it's not fair.

I’m a fairly average consumer.  I rent a two-bedroom apartment.  I get my groceries from the shop down the street.  I buy a few clothes when I need them (or the “shopping urge” hits, which is actually seldom).  I do have a rather large sewing addiction, which means boo-coos of fabric.  But other than that, I would say my lifestyle is moderate.  I’m not overly-conscious, but I’m not extravagant either, so I figure it all balances out somewhere in the middle.

Then I took this survey and found out I have 34 slaves working for me.  Suddenly, my fairly moderate lifestyle doesn’t seem very “fair.”  And honestly, that number is probably on the low end of reality, especially when I start including all the things the survey didn’t ask about (like the boo-coos of fabric I’ve got stashed away).

The numbers get worse.  There are nearly 30 MILLION people trapped in modern day slavery.  Forced labor and human trafficking is a $32 BILLION a year industry.  It’s happening on every continent.  It’s embedded into the production of goods from every corner of the market.  The food we eat.  The clothes we buy.  The electronics we love.  The sports we play.  The beauty products we use.  Almost everything is influenced by slave labor at some point.

The problem comes from a lack of transparency in the supply chain, and it appears that most companies have a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy when it comes to the manufacturing processes their products go through.  Let’s use that fabric I love so much as an example.  I buy it from a retailer, who gets it from a manufacturer, who prints their designs on plain cotton fabric from a factory in China or India, who gets their cotton from fields in Uzbekistan, one of the largest cotton exporters in the world.  That’s all sounds fine and dandy, until learning that over 2 million children in Uzbekistan are forced to pick cotton to meet the government-imposed production quotas.  Any one of those children could be counted in the 34 slaves that are working for me.  

Of course, we would all agree that this is unacceptable.   But am I being too harsh to just assume that my fabric is supplied through forced labor?  And if it is, who’s to blame?  Surely a company wouldn’t willing source unethical product, right?  So I sent several US-based manufacturing companies an email asking what they had to say about their own supply chains.  Only one company responded.  All they could tell me was that their fabric comes from China.  Things aren’t looking good.

So what can we do?  Organizations like Made in a Free World, Not for Sale, and End it Movement are trying to raise awareness of modern day slavery.  But awareness alone doesn’t implement change.  There must be a call to action.  A demand for products manufactured through fair labor practices.  As consumers, we can make our voice heard.  Supporting companies that are accountable to ethical manufacturing can begin to reform the marketplace.   We can join Made in a Free World in saying "Let’s get slavery out of our system!"

scarlet hope.

You know how I love to turn college assignments into blog posts!  Here's another one for you, from a recent paper on Rahab.  (In case you're not familiar with how two Israelite spies find themselves in the hands of a Canaanite prostitute, you can find the story here).

Rahab was all wrong.  The wrong race.  The wrong gender.  The wrong profession.  She was a Canaanite.  She was a woman.  She was a whore.  She was marginalized, pushed to the fringes, literally living on the perimeter of her community. 

Rahab didn’t grow up in Sunday school, being taught all the right things to believe about God.  She may not have been able to recite the Ten Commandments or be familiar with what animal to sacrifice on what day for what sin.  But she did know a few things: She knew that Yahweh had given the Israelites the land and she knew that was a reason to be scared to death.  She knew that Yahweh had done incredible things already.  She knew that there was only one Yahweh.  And that he ruled over heaven and earth and everything else.  She knew that Yahweh valued all things hesed—mercy and faithfulness and kindness.  She knew enough to chose his side when two kingdoms knocked on her door.  And so he chose to use her.  Right where she was.  In the midst of her brothel.  He used her to keep his spies safe.  He used her to give Joshua another chance to make the right decision.  He used her to remind the Israelites of his faithfulness.  He used her to conquer Jericho.  He used her to bring the Messiah that would conquer Hades.  He used her to encourage Christ-followers across space and time to remain faithful.  

