is an unabashedly girly post. With unabashedly INCREDIBLE recipes.

Believe it or not, I have actually MADE many of the recipes I've pinned on Pinterest. Some of them multiple times. Some fit in the category of "Eh, pretty good, but I won't make it again," others fit in the category of "Glory-hallelujah-this-is-a-go-to-recipe!!" Since none of these recipes were, in fact, invented by me, there is absolutely no point in keeping them a secret. I want to spread the deliciousness, so I thought I would share some of my favorite ones with you, in approximate order of the number of times I've made them!

1. Best Salsa Ever


Recipe here: http://www.mountainmamacooks.com/2012/01/quick-and-easy-salsa/

It would be an absolute CRIME not to share this with you. Everyone loves it. Seriously. It's the perfect, easy salsa. The only way in which I deviate from the recipe is that I use fresh diced tomatoes instead of canned ones; we can't get canned over here, and as it is I have to ask sweet people to send me Ro-tel from the States. The good news is, though, that if you can't get Ro-tel in your region, just chop up some tomatoes and green peppers and it makes a fine substitute. As it is, I substitute whatever green pepper we can get around here that looks like a jalapeno for the real thing! Really, what makes this recipe are the honey and the cumin. Cumin gives it that extra something something, and honey helps it blend to a great texture in the blender. Edit: After realizing our lemon had gone bad and making this salsa for the first time without lemon, I have to revise these statements and say that the fresh LEMON JUICE is what makes this recipe. It's not the same without it.

2. Nutella Mug Cake

http://blogs.babble.com/family-kitchen/2011/03/15/nutella-mug-cake/

Okay, this dessert keeps Rachel and me ALIVE in winter. When it's been one of those days when your hands are frozen even through your gloves, and you slip in your rain boots and your butt is soaked the rest of the day even through your long johns, and your language teacher basically tells you you will NEVER get that 3rd tone right, this is a little cup of comfort. Eat this while watching an episode of Friends; it makes it even better. SO easy to make too, seriously takes about 15 minutes total, gathering ingredients and cooking time included. Some people say the calorie count is pretty high, but I say calorie count shmalorie count! Too delicious to care! Also, Rachel and I split it between two mugs, which makes it not quite as ridiculous. Don't forget the chocolate syrup on top though. Mm-mmmmm.

3. Nutella Donut Muffins

http://usmasala.blogspot.com/2012/05/nutella-filled-baked-donut-muffins.html

Yes, Nutella again. I don't know why you're surprised. (Nutella is another thing we have to get imported, by the way). We have made these a ridiculous amount of times recently. They're just so good and easy. The cinnamon smell really fills the house while they're baking! And I love any muffin or cake with a wonderful surprise filling in the middle!

4. Pumpkin Cream Cheese Muffins

http://annies-eats.com/2010/10/08/pumpkin-cream-cheese-muffins/

These are the most amazing things. My mouth is watering just thinking about them, and I'm tempted to bump them up to number one RIGHT NOW just to make sure as many people see these as possible. By the way, the site in general is great. Annie's Eats is one of my favorite cooking blogs. So imagine, you've got this wonderful pumpkin pie-ish taste on the outside, with a lightly crispy cinnamon streusel topping, and warm creamy cream cheese in the middle. It is absolutely ridiculous. They're a little more work than your run-of-the-mill muffins, but TOTALLY WORTH IT.

5. Peanut Butter Banana Smoothie

http://www.chiquitabananas.com/Banana-Recipes/Creamy-Peanut-Butter-Banana-Smoothie-recipe.aspx

I am a huge fan of the heavenly combination of peanut butter and banana. I make peanut butter banana oatmeal many mornings; if I'm about to do some kind of intense workout I will spread peanut butter on a banana and eat that; and now I make this smoothie. It's super easy and very nutritious. I usually half the recipe, and it's perfect for just me. I also just use plain yogurt with a splash of vanilla since I haven't found vanilla yogurt here yet. The texture is great: perfectly smooth, creamy, and thick. Yesterday morning I experimented with adding some oatmeal and I seriously wasn't even hungry until dinner. This is one powerful smoothie, my friends.

6. Slow Cooker Chicken Taco Soup

http://allrecipes.com/recipe/slow-cooker-chicken-taco-soup/

Okay, I'll admit it, I'm the one who originally pinned this, but it was repinned 15 times so I don't think I'm crazy! We made this one day when we had friends' kids over in the winter, and they absolutely loved it. I paired it with some cornbread and it was a great meal. I didn't have beer, so I just used some extra water, and we also used kidney beans instead of black beans. It's so easy and tastes wonderful.

