One year ago

This post won't be very long. I just don't have the words I need to do justice to the occasion.

Jimmy Brazell went home one year ago today. We miss him. He has taught me so much... I wonder if he knows now, or if God is waiting to let us all tell him about it ourselves.

Today was just another day, except for one difference. The difference was this: all day I wondered, what must a year in heaven be like?

Thank you, Jimmy, for making us ask ourselves things that really matter. I can't wait to experience what you are experiencing right now.

~Rachel

"It takes a lot of love to live." - Jimmy Brazell

stillness

"Life is busy and noisy -- and it allows us to forget things too difficult to think about. But there is something about a still night...
Sometimes, when the girl walked from one building to another on such a night, she would pause, and take it in. But she would soon hurry on again, slipping into the light and noise of the buildings before her fears could quite get a hold of her. 
But tonight she didn't run. She slowly sat down in the darkness, as the stillness seeped into her very being. As the hustle and bustle subsided, everything came to the surface. 
The weight and depth of her thoughts and emotions were overwhelming. 
The bittersweet memories. The gentle nostalgia. The deep longing. The dull grief. The warm joy. The cold fear. 
She closed her eyes. She wanted to flee back to the blissful oblivion of noise. But she stayed. The night didn't cause these things; it simply exposed them. She couldn't avoid them forever. 
Slowly, she confronted all these hidden things, one by one. The thoughts, the memories, the emotions. She forced herself to admit the existence of things she wanted to ignore. 
That bitterness remained. That grief, shoved aside, still festered and ached in some forgotten corner. That desire was as strong as it had ever been..."

I've heard it said that the early church fathers believed every strong Christian had to spend time in the desert. I don't think it was really the physical desert itself that made them stronger -- the heat and sand, the caves and camels.
I think it was the silence.
Silence is a beam that pierces to the darkest corners of the heart. Silence is a knife that carves away the concealing fronts the mind constructs. Silence is a hand that rips away the veil that covered the blistering turmoil within the soul.
It is in the silence that we can hear a still, small whisper.
If we find ourselves feeling alone, perhaps what God is really trying to do is make us be silent for a time. Sometimes, silence is what is truly needed.

"We live, in fact, in a world starved for solitude, silence, and private: and therefore starved for meditation and true friendship."
- CS Lewis

"Be still and know that I am God." 
- Psalm 46

"He's not a tame Lion."

Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

- 2 Corinthians 12:8-10

Sometimes I read this thinking, "Lord, are You seriously telling me that Paul, a traveling preacher could serve You more effectively with a physical weakness than without it?"
In my mind, if I'm going to pick someone to travel around the known world preaching, and then sit in prison for a couple years, I'm going to pick someone who is going to be healthy. Or, if the right person really does have some physical injury and I had the power of healing, I would heal them. That's miracle enough, right? Can't God show Himself strong through healing?
Moreover, it just floors me that Paul's response is that he is content with the situation. If I were Paul, and God told me what He told Paul, I would flip right over to John 9 and say, "Hey, instead of this whole strength in weakness thing, how about You just display your power through healing me? That sounds like a way better plan, if You ask me."

But God doesn't seem to be in the business of doing things our way. 

And what more shall I say? For time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets— who through faith conquered kingdoms, enforced justice, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, were made strong out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. Women received back their dead by resurrection. Some were tortured, refusing to accept release, so that they might rise again to a better life. Others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were killed with the sword. They went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, afflicted, mistreated— of whom the world was not worthy—wandering about in deserts and mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth.

- Hebrews 11

All were heroes of the faith. But not all proved their faith in the same ways. Some conquered kingdoms, others were tortured. Some obtained promises, others were mocked and flogged. Some stopped the mouths of lions, others stoned. Some quenched the violence of fire, others sawn in two. Some received their dead back to life, others were themselves killed. And not a single one got to decide which part of the list they were on.

As I pray, I often pray to be on the earlier part of the list. Please let me glorify Your name by unexpected success -- not excruciating loss.