She had been used before.  In countless ways by countless men.  But that didn’t stop Yahweh from using her faith to bless His people and fulfill His promises.  He still chose her.  He absorbed her into the nation of Israel.  He gave her significance.  He redeemed and restored her.  And he gave her rest in his land.

The situation of many women (and men, if we're being honest) looks exactly like Rahab’s.  Enslaved by their circumstance.  Exploited in their weakness.  Ignored by society.  The situation of others looks nothing like Rahab’s.  They’re not all wrong.  In fact, they’re almost all right.  Almost.  But they still feel enslaved.  Exploited.  Ignored.

Like Rahab, we all mess up.  We let the world use us in countless ways.  We invite the Enemy in.  We sell ourselves over to him.  We let him strip us of our identity, our confidence, our freedom, our value.  And because we believe his lies, we convince ourselves that we belong in the dark corners of the perimeter. 

But we can, like Rahab, confess that Yahweh is sovereign Lord over all creation.  We can make a choice for radical change.  We can humble ourselves to Yahweh’s will so that he can draw us into himself.  We can we find redemption, restoration, and rest in him.

time to wake up.

Meet my hero.  His name is Daddy.

A long time ago, I wrote this post explaining just a few of the reasons why I love him so-stinking-much.

Tonight the list gets longer.  Because today my Daddy faced his longest dream.  I won't go in to details.  It's not my dream to share.  And the details don't really matter as much as the fact that (today) my Daddy faced them.

"Facing" isn't a posture we typically associated with "dreams."  It seems to fit more naturally with things we want to avoid.  Like fears.  Consequences.  Disturbing facts.  Ugly truth.  But there is a dark side to all our dreams that is easy to avoid.  Dreams are scary.  They force us to move away from what is comfortable.  Engage the unknown.  Embrace risk.  Make ourselves vulnerable to the embarrassment of failure.  Sometimes it's just easier to live with the delicious ambiguity of our dreams than to actually take the step toward making them come true.  Sometimes we've been holding on to a dream for so long that the thought of losing it to reality is too much to handle.  Sometimes dreams are so fantastic and outrageous that we resign ourselves to the fact that that's all they'll ever be... dreams.

Like I said, dreams are scary.

Today my Daddy was brave.  Today he faced his dream.  Today he woke up and made his dream reality.  I am so proud of him.

dye this.

When I was younger (like last year and all the years before), I totally missed the point of Easter.  Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know... it's about Jesus dying on the cross for me and the fairy tale ending of the resurrection.  And eggs! And bunnies! And chocolate! And pretty new dresses!  Honestly, waking up to a basket the Easter bunny left and finding the most eggs in the hunt after church kinda over-shadowed that first part.

Until this year.

My faith is changing.  Slowly, my Creator is bringing me to a new understanding of my relationship with Him.  But all this talk about being blue and treasured and righteous hinges on one single moment in history.  The resurrection.

It's not enough to believe that I was made by God.  Or that He loves me.  Or even that He sent His only Son to die for me.  Don't get me wrong, all of that stuff is important.  It's just not the point.  In fact, without the resurrection, it's actually all point-less.  Without the resurrection, Christ's perfection is wasted on the grave.  Without the resurrection, Christ's sacrifice is noble, but insufficient.  Without the resurrection, sin and death win the battle for my soul.

But the resurrection changes everything.  The power of Death died the moment Christ rose from the tomb.  By conquering Death once and for all, Christ sealed a new future for all who believe in Him.  He became the Way to this relationship I've been talking about.  His perfection becomes my perfection.  His sacrifice becomes my sacrifice.  His resurrection becomes my resurrection.  His life becomes my life.

The old is gone.  The new is here.  Praise God!

At the death of death

where love and justice kiss

We were born to sin

and only you forgive

In your final breath

grace and mercy win

At the death of death

You died and rose again

(The Death of Death, Charlie Hall Band)

blue.