7. Carrot Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting

http://pinchofyum.com/carrot-cake-cupcakes-with-cream-cheese-frosting

Carrot: goood. Cupcakes: goood. Cream cheese frosting: GOOOOD. What Joey would have said if he'd tasted these. Simple and delicious. This again comes from one of my favorite blogs, and the girl who writes it has a great personality that makes her posts really fun to read. Over here, I'm always searching for recipes that both my American and local friends will like, and this is one of them! It's not ridiculously sweet but has a perfect balance of flavors.

8. Cranberry Apple Chicken Salad

http://southernfood.about.com/od/chickensalads/r/r81002g.htm

Okay, I originally pinned this one too, but my friends and I all loved this! I just love the combo of the apple and cranberries, and the curry powder really adds something special. I left out the red onion; I'm not a huge fan of onions except when they're caramelized.

9. Self-Saucing Ginger Pudding

http://thestonesoup.com/blog/2010/06/9-things-you-should-know-about-ginger-with-self-saucing-ginger-puddings-5-ingredients-simple-baking/

I had a really bad cold in the winter, and this pudding was unbelievably comforting. I didn't have ramekins, so I just put the whole thing in a round baking dish and spooned warm gingery buttery goodness right out of the dish as I watched TV, like the bachelorette that I am. It was wonderful. The only recommendation I have is to make sure and chop the ginger REALLY FINE. Since I was sick, I was a little lazy with my chopping, so there were moments when I would take a bite and hear a "kst!" and a little too much ginger would flood my mouth. We've recently acquired a cheese grater, so maybe if I try it again now I wouldn't have the same problem. Just as an extra plus, this webpage also has some cool facts to know about ginger! Good news if you like it: ginger's really healthy!

Drowning.

I love fun outdoors things like hiking, canoeing, etc. And I love thrilling things like roller coasters. So Saturday I went whitewater rafting, for the second time over here. A perfect fit for me.

I knew what to expect, I'd done this before, they gave us life jackets (albeit paper-thin) and helmets. Over here, they have two people to a boat facing each other, rather than a long boat with everyone facing forward, so I climbed in one with my friend Olivia because we'd done this together before. It was sunny, the water was blue, the mountains were green, and it was going to be wonderful.

And it was - for a few seconds. Until our boat hit a rock in such a way that it flipped over. After my first task was accomplished, which was to get out from under the boat, I hardly knew what was happening, only that I kept coming up for air only to get sucked back under, that I couldn't hear or see anything but the rushing water above and all around me, that I kept being buffeted against rocks again and again as I struggled, trying to hold onto something but finding myself weak against the current, my backside and my knees and elbow hitting rocks again and again.

Then I felt Olivia's hand grab mine. We were still being swept along by the current, but there was so much comfort in that one gesture. I'd had no idea where she was and didn't know how she'd found me, but in that one second I knew that I at least wasn't going through this alone. Others tried to help us, but we kept getting swept along, until finally the rapids ended and gave way to calm water, and we were able to climb together into a friend's boat. No idea what had happened to our boat, or Olivia's shoes.

It's incredible that it was over so fast and yet was so terrifying. The combination of the mental and physical stress, along with losing some blood and being pretty nicely bruised, meant that we were absolutely exhausted. Olivia told me she didn't know if she could have breathed much longer if we hadn't gotten help when we did. I was shaking from exhaustion when I hoisted myself into the boat.

As I had been flailing helplessly in the water, my thoughts had turned panicky and morbid. I thought of how I'd Skyped with Mom in the morning, and how I'd told her I'd be doing this, and how I didn't want that to be my last conversation with her. I thought I heard people yelling or something but couldn't tell where they were or reach them. There were those moments when the water wouldn't allow me to come up for air when I wanted, and I'd remember hearing that drowning was the worst way to die. Of course I was crying out to Father in my head, and once or twice out loud when I would surface. I knew he saw me but was wondering when he would come to my rescue, or if he would come to my rescue. I was thinking I wasn't ready to "go home" yet, at least not like this.

Though it might seem silly because we ended up being all right in the end, without even a broken bone or concussion (praise the Lord), the incident really left us thinking afterward. I remember Olivia saying she felt like she should have been much more calm than she was, entrusting her life to Father rather than panicking or worrying.

I thought a lot too, about how that is exactly how I react when I feel like I'm drowning in life. When I don't know what the outcome of a situation will be, whether things will be good or bad, and I freeze in my fear. In that time I'm certain that the Lord has forgotten me, that he has lied about having a good plan for me. I remember afterward to trust in God, but in that moment, in the pain and struggle, I find it so difficult to do so. I immediately feel that I have been forsaken before I have even seen things through to the end, before I have let him show me how he works all things together for good.

