This week, a high school girl killed herself.

I'm sure many high school girls and other precious people around the world found it too difficult to live this week, but this girl killed herself in my city, at a high school just a few bus stops away. It's always that much more difficult when something like that happens close to us, even if we didn't know the person.

I've been to that high school before, walked around it with my friend Jane. It's supposed to be the best high school in the city. To me it looks more like a university than a high school, with its huge campus boasting multi-story buildings and dorms. Here, it is not uncommon for high school students to live away from home.

I asked my friend why the girl did it. Was it being away from her parents? Was it the heavy work load? I always comment on how hard my high school friends have to work, how they never seem to have a moment to themselves. And right now is crunch time, the worst of exam season. It would make sense. It's happened before.

But that wasn't the reason, apparently. School officials read her journal.

She liked girls.

I may be on the other side of the world, but I'm still keeping up with what's happening in the States. And if it's difficult to be gay or lesbian in the States, I know it must be difficult over here, where it's relatively under the radar and few people are discussing or acknowledging it.

Regardless of what we think about the propriety of men liking men or women liking women, this should never have to occur. No one should ever feel that trapped. It's not about the fact that she liked girls so much as the fact that she did not feel free to bare her soul, with its changes and struggles.

In order to be trapped, a person must first box herself in. She must burrow deep into a hole where she thinks no one can hurt her. She must hide. But what happens when her hiding place becomes her prison? When the choice to hide herself is no longer her own, but the choice of someone fixing a stone door over her cave? Telling her she can never come out, that no one wants to see her as she truly is? The damp earth becomes suffocating, even to the point of death.

We refuse to show ourselves to those around us. We refuse to admit the darkness, the doubt, that constantly lurks underneath our smiling faces. And because we hide our own darkness, our differences, we encourage others to hide theirs. Because we are afraid, we project fear onto others. And so, one by one, we all burrow into our caves. Until everyday conversation is a strain, because no one is truly revealing themselves anymore.

I wish someone had told that girl that she could reveal herself, in all her mess and magnificence. That she had known, deep down, that she would be unconditionally loved. That as she worked through the turbulence of adolescence, she would have had that blessed assurance of a hand that will never let her go.

But a person who must hide herself every waking second is lost in every sense of the word.

C.S. Lewis writes that being truly "saved" does not entail the cancellation of sin and shame but rather the willingness to bear it to the world, pointing to God's grace all the while and trusting Him alone to cover it.

"As for the fact of sin, is it probable that anything cancels it? All times are eternally present to God. Is it not at least possible that along some one line of His multi-dimensional eternity He sees you forever in the nursery pulling the wings off a fly, forever toadying, lying and lusting as a schoolboy, forever in that moment of cowardice or insolence as a subaltern? It may be that salvation consists not in the cancelling of these eternal moments but in the perfected humanity that bears the shame forever, rejoicing in the occasion which it furnished to God's compassion and glad that it should be common knowledge to the universe" (The Problem of Pain).

It's as though the Free are dancing around naked, not because they are stainless and pure but because they are covered by something other than clothes, something other than what the world gives to mask shame. All of the messiness and grit is out in the open, but we refuse to be humiliated. Yes, we will continue to boast in our weaknesses, proclaim our failings from the rooftops, air our stubbornness and our stupidity and our different-ness, laughing all the while and feeling completely unashamed, because of the One who eternally covers us, molds us, and will never abandon his creations. Our hidden things out in the open are all to His glory.

I long for and dream of a world in which no one feels so trapped that death seems to be the only way out. Where no one wants to shrink to the point of oblivion. But those who do not know Love cannot come out of their caves, because they have never known the One who is completely loving, completely trustworthy, and completely unfailing. No one has ever shown them that such love exists. Therefore, to be out in the open means to be torn apart. And so these precious souls wither, souls who never had the chance to hear about grace.

Finally, speaking of Heaven and the Kingdom, Lewis writes,

"...Perhaps the lost are those who dare not go to such a public place."

They would, if they knew the public place was also the place of grace.