Last semester, I wrote a paper on Romans 6.  After reading and re-reading and researching and writing and wrestling with what I thought I understood, something began to change:

I used to think that Jesus was blue and I was red and that when God looked at me (through Christ) he saw me as purple, a mixture of the perfection of Christ with my complete inadequacy.  But after studying Romans 6 and the implications it has for new life and freedom from sin, it’s clear that I was mistaken.  That mixed state of purple doesn’t exist.  Because of my union with Christ in his death, burial and resurrection, I’ve been made perfect.  I’ve been completely redeemed.  That means that when God looks at me, all he sees is the new creation that I am in Christ.  I’m completely blue.  My old red self is dead.  Wiped out.  No hint of it remains. 

My only response then, is to live my new life as he intended.  I’ve already been released from the power of sin, so why do I continue to live like I’m controlled by it?  Satan knows that if he can convince me that the chains are still there, then I will live my life in fear of sin, afraid of messing up, afraid of falling back into that old life that separated me from God.  He tries to convince me that new life only exists as a future promise, that it only applies to the eternal, that the only way for me to get there is to be as “good” as possible, to prove that I really belong.  Even though he’s already been defeated, he tries to hold me down under the power of sin for as long as he can.  He tries to keep me from experiencing the fullness of my new life in Christ that is available to me now. 

So I sit there, with my hands behind my back.  Believing that I'm shackled to my sin.  Wasting energy defending myself against an unarmed assailant.  Wasting time waiting for a future life of freedom that has already been offered.  Being free from sin isn’t about always choosing to not do “bad” things.  If I’m being “good” but living in fear of the “bad” (or even of not being “good” enough), then I’m allowing sin to remain in control.  I’m not living my freedom.  I’m not living the new life that has already been given to me. 

Being alive to God in Christ is about claiming my color.  It’s about living like I know who I belong to.  I am blue.  I am God’s.  On the cross.  In the grave.  Resurrected.  Now.  Forever.  Sin has no power over me.  Full stop.

Shrieks and squeals don't even cover the half of it.

I'm having an excitement breakdown!!!  Seriously, I'm a total basket-case of squeals and shivers and spontaneous tears.  I shot awake at 4am this morning and haven't calmed down since.  Figured I may as well try and get some school work done.  Instead, I spent an hour stalking my own sisters on Facebook and getting more and more excited about stepping off the plane in 65 HOURS!!!

Oh, and that paper I should be working on... couldn't concentrate.  Too.  Much.  Excitement.  But I did manage to write a list of all things that keep distracting me from doing what needs to be done:

*hugs.  hugs.  and more hugs.
*mexican food.
*petting my wonderful-monster-of-a-dog.
*sitting on the couch with my Daddy.
*meeting Mooly for lunch.
*the quilting store.
*sonic happy hour.
*driving.
*decorating the christmas tree.
*sitting on the couch with my sisters.
*target.
*all the places i get to go... Lubbock, Searcy, Atlanta, Tuscaloosa.
*all the people i get to worship with... at Highland Oaks, at University, at Passion.
*all the conversations i get to have... about God's faithfulness, about his love, about how blessed i am to see his mighty hand sweeping people toward himself.
*sitting on the couch with my bestest friends.
*my birthday.
*christmas.
*spending that birthday and christmas with my family-in-person, instead of with my-family-on-skype.
*more mexican food.
*lunch with Betsy.
*more fabric.
*doing a little sewing on a Bernina, with that awesome knee-bar i love so much.
*walking my wonderful-monster-of-a-dog.
*the right side of the road.
*hobby lobby.
*more hugs.
*more happy hour.
*sunday morning bagels at einstein's.
*drinking coffee with my sisters.
*shopping for jeans and knowing what size to grab.
*turbo fire and bodypump and crossfit and sweating with my sisters.
*more mexican food.
*more sitting on the couch with my daddy.  or in his office. or in starbucks.
*more places, more people, more conversation, more worship.