Facing the very real possibility that God may not answer my prayers the way I want in certain areas, I'm very tempted to panic. I have literally been on my knees, in tears, begging God to act in a certain way as I suddenly realize how true it is that He is not required to do it my way.

I may not be on the list of those conquering kingdoms, being healed of physical infirmities, and receiving my dead back to life. I may be on the list of those who glorify God by how well they walk in the fire.

"He is not a tame Lion."

I never really thought about that line in Chronicles of Narnia. Now, I suddenly understand. Just because I pray, and beg, and desperately want God to act in a certain way... He may not. He is not my Santa Claus or my vending machine. He is God.

But perhaps that is the essence of trust and surrender. Trust isn't trust if you know what the other person will do. Trust is not knowing -- but knowing it will always be the right thing. It may not be easy, it may not be what I want, I may not understand for a very, very long time why God did what He did. Trust and surrender mean knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that all God's ways are righteous -- knowing it so much that it brings true contentment and peace.

"He is not a tame Lion. But He is good."

Me and Bob

I committed to post once a week on Sundays, but I don't really have anything to say tonight, so I'm posting something old. I wrote this a week or two before school let out. Lake Bob is the retaining pond behind my dorm.
I post this expecting readers to understand a couple things. First, it's a bit dramatic because it makes for a more fun piece to write. Second, I promise you don't have to worry about me. It's just a bit of reflection.
With that explanation, proceed with caution. :)

--

She remembered standing on the edge of the ocean on a stormy night. “Wait,” she had put her hand out and stopped her friend, “I want to show you something.” “Okay,” her friend was confused, but willing. The girl had closed her eyes, faced the ocean, and tilted her face toward the sky. The constant roar of the waves drowned out all else. Such power – she couldn’t even comprehend it.
Bob was a poor substitute for the ocean, to put it kindly. In fact, Lake Bob was even a poor substitute for a lake. But on this night, with emotions raging wild and mind threatening to go kaput, anything would be better than the lights and noise inside. Even Bob.
She trudged out to the lake in silence, feeling moisture creep into her shoes from the wet grass. She stopped at the path surrounding the lake and stood quietly staring at the little body of water. She took a deep breath and waited. Ah, yes… she could feel her emotions responding to the quietness of the night. Slowing, slowing… it was good to be able to hear herself think again.
 So maybe Bob wasn’t all that magnificent, but he was certainly calming. In the darkness, she could ignore the scum clinging to his edges, and the geese had long gone to bed. Yes, she did owe a debt of gratitude to Bob, regardless of his status as a retaining pond. He listened quietly when she needed to vent and didn’t try to offer vain solutions when she cried. She had many times come out at night to sit beside humble Bob until her soul became quiet again.
 The girl dropped her head back. It was a clear night. She glanced back at Bob, gently reflecting the college lights on his dark surface. Hmm. She crept closer to the edge of the lake until she just toed the edge, and peered in. The moon and stars gently projected wavering ghosts of themselves onto his smooth, dark face. He looked so much deeper at night.
She leaned back on her heals and gazed at Lake Bob thoughtfully. She suddenly felt a bit of sympathy for his existence. Maybe they weren’t all that different, she and this scummy, old retaining pond. Both were small and unimpressive. Neither were terribly attractive in their nature when exposed to the bright light of midday. Both had collected a good deal of scum around the edges, and no one really knew what lay beneath their shallow, and yet somehow still impenetrable, depths. Both were filled with a good deal of gunk collected off the streets. But somehow, both were still able to fulfill some purpose, and maybe even hold a bit of beauty, if one knew where to look for it.
She knew that feeling of grime and shame; that wondering what role such a pitiful existence could play. She craned her neck to see the stars reflected in this pathetic little lake.
“And somehow, when we are alone and still,” she said quietly, “Even us, my friend, can reflect the magnificence above us.”
And maybe, this simple ability of reflection, kept this quiet, little existence from being so miserable and useless after all.