When I Saw the Throne

When I finally saw the throne and the One on it, I stared for about a thousand years. There's no telling, really, and I don't care how long it was, only that my soul was full and my heart was light. The awe took many forms. Sometimes I laughed and lifted my hands with joy, sometimes I lay flat on the floor and let his power roll over me in waves. Sometimes, though, he withheld his great power and instead washed me with love like thin water and white foam trickling over my outstretched body on a sandy beach, gently rinsing my former self away, never to be seen again. Sometimes it took the form of a breeze rippling over my skin and blowing wisps of hair out of my face as though I were lying in soft grass on a sunny day. Sometimes I danced and sang before him, and his approval felt better than the roar of a thundering crowd. He took such great delight in my songs. Never judging, always delighting.

I could have basked there for an endless river of eternities, soaking in the glory and fullness of the One on that throne, but I walked down the shining road to see my other loved ones. Unlike that broken place I had journeyed through for those few short years, I had many loved ones here - millions, in fact. And we finally knew what love was. Our hearts were all one and pounding with such passion and adoration that the power generated could create universes - in fact, it might have. I knew the One on the throne was always creating things, because creating, whether with wisdom or hands, brought him such great delight.

I could no longer really remember that former place, but I knew without a doubt that no love there had been like this. Any of its love had been only a shadow of what was to come. Millions of souls, countless heavenly beings, colors heretofore unknown and an endless chorus of languages and voices...all in perfect unity with each other and the King. Oh, the King...he was what held us all together. I could sing about him forever, in an endless number of languages, and never come close to how good he really is. I never knew before that the planets and the stars also had voices, that the whole universe had been quivering with joy before the One on the throne. The worries of the old earth had deafened so many souls, but here we finally had ears. If only I'd known how good he really was when I walked through that shadowy place for those few short years, if only I could have heard the praises the trees and waters and stars were singing each day...I'd have laughed through every storm.

Even those who were never married on earth were married now, and knew the joy of being the most beloved and beautiful Bride...together we felt what it was to be invited into - no, swept up in - that strong, passionate, joyful heart, and the glorious thrill of pleasure when the door was opened to his fierce love and to his never-ending feast. I thought I had been a bride on earth, but I had never been dressed in white until now. Oh the unspeakable joy of heaven standing open! Of its gates not being closed to me! I knew what I had been...I saw, momentarily, the fate I had deserved, and dark hands clutching at my soul...but the instant I had begun to fear, a curtain of blood had streamed down in front of me, and the hands could not penetrate it. Then the curtain had wrapped itself around me, swaddled me like a baby's clothes...and yet its blood did not stain. This was the only blood I had ever seen that made me whiter at its touch, that did not stain my hands with guilt but rather sponged that guilt away until I shone like a star. I saw Christ's blood streaming in the firmament...and yet, rather than leaving me groping helplessly for the drops, jumping up and down like a madman, the drops rained down and met me.


Then, that same red curtain curtain parted to reveal a shining white horse with a rider called Faithful and True. As soon as I saw his eyes...as soon as I saw his eyes I knew that I was pursued with a longing and desire more jealous than the grave and more passionate than my deepest affections. Faithful and True pulled me up and we rode away so that the pit with the clutching hands was no longer in sight. Its arms will forever be too short to overcome the Rider's jealous love. Once I saw his deep, penetrating eyes and his strong shoulders I could think of nothing else. The indescribable joy of being fully known and yet fully loved! Never tinged with a fear of being abandoned, because his very Name was Faithful. What had that shadowy place known of faithful? What had I ever known of faithful?

Yet deep in my heart, even in my darkest moments, I'd always known this must be true. This must be the truth; that shadowy place was the lie. And now that I could see it, now that I could fully know Him as I'd always been fully known, now that I could see and touch his face, I knew without a doubt that I would never see a shadow again. Forever, my vision would be clear. And forever, truth would reign because the deceiver of the nations was finally destroyed.