Another thing, too, was that in that moment, in the rapids, I felt that they would never end. I completely forgot the view from above. Before rafting, when I had viewed them from the top of a hill, I'd seen that the rapids had a starting and ending point, and then calm waters from there on out. But in that moment, in my mind, the rapids would never end unless I fought them. I couldn't relax, let my body be a ragdoll as I hear you're supposed to do, and trust that I would get air when I needed and get to calm waters at just the right time, that the rapids' speed would work in my favor and eventually carry me to safety. I couldn't see anything but the turbulence that was surrounding me, and it greatly affected my perspective. This again is how I treat the "rapids" of my life. Just because I can't see the ending point from my perspective, I think they must not have an ending point. When I think this way, I exalt my perspective above God's. I don't trust him to lead me to calm waters at just the right time, when the refining is over and he has taught me what he wants to teach me for the time being.

Once I was out of the water, back on dry land and looking down, I saw a very clear ending point. I thought that if I had just been able to see that ending point when I was thrashing around, my thoughts might have been far less panicked, and I'd have been much calmer.

I'm reading the prophets right now, and one thing I am learning is that all physical experiences have some spiritual meaning. For instance, God tells Jeremiah to bear a yoke to symbolize the yoke of oppression on Israel as they are ruled by Babylon. He tells Ezekiel to eat defiled bread to show how the people had defiled themselves before the Holy God. I think he still works this way. I think Father allowed this to happen to me so that I would have a powerful, strong reminder emblazoned forever in my memory of how to deal with trials when they come. How to have hope and faith in the midst of them.

I hope and pray that next time I encounter rapids in my life, my mind drifts to the view from above rather than the rushing water around me.

"Dad in China"

Most people get their dad a tie or maybe a shirt or some novelty item for his birthday.

I, on the other hand, make comics! I thought it would be funny to imagine my dad in various situations in China.

Note in advance: Not everything in the comic applies *everywhere* in China or any other part of East Asia (I'm pretty sure nothing applies everywhere in such a large, diverse place), but it draws from my personal experience in a smaller city. I hope it makes you smile. :)

Click on the image to see it!

"I am Eighty-Two Years Old!"

Yesterday I met a beautiful woman.

We were walking around a park, witnessing the creation both of the Father and of His "sub-creators," as J.R.R. Tolkien would say. 

We loved watching the mothers strolling around with their babies while the elderly, behatted, sometimes bespectacled people sat around stone tables, chatting and playing games.

In one gazebo, we saw yet another group of sweet elderly people. But one of them, rather than staring or even smiling, actually beckoned us to come over. The wrinkles deepened in the corners of her eyes as she waved her fragile yet strong hands.

As we walked in, she and her friends began laughing; she jumped up and down and clapped her hands for joy. Her friends gathered round to take pictures with us, but she was interested in more than that.

She wanted to dance.

So she grabbed my friend's hand and began twirling herself around, laughing the whole time. She then skipped over to another friend, and then another, grabbing each person's hands and twirling.

When she would stop to take a picture with one of us, she would wrap her wrinkled arms around our unwrinkled faces, deepening her own wrinkles with even more laughter.

And then, as I began conversing with her, she clapped and jumped up and down as she said, 

"I am eighty-two years old!"

Her friends laughed and commented on how happy she was; I commented on how healthy she was. She couldn't care less about our comments, regardless of their content. She was too busy dancing.

When I turn eighty-two years old, I want to look back on eighty-two years of softening and enlarging my heart, of keeping it open to my Creator and to all people but closed to cynicism, of keeping it open to thankfulness and grace but closed to self-pity. I want to laugh and clap.

I want to be too busy dancing.

Why Meeting in Homes is Great

Having church anywhere is awesome, but I thought I would just compile some of the reasons I love meeting in homes:

1. Your can have a dog in your lap.

2. You can drink coffee while listening to the lesson.

3. The coffee is free.

4. You can have refills.

5. Sometimes people bake muffins.

6. They are also free.

7. If your baby starts crying, no need to take him outside; someone else will be glad to hold him for you or at least help you cheer him up. Everyone around you is your friend, after all.

8. If that doesn't work, you can always stuff a free muffin in his mouth.

9. Just kidding. Do not stuff a muffin in your baby's mouth.

10. A/C too high? You don't just have to sit there and bear it in your dress and high heels ("why didn't I bring a cardigan?"). The blankets are in the basket over there.

11. Oh, and by the way, you're probably not wearing high heels because you took them off at the door. Or you were smart and didn't bring them. Or you're even smarter and don't own a pair.

12. When you walk in, you are prepared to listen, but also have the comfort in knowing you will be listened to.

13. Flexibility. If someone has an urgent need, everyone stops right then and there to lift it up. If a song is laid on someone's heart, it can be sung. If a word is laid on someone's heart, it can be read or said.

14. Not. Intimidating.

15. Inviting someone to your home feels easy and natural anyway.

16. The bathroom is, like, right there. Which is good because you just had about 3 cups of coffee.

17. I should probably also say something about the whole authentic community thing.

18. People genuinely knowing you, and yet still loving you, is an awesome feeling.

19. You genuinely knowing other people, and finding that you are now willing to forgive, love, and work at relationships where before you would have run away, is an awesome feeling.