The Kingdom of God

"Seek ye first the Kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you." - Matthew 6:33

If you are to find what you are seeking, you must first know what you are looking for. So I did a quick phrase-search to see just what I am after.

We are seeking a Kingdom

That is small like a seed, but will grow into the largest tree (Luke 13:19)
That in small portions, leavens the whole lump (Luke 13:20)
That does not come in ways that can be observed, but is in the midst of us (Luke 17:20)
That is at hand (Mark 1:15)
That is not a matter of eating and drinking but of righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit (Romans 14:17)
That is not inherited by flesh and blood (1 Corinthians 15:50)
That is difficult to enter for the wealthy (Mark 10:23)
That belongs to the childlike (Luke 18:16)
That is like the growth of seeds -- we do the planting, and God does the rest (Mark 4:26)
For which those who put their hand to the plow and turn back are not fit (Luke 9:62)
That people cannot see unless they are born again (John 3:3)
That belongs to the poor in spirit and the persecuted (Matthew 5)
That belongs to those who accept the invitation (Matthew 22)
That belongs to those who show mercy (Matthew 18)
That belongs to those who wait expectantly (Mathew 25)
That has suffered violence (Matthew 11:12)
That is like a hidden treasure that we sacrifice everything for (Matthew 13:34-35)
Belongs equally to all who enter (Matthew 20)
That consists not of talk, but of power (1 Corinthians 4:20)
 And so much more. 

It is not a Kingdom at all like an earthly Kingdom. It seems so backwards, so hard, so upside down.

But so worth it.

Worth it all

"When I survey the wondrous Cross, on which the Prince of Glory died, 
My richest gain I count but loss, and pour contempt on all my pride.
Forbid it Lord that I should boast, save in the death of Christ my God. 
All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood." 

I have only read the first two and a half chapters of Radical by David Platt, and already it is challenging my view of what it means to really follow Jesus. I've started to wonder what harbored habits have to go, what little luxuries are not as innocent as they seem, in what small ways I have begun to flirt with materialism. I have said I am following a Man who was abandoned by friends, rejected by most, and condemned to die by the authorities. I have said I am standing with His followers, who, yes, conquered kingdoms, enforced justice, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, were made strong out of weakness, became mighty in war, and put foreign armies to flight, but who  were also tortured, suffered mocking and flogging, chains and imprisonment, were stoned, sawn in two, killed, and went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, afflicted, and mistreated. I didn't make up that list, it's in the Bible. That's the side I stand on, and yet I walk in ease and comfort, offending none. It seems a little unlikely. I have started to ponder what I am to do, not just think. I've started to think that maybe, this path I have chosen will be even harder than I originally imagined. 


These are high-risk thoughts to think -- the outcome could end life as I know it. I may have to wish the American Dream goodbye. After all, Jesus never told us it would be easy -- in fact, He told us it would be downright difficult. 


In order to even begin thinking about these things (much less beginning to come to any conclusions), one very foundational truth had to be in place. 


Jesus said it would be hard. He also said it would be worth it all. 


In Matthew 13, in both the parable of the hidden treasure and the parable of the pearl of great value, Jesus says that the man and the merchant sold all they had. The call of Christ, it would seem, invariably involves sacrifice. But they sell everything for a treasure, for a pearl of great price. They didn't give up what they had because they had to. They gave up all they had because they had found something infinitely better, and they wanted it. 


David Platt describes the parable of the hidden treasure this way: 

"You know in the end you are not really giving away anything at all. Instead, you are gaining. Yes, you are abandoning everything you have, but you are also gaining more than you could have in any other way. So with joy -- with joy! -- you sell it all, you abandon it all. Why? Because you have found something worth losing everything for." 

This year has made me think about eternity more and more. The death of two young men I knew has cemented the reality of heaven into my mind indelibly. It's nearly impossible to have heaven on your mind for any length of time, and still really believe that the things of this world are of much consequence. The more I think about heaven, the less important the world seems. After all, I only have to be in one forever. 