Some may have said this vision wasn't real, that the ways of the shadowy place were unchanging; but here with the only Unchanging One I finally saw the wolf graze with the lamb, and I saw the lion rest in their company. Here I saw the man feed the ox but never put a burden on its back, except occasionally a small laughing child who loved that now-burdenless beast. The children who had always wondered what a lion's wondrous mane would feel like finally got to touch and stroke it without fear, and the lion nuzzled them like one of its cubs. Both animals and humans had stopped preying on each other...and somehow I'd always known this was how things were supposed to be, that this was right and good.

The One on the throne had grieved over that shadowy place. Oh, how he'd grieved over all the lives that were wasted because they had no food, or had no one to love them. So many had been deceived and given up their birthrights as heirs to creation and the glorious honor of creating. So many others been robbed of their creative breath by disease or hunger. How many of us had given up our mantles as image-bearers and fallen into destruction or apathy. But here I saw those who had been deceived into being men of brutality plowing soil and picking fruit; I saw those who had fearfully destroyed other men laughing and dancing with children; I saw those who had annihilated the old earth tending and delighting in the new one. I saw children who'd died for lack of water splashing around in the everlasting spring and rafting down the crystal river, where anyone could come and drink without cost.

The One on the throne now lived with us and within us; there was no separation. The hand of the Father and the hands of earth, which had been reaching for each other for so long, had not only touched but become one. The desire of every heart was filled, and every chasm was closed. It was the land of no horizon.

The King's eyes surveyed this new earth and sparkled with joy. It was very, very good.



The Spirit and the bride say, "Come!" And let the one who hears say, "Come!" Let the one who is thirsty come; and let the one who wishes take the free gift of the water of life.

Heaven is My Home

God's been speaking to me about death a lot lately, in funny ways. An article cited below, a song called Prospekt's March by Coldplay, a song by my friend Micah, and a funny book called "All my friends are dead" that you can find in any Urban Outfitters window, to name a few. Either way, death is on its way for all of us, and we never know when it will come. I love that line in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in the Tale of the Three Brothers: "Ignotus then greeted Death as an old friend, and together they departed this world as equals." Is Death really an old friend, and if so, how?

How can the Christian long for heaven and yet be content here? How can I enjoy what God has given me on earth without being adulterous with the world? After all, "Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life" (John 12:25). Am I supposed to hate my life?

I do think many believers have too much of a love affair with the world. It's what keeps us from being absolutely insane for Jesus. However, does Jesus mean we're supposed to mope around and wish we were dead? There are moments when I truly want to forsake this world and be in heaven with Christ, because the world is being unkind to me...but most of the time I enjoy living, even as I realize that the next life will be infinitely better. And I think that's how it's supposed to be.

To avoid having a love affair with the world, we have to learn to see the things we enjoy as tiny glimpses of heaven, not things that are inherently of the world. I think God is teaching me that. It's easy to love the world too much and Christ too little when life is going well. On the flip side, when life is going terribly, it's easy to complain and wonder why we still have to be here and why Christ hasn't rescued us yet. Simplicity is the answer. If we decide we will only love Christ - and I mean only love Christ - then we will naturally adore the things that are of Him (yes, even the material things) and hate the things that are against Him.

Once we are born again, our home becomes elsewhere. It's almost as if we were born in heaven and then sent here for a while, only to return at the end of our lives. Imagine your real-life home, with its comforts and pleasures and delicious smells. Now imagine that you were to go on a trip with a ridiculously important mission for a long time, unable to return home until that mission was completed. The sweetest moments would be the times you were reminded of your home, the place where you can be truly comfortable and completely yourself. I think our moments of joy and satisfaction here on earth are just glimpses of our real home. Of course I mean things like food and laughter...but I even mean more intense things like music and romance and sex. God would not create something on earth that is better than heaven, or that is more satisfying than Him. Nothing could be better than heaven. And that is why when we do finish the race, we can greet death as an old, long-expected friend...no matter when it "interrupts" us on our journey.

"Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered, and that my life is fleeing away." Psalm 39:4 (The man after God's own heart knew that we need this reminder to keep us loving only God and nothing else...for if we love anything else, this reminder will only make us panic and despair. But if we love only Christ, it makes no difference if we live or die.)