20. And even if no one else in the home loves you, at least you still have the dog in your lap.


None of this works, though, unless people are willing to make it work. The home is not some magic place in which people suddenly stop sinning or being selfish. We have to be willing to get into each other's messes and actually enter into each other's lives, to care for each other as family and sacrifice for each other. To give until it hurts, and receive until it hurts our pride.

Because Jesus makes his home in us, we make our home in each other. And that is how the world knows our true home is elsewhere.

Nothing New Under the Sun and Micah 6

If the wages of sin is death, what exactly is death?

Futility.

It's the abrupt ending of a linear path that otherwise shows such promise of progress, of a better world, of a better life -

and then silence.

Because of sin, the whole creation was subjected to futility. Through painful toil we eat all the days of our lives, and though we labor, the ground still produces thorns and thistles. In painful toil we now strive for successful careers in an economy that constantly pushes back. The majority of people, who have no faces on television and no voices, toil to just eat each day. The last line of the curse upon mankind is futility:

"dust you are and to dust you will return."

King Solomon meditates on this futility: "Meaningless! Meaningless! What do people gain from all their labors at which they toil under the sun? ...Like the fool, the wise too must die!"

When Israel continues to rebel against God and oppress the poor, Yahweh says through the prophet Micah that he will relinquish his blessing, reminding them of the futility of their sin (that is, following themselves rather than God):

"You will eat but not be satisfied; your stomach will still be empty.... You will plant but not harvest; you will press grapes but not use the oil, you will crush grapes but not drink the wine."

Your first reaction might be that all this sounds overly morbid and depressing...but let's be honest: How many times have you had thoughts like this? Feeling anxious because we only have a few short years on this earth, and wondering how not to waste them? Feeling dissatisfied with your current life because you don't want to waste time doing what you're doing? Even in the happy moments, burying uneasy thoughts, wondering why you're still not satisfied?

I write this because I have had these thoughts many times. I think often we try to just dismiss them and crush them because they're not normal and not okay. We have everything; we are supposed to just be happy and not ask those questions. We have no right to be unhappy because we are not starving, we have not had too much trauma in our lives, we do not live in a war-torn country.

The Book of Micah says that Israel would "eat but not be satisfied." Israel had times of great abundance and was the envy of surrounding nations for its wealth. But God said they were still spiritually empty because they kept sinning and would not turn from it, and so he was sending times of scarcity on them. Rather than acting justly and loving mercy, they were hoarding ill-gotten treasures, cheating the poor with dishonest scales, full of violence and deceit.

What was the ultimate punishment? Not necessarily war, although this did come on the people. Not poverty, although times of suffering would follow. Futility. No satisfaction, no enjoying the fruit of their labor, but enduring a meaningless existence. The same punishment that was exacted at the Fall.

I think we continue to feel this punishment today; the Fall's depth has not lessened. Though we may be less primitive, we may have more material things (well, some of us...until you remember that 2 billion don't even have a toilet and 1 billion will not eat enough today), and we may be saturated with all sorts of information and philosophies to tell us whatever we want to hear, we still feel the effects of futility. Though with modern medicine we may prolong our lives, we can never escape physical death...or even worse, the death of the soul, which can happen much sooner.

But Jesus says we can be born again. He says we have a way out of this meaninglessness and futility. Not by transcending the world and detaching ourselves from it, as some would say; not by doing a bunch of things so we can be "good enough" for a deity; rather, by believing He has power over futility - over death and our deathly ways of living. In Him, there is something new under the sun. We have new life, we have new hope, we have direction even when we can't see two feet in front of us. Even while staying in the world, slogging through the mud and grit of life, we hold tightly to the pierced hand of the one who whispers in the crowded street and the back alley,

Behold, I am making all things new!

Suddenly, we can work a dead-end job and still have joy and satisfaction. Suddenly, we can look at unlovable people and see who they were born to be. We can be uncertain of our direction in life and still be able to laugh at the days to come. Our plans can even fail, the soil of our lives still unyielding, and yet we have hope. All because He went through the worst of our pain, endured our darkest thoughts and all the insults we have to hurl, joined us in physical agony and emotional torment, and came out victorious on the other side, not only alive but with a life that will never die, in a Kingdom where the hungry can feast and the thirsty can drink, and this gives us hope that such a Kingdom can penetrate this cursed world. 

Sometimes, when I catch myself chasing after the things of this world, I find myself dissatisfied and struck anew with the meaninglessness of life. But when I look at the only One who is something new under the sun, the only One who can make all things new, and I give my disobedience over to him and ask to be made new...

I eat and am satisfied.