Only 64.5 hours left!!!

One more thing I'm super-excited about: electrical outlets in the bathroom!  i just might accidentally electrocute myself with giddiness.

Dissatisfaction: When Culture distorts Creation

The following is a very brief excerpt from not-so-brief paper on "consumerism" I recently wrote for my Faith in Contemporary Culture class at the Irish Bible Institute.  I hope reading it challenges you as much as writing it did me.  Spoiler alert: it may cause you to re-think The List you sent Santa :)

God created humanity to consume.  Not even our most basic needs can be met without consuming external resources.  We need air to breath.  We need food to eat.  We need to consume to survive.  All of these processes remind us that we are not self-sufficient.  We cannot sustain our own existence.  We need outside help.  This speaks to the very core of our divine purpose.  God designed us to desire something greater than ourselves, something that can only be satisfied through a relationship with him.  But as a result of the fall, humanity’s first reach for self-reliance and instant gratification, our desires become misplaced.  We begin to search for the restoration of our lost satisfaction in material things, all the while drifting further away from the abundant life offered through the consumption of our Creator.

We trade-in God for the newest thing on the market.   We allow our desires to be manipulated and our identities to be distorted by the every-increasing yearning for more stuff.  We chase significance through material possession, becoming distracted from the promise of total fulfillment in God.  Our constant dissatisfaction makes us incapable of enjoying abundance in him.    

Finding fulfillment in the richness of our Creator provides a way for Christians to begin reversing the shifts caused by consumerism.  We can return from individualism to community.  From selfishness to sacrifice.  From consumption to discipleship.  In this way we become more than consumers, we become producers, “active and creative participants in the material world” finally realizing “our true vocation as sharers in the creative activity of God."

You can never go home again

What a horrifying thought!

I bought my plane ticket home on July 16th.  That was 144 days ago.  More than 20 weeks.  Almost 5 months.  I thought December 13th would never come!  I tried not to think about it too much.  Time never passes quickly when you think about it.  Excitement can make time hard to ignore.  Somehow, I did it though.  December 13th is only 6 days away!  Instead of weeks and months, I can finally count hours and minutes and heartbeats (approximately 570,800 in case you're wondering, although excitement does make my heart beat faster, so that number may spontaneously increase).

All I need to do is finish writing two papers for school.  That's all that stands between me and the joy of home.  So why can't I write them?  I've never been one for getting things done early, I've always preferred the last-minute.  But this feels different.  This doesn't feel like procrastination.  It feels more like hiding.

Then my Daddy sent me a picture of a sleeping Dakota.  The Dakota I left behind a year and a half ago when I came to Ireland.  The Dakota that I can't pet through Skype.  The Dakota that I can't wait to see in 6 days.  And the tears started pouring down my face.  What if my heart can't handle it?  All this excitement and joy and love for Home that I've been holding inside for so long.  Suddenly, 6 weeks at Home doesn't seem like long enough.

And then a rush of What If's overwhelms me:
What if I can't let go of my Daddy's neck at the airport?
What if Dakota isn't over-the-moon-pee-in-your-pants excited to see me?
What if I don't have time to see everyone I miss?
What if Mexican food doesn't taste as good as I remember?
What if I forget to drive on the right side of the road?
What if I can't say goodbye a second time?
What if I don't want to come back to This-Home-Here?

So I'm hiding behind 2 unwritten papers.  They're the only thing separating me from the excruciating mix of excitement and fear that is wreaking havoc on this heart of mine.  This heart that longs for Home.  This heart that's afraid Home won't be Home anymore.

But my heart cannot condemn me because my Creator is greater than my heart.  He knows everything.  And my heart is set at rest in His presence.  I belong to His truth.  He's enough Home for me. (I John 3:19-21)

Rantings of a crazy heart.

It's late.  Almost 2 AM.  I've been trying to do better.  I took my melatonin.  I turned off the computer.  I put my phone on "shhhhhh."  I had tea bags on my eyes.  It's all part of my bed-time-routine.