However, in the short meantime, I am thankful for every moment of my life. Father gives me so many glimpses of heaven that sometimes I can't hold it in and have to start laughing. If these mere shadows of the joy to come can overwhelm me, I can't even imagine how satisfied my soul will be one day.

As an example, I love my city. While Austin is not my home, Father has given me many people and moments that remind me of my true home. I love "dates with the city," as Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City would say. I don't consider her a role model, but I definitely understand what she means on that one episode when she talks about going on dates with New York City. I have dates with Austin all the time.

I love the trailer food craze for so many reasons. I love local business and family-owned business, and I love how the quaint atmosphere encourages making new friends as you eat, not to mention making friends with the trailer owners themselves. Last night my friend and I got Moroccan food at a trailer called The Flying Carpet. Since my friend is Moroccan, the man who runs the trailer loved talking to her. He was so friendly and laughed a lot, and his wife and son were also there. His son was so cute, running around and playing. We got some of the food on the house, and we continued talking to the family as we waited and ate. It felt like we were in a small town and had known these people for a long time. His wife, who is Mexican, joked that her son is "Moroxican" and was so kind to us. By the way, the food was PERFECT...absolutely delicious.

It was freezing cold outside. As we walked by Guero's, there was a live Mexican band playing with an accordion. There was a nice outdoor heater on the sidewalk, and the cold of course did not affect the line at Amy's Ice Creams. The atmosphere was just beautiful. 

Then we went to a cute place called "Snack Bar" and got hot chocolate. It was delicious, but I'd forgotten to ask for whipped cream. As my friend and I sat there a while talking and watching some weird '80s movie in the background, the waitress brought me another hot chocolate on the house. With whipped cream.

I was so happy. Seriously, count all the little pleasures: the joy of the unexpected, community, unity between cultures, music, delicious food, familial love, warmth, the good kind of cold, generosity...I saw all these truly heavenly things in a simple night outing. Each moment was orchestrated by my Father, just to give me a taste of home.

God created the wonderful things in the material world to point us to heaven. It is not wrong to enjoy them. It is wrong to worship them. As C.S. Lewis writes, "Our Father refreshes us on the journey with some pleasant inns, but will not encourage us to mistake them for home."

Right now, life is pretty good. But there will be moments, and have been moments, when I long for my home so much it hurts. Each stage of life is a blessing. The moments of contentment and happiness give us just the tiniest taste of heaven, but the times when the world completely forsakes us provide a beautiful bittersweet joy as we look forward to Christ's return. Some of my most intimate moments with Christ have been when I felt so overcome by pain that I didn't even want to wake up in the morning, but that's when His power was most evident as He carried me through the day. What's amazing is that even in our pain, we can receive glimpses of heaven as He reminds us just how perfect He is.

"And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.'" Revelation 21:1-4

I can't wait until He returns. These glimpses will be ours for eternity.

Inspired by articles on RelevantMagazine.com called "Everyone Wants to Go to Heaven, Just Not Yet" and "A More Materialistic Christmas."

On Heaven and Materialism

From "Transposition" by C.S. Lewis, in the book "The Weight of Glory."

Let us construct a fable. Let us picture a woman thrown into a dungeon. There she bears and rears a son. He grows up seeing nothing but the dungeon walls, the straw on the floor, and a little patch of the sky seen through the grating, which is too high up to show anything except sky. This unfortunate woman was an artist, and when they imprisoned her she managed to bring with her a drawing pad and a box of pencils. As she never loses the hope of deliverance, she is constantly teaching her son about that outer world which he has never seen.

She does it very largely by drawing him pictures. With her pencil she attempts to show him what fields, rivers, mountains, cities, and waves on a beach are like. He is a dutiful boy and he does his best to believe her when she tells him that that outer world is far more interesting and glorious than anything in the dungeon. At times he succeeds. On the whole he gets on tolerably well until, one day, he says something that gives his mother pause. For a minute or two they are at cross-purposes. Finally it dawns on her that he has, all these years, lived under a misconception.