It's kind of like going to a beach house. My family went and stayed in a friend's beach house for a week after I got back from college to have some family time. Don't get me wrong, it was a nice beach house. It was far from perfect, however. The beds there weren't as comfortable as my bed at home. The carpet wasn't my favorite color. It was smaller, and we all had to share rooms. So, of course, we remodeled the whole thing, bought new furniture, repainted the walls...


Of course not! That would be silly. After all, we're only staying there for a week. Better to use our money to make the house we live in all the time liveable. Isn't that the same as our lives on earth when you start thinking about heaven? You invest your money in the house you're going to spend the most time in -- we ought to invest our time, energy, and yes, money in the Kingdom we are going to spend the most time in also. 

"Or, in the words of Jesus, "Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." [Matthew 6:19-21]


Giving up earthly treasures for treasures in heaven is always worth it. 


But I don't think it's just heaven that makes it all worth it. Maybe, just maybe, it's worth it on earth too. 


I'm not advocating getting your perspective on life from Bon Jovi. However, in the song (the only song by him I listen to),  "Livin' on a Prayer," he describes Tommy and Gina's hard life. He continues to say  that they've got to hold on to what they've got, they've got each other, and that's a lot. There seems to be a sense that earthly poverty can be endured, so long as you are with someone you love. 


Okay, so that's enough mushy, feel-good talk. But look at the application. I don't know about you, but I think I would rather walk through a hard life with Jesus, who loves me more than any earthly person every could, beside me than walk through the American Dream alone. I would rather speak with my Redeemer every morning in a jail cell than be the subject of another lonely millionaire story. We are willing to say we would rather be with family and friends in a small house than alone in a mansion. Why is it such a far leap to say we would rather be with Jesus in a hut than alone in a castle? It's the love of Jesus that makes even the love of family and friends pale in comparison. 


Jesus is worth it all. 


I do not yet have the ability to say, unequivocally, that I want to give up every earthly possession and friendship that I have. I can say, however, that if that what it takes to have Jesus, then it's worth it. 


I have leaned for far too long on the the sweet, frail frames of this earth. Too many times I have forgone the sustenance of heaven for the tempting dainties this world offers. They have failed me too many times. Clinging to a blood-stained cross on a lonely hill, I found I am far richer than when ruling my castles of sand. 


I do not know what God will ask me to give up, turn away from, or sacrifice in the days, months, and years to come. I do not know what trials, persecutions, or valleys I will have to walk through. I do not know what others may think of me, or how they will treat me. But I know this. It will not be a burden or a sorrowful thing to sacrifice these things, anymore than it was a burden for the man to sell all his possessions to gain the treasure in the field.


If in the end, I have Jesus, then it is worth it all.