"But," she gasps, "you didn't think that the real world was full of lines drawn in lead pencil?"

"What?" says the boy. "No pencil marks there?" And instantly his whole notion of the outer world becomes a blank. For the lines, by which alone he was imagining it, have now been denied of it. He has no idea of that which will exclude and dispense with the lines, that of which the lines were merely a transposition - the waving treetops, the light dancing on the weir, the coloured three-dimensional realities which are not enclosed in lines but define their own shapes at every moment with a delicacy and multiplicity which no drawing could ever achieve.

The child will get the idea that the real world is somehow less visible than his mother's pictures. In reality it lacks lines because it is incomparably more visible.

So with us. "We know not what we shall be" (1 John 3:2); but we may be sure we shall be more, not less, than we were on earth. Our natural experiences (sensory, emotional, imaginative) are only like the drawing, like pencilled lines on flat paper.

....

You will have noticed that most dogs cannot understand pointing. You point to a bit of food on the floor; the dog, instead of looking at the floor, sniffs at your finger. A finger is a finger to him, and that is all. His world is all fact and no meaning. And in a period when factual realism is dominant we shall find people deliberately inducing upon themselves this doglike mind. A man who has experienced love from within will deliberately go about to inspect it analytically from outside and regard the results of this analysis as truer than his experience.

As long as this deliberate refusal to understand things from above, even where such understanding is possible, continues, it is idle to talk of any final victory over materialism. The critique of every experience from below, the voluntary ignoring of meaning and concentration on fact, will always have the same plausibility. There will always be evidence, and every month fresh evidence, to show that religion is only psychological, justice only self-protection, politics only economics, love only lust, and thought itself only cerebral biochemistry.

/End C.S. Lewis, begin Becky

I'm thinking that while we should avoid a purely hedonistic view of heaven, at the same time there is no shame in picturing it as a place of great earthly pleasures. Not that they will exist there in the same sense that they exist here, but that we must associate heaven with our greatest joy. We can't deprive ourselves of picturing any pleasure in heaven simply because we can't now imagine the form it will take. We can't now imagine the incredible relationship we will have with the King, so we must take our best experiences with earthly relationships and with the Holy Spirit and combine them into a promising shadow of what will be. So the view of heaven provided for us in the Bible, a place of feasting and riches, is not an elementary one, but a way of relating for us the joy we are to obtain. And here is where God is once again so wonderful - on one hand, He tells us things we can't possibly understand and can only speculate on until we die, reminding us of His mystery and highness, but on the other hand He speaks of some of our purest, simplest pleasures being present there - aesthetic beauty and good food.

My Portion

I read The Taming of the Shrew this week. It was really funny, probably one of my favorite Shakespeare plays. Alongside it, I read chapter 8 of this “companion to Shakespeare” guide to help us understand the times better. 

“The bride’s family promised to give to the married couple a dowry made up of property, valuables (silver and jewelry, for example), and cash. This was also called the bride’s portion…”

Portion. I’ve heard this word before (I mean, other than in the context of a meal). I thought of a line in “Amazing Grace” - The Lord has promised good to me; His Word my hope secures. He will my shield and portion be as long as life endures.

If Christ is my portion…if Christ is my portion…that means everything. The church does not deserve to be the bride of Christ. Not one bit. Has there ever been a more uneven match? Has any husband (even the husband of a “shrew”) ever had such work cut out for him? Of purification, of reconciliation, of unfailing love towards a continually adulterous bride? 

In the Renaissance, a portion was a promise. It secured a husband for the bride (her primary goal in life) and ensured that the young couple would survive as they began their lives together. But once there was a bride that was so unsuited for her would-be husband, so far beneath him, that no dowry her family could possibly give would appease her fiance’s Father. However, as unattainable as this perfect husband was, he was the bride’s only hope. Without him her life would be meaningless. Without him she was nothing.

What if, instead of rejecting the bride, telling her there was no hope, that she would never have this husband, the fiance's Father allowed the marriage? Of course, before doing so, he set up plenty of ground rules to make her a better match for his Son and to save her from herself. You would think the bride, in her thankfulness, would be the best wife possible, with a constant heart and a thankful soul. But it was quite the opposite; the son did everything he could for his bride, serving her though he was infinitely above her, coming to her rescue when enemies threatened her, listening to her though he was infinitely wiser, and treasuring her as a jewel though she was far uglier than he. She, on the other hand, desired another man – charming but insincere, deceitful and selfish, alluring and dangerous, who seduced her but said she could not have him until she murdered her husband. 

So she killed her only hope.

After her hope was dead, she ran into her new lover’s arms, only to be repulsed, beaten and laughed at. He left her completely alone in despair. Of course, now and then he would come back, promising that this time he would be faithful, that this time she would find the hope and joy anew that she had killed…but she would always be left alone, scorned, in a frightening and solitary darkness. 

But the Father…the Father, though it would have been just to avenge his son, though it would have been completely fair to leave the bride to die in her hopelessness with her deceitful lover, had pity. He saw this shamed creature, saw what she could be, not the ugly thing she was, and offered her a new identity if she would only leave her unconstant lover behind. Once again, she needed no portion – only to acknowledge the sacrifice the Son had made for her and exchange her ways for his ways. And so, upon her acceptance, the Father took her to a new place, gave her a new name, gave her a new face. He made the ugly beautiful. He made the old new. He gave her the most complete love she had ever known – an eternal security and yet also an eternal adventure. And best of all, she learned that her husband had never and could never die, though he was no longer physically with her. He would forever live on to battle her deceitful enemy, who had wooed her and thrown her away, and worse, who had mocked and attacked him and his Father, until that enemy was no more. And, once recreated, once she had abandoned her old self, she was fit to join him in that battle for Good, to war against all things untrue. And fit to share in the victory when He triumphed.

Nothing less than a perfect Life was a sufficient dowry for this woman. Nothing less than complete recreation could make her see the truth and stop believing lies. And yet the Father, who is in the business of creation, gave it all willingly, for he forever gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were.  

Unveiled Faces

From The Four Loves:

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from the perturbations of love is Hell."


Some days, I look at my life with its "hobbies and little luxuries," its meaningless laughter and diversions, its imitations of love, and see an environment hostile to reality...the fragile creation of a person trying desperately to pretend ownership of my own life. It's on those days that I realize the surest path to hell is not to do evil things, but to never awaken to reality...which is why, in some ways, I'm far more worried about my rich, "good people" American friends than starving children overseas or people who have done terrible things. What do a starving child, a murderer, and a victim of the sex trade have in common? They all know there is such a thing as evil and that we by ourselves are too weak to conquer it.

A distracted environment is far more hostile to the Truth than an evil one.

It's on these days when I realize the current trappings of my life mean nothing, nor are they what I rejoice in. But what I love - that matters. And what I love is Jesus Christ, because He is the only thing that is real in a world full of unrealities, diversions, and deceit. And even when life is dark, I see His Love everywhere! In His Word, in books, in conversations, in people's eyes, in animals, in growing green things. The Creator can be seen in all of His creations, and with the new eyes He has given me, I can see beauty where before I could only see ugliness.

"To love at all is to be vulnerable." My life's goal is to have a vulnerable heart before Christ. To allow Him to hurt me so I can change for the better, to clean me up when I'm dirty and pick me up when I've fallen. To allow Him to bless me when I don't deserve it, love me when I hate others, and lead me when I want to walk in the other direction.

You can't know the Truth if you refuse to be vulnerable, nor can you know Love.


From 2 Corinthians:

And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.

My dream is for reality...not the ugly reality of this world that will pass away, but the truth of my everlasting God who will one day destroy everything that has caused pain, anger, jealousy, or hatred. That is how I try to live every day, seeking reality. I won't always write things as heavy as this, but it's important that you know why I do everything I do. Why I want to know you for who you are. Why I want us to stop pretending. Why I want you to know this Mediator between God and Man, Jesus Christ.

So that one day, we can all stand with unveiled faces before Him, finally free...and fully loved.