Thankful for the Fleas

We lay back, struggling against the nausea that swept over us from the reeking straw. We could hear the women who had arrived with us finding their places.
Suddenly I sat up, striking my head on the cross-slats above. Something had pinched my leg.
"Fleas!" I cried. "Betsie, the place is swarming with them!"
We scrambled across the intervening platforms, heads low to avoid another bump, dropping down to the aisle, and edged our way to a patch of light.
"Here! And here another one!" I wailed. "Betsie, how can we live in such a place!"
"Show us. Show us how." It was said so matter of factly it took me a second to realize she was praying. More and more the distinction between prayer and the rest of life seemed to be vanishing for Betsie.
"Corrie!" she said excitedly. "He's given us the answer! Before we asked, as He always does! In the Bible this morning. Where was it? Read that part again!"
I glanced down the long dim aisle to make sure no guard was in sight, then drew the Bible from its pouch.
"It was in First Thessalonians," I said. We were on our third complete reading of the New Testament since leaving Schevingen. In the feeble light I turned the pages.
"Here it is: 'Comfort the frightened, help the weak, be patient with everyone. See that none of you repays evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to all...'" It seemed written expressly to Ravensbruck.
"Go on," said Betsie. "That wasn't all."
"Oh yes: '... to one another and to all. Rejoice always, pray constantly, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus--"
"That's in, Corrie! That's his answer. 'Give thanks in all circumstances!' That's what we can do. We can start right now to thank God for every single thing about this new barracks!"
I stared at her, then around at me at the dark, foul-aired room.
"Such as?" I said.
"Such as being assigned here together."
I bit my lip. "Oh yes, Lord Jesus!"
"Such as what you're holding in your hands."
I looked down at the Bible. "Yes!" Thank You, dear Lord, that there was no inspection when we entered here! Thank you for all the women, here in this room, who will meet You in these pages."
"Yes," said Betsie. "Thank You for the very crowding here. Since we're packed so close, that many more will hear!" She looked at me expectantly. "Corrie!" she prodded.
"Oh, all right. Thank you for the jammed, crammed, stuffed, packed, suffocating crowds."
"Thank You," Betsie went on serenely, "for the fleas and for--"
The fleas! This was too much.
"Betsie, there's no way even God can make me grateful for a flea."
"'Give thanks in all circumstances,'" she quoted. "It doesn't say, 'in pleasant circumstance.' Fleas are part of this place where God has put us."
And so we stood between piers of bunks and gave thanks for fleas. But this time I was sure Betsie was wrong.
--
At first, Betsie and I called these [Bible] meetings with great timidity. But as night after night went by and no guard ever came near us, we grew bolder. So many now wanted to join us that we held a second service after evening roll call. There on the Lagerstrasse we were under rigid surveillance, guards in their warm wool capes marching constantly up and down. It was the same in the center room of the barracks: half a dozen guards or camp police were always present. Yet in the large dormitory room there was almost no supervision. We did not understand it.
--
Betsie was waiting for me, as always, so that we could wait through the food line together. Her eyes were twinkling.
"You're looking extraordinarily pleased with yourself," I told her.
"You know we've never understood why we had so much freedom in the big room," she said. "Well-- I've found out."
That afternoon, she said, there'd been confusion in her knitting group about sock sizes and they'd asked the supervisor to come and settle it.
"But she wouldn't. She wouldn't step through the door and neither would the guards. And you know why?"
Betsie could not keep the triumph from her voice: "Because of the fleas! That's what she said, 'That place is crawling with fleas!'"
My mind rushed back to our first hour in this place. I remembered Betsie's bowed head, remembered her thanks to God for the creatures that I could see no use for. 

-The Hiding Place; Corrie ten Boom

I recently finished The Hiding Place for the first time. It's an amazing book that everyone should read. There are so many powerful quotes and passages. This one stuck out particularly to me when I read it, because the application to my life was so obvious.
There have been a few specific situations this week where something has irritated me, and I found out later that if it hadn't been for those minor irritations, I would have missed out on an enormous blessing. I am not going to tell the story -- somehow, it seems petty to talk about my little irritations right after reading about Corrie's experience in a concentration camp as if they somehow compare. Besides, who of us can't think of our own story about the moment where we suddenly understood that God's plan really is better?
It's one thing to thank God for the big hard things, knowing it will grow us, or to look back later and say, 'oh, I get it!' It's a different ball game entirely to look at all the small, annoying things going on this afternoon -- the traffic, the scheduling issues, the lost item, the low battery, the fleas, and thank God ahead of time.
I, personally, am tired of constantly looking back and apologizing for complaining about something that turned out to be in my benefit. Maybe it's high time I just learned the lesson. Maybe it's time to have a little faith, exercise a little trust, and say 'thank you' things don't go my way. God doesn't have to prove Himself to me, but He has done so over and over again, and yet I fail to trust Him when something goes wrong.

I resolve to thank God for the fleas in my life, and rest in the knowledge that everything works to the good of those who love God, even if we don't see them. Will you join me?