Well, apparently my brain didn't get the bed-time memo.  Apparently my brain wants to go for a rant.  So much for the routine.  It's time to let the rage out.

Time to point some fingers at a hypocrite.  Yep, I'm talking to me.  Over here.  And not because I'm up past my bed-time.

I've spent the last more-than-several hours working on an essay about leadership.  The assignment said I needed to pick a biblical character to use as a case-study.  I picked Esther.  I figured it'd be good choice... you know, woman-to-woman-wise.  I've been writing about how important it is for a leader to have a personal identity firmly established in Christ.  It kinda goes hand in hand with that segullah soap-box I tend to shout from. 

So that's what I was thinking about when I was trying to fall asleep.  Then it hit me.  Am I living that way?  Does my life and attitude and character scream "TREASURED!!!"?

No.  It doesn't.  If it did, I wouldn't be riddled with guilt.  Not big guilt.  Just pesky guilt.  Like somebody shot me in the leg with a round of "guilt pellets."  It didn't kill me.  I didn't even lose my leg.  But now I walk a little funny.  And every now and then, I can feel those pesky-pellets that I never bothered to remove.

My head knows I'm treasured.  My head knows my Creator delights in me.  But somehow, my heart doesn't always know the same things as my head.  That's where things like body image and success and future like to set-up camp.  In that little dark space of disconnect between my head and my heart.  And they feed on the pesky guilt.  And then they start to grow.  Into big Lies. 

Lies say my body should look different.  Guilt says it's my fault it doesn't.  Afterall, if I went to the gym and quit eating all that yummy stuff, then it could.

Lies say success should be a certain way.  Guilt says it's my fault it isn't.  Afterall, if I'd just put a little more time and effort into things, they'd be better. 

Lies say my future is when everything'll finally get worked out.  Guilt says it's my fault is hasn't already.  Afterall, today is yesterday's future, and it feels pretty much the same as the day before.

No wonder there's no room for all that stuff my head knows.  There's too many flippin' Lies wandering around.  That's why, tonight, my head needs to rant.  Really loud.  So my heart can hear it over the noise of all the Lies.  So that I can be still and know.  He is God.  My Creator.  And I am his Segullah.  His most-treasured-one. 

No matter what Lies and Guilt say.

MVP: A lesson in ancient vocabulary

Segullah.  Most valuable possession.  One tiny Hebrew word.  Packed with so much significance.  The single answer to that cliche question: If your house was burning down and you could only grab one thing, what would it be?  Segullah.

The house was on fire.  Hot flames.  Thick smoke.  I was trapped in fear and darkness.  But my Creator came back for me.  He rescued me from eternal destruction.  He claimed me as His segullah.  I am His treasured possession.  He has proven it over and over.  He set His affection on me.  He loves me.  He chooses me.  He fights in my defense and defends my fight.  He pursues my heart.  He protects me in the midst of my carelessness.  He remaines faithful through my unfaithfulness.  He continually refuses to let me go despite my wandering.  He draws me ever closer to Him.  He encamps around me.  He hems me in.  He treasures me because I am His segullah.
 
Last week, I spent 9 days surrounded by 9-16 year-old-girls at Camp Shamrock.  Some of them believe in God.  Some of them don't.  But my desire was the same for each of them.  That in every conversation, every word they heard me say, they would be sure of this one thing: they are treasured.  Chosen.  Loved.  Wanted.  Cherished.  They are His segullah.  Created to be valued.

Yahweh your God has chosen you out of all the peoples on the face of the earth to be his people, his TREASURED POSSESSION. --Deut. 7:6

But you a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God's SPECIAL POSSESSION, that you may declare the praises of him that called you out of darkness and into his wonderful light. --1 Pet. 2:9

Fourth of July... Emerald Isle style

I gotta admit that celebrating the 4th of July in Ireland was possibly more fun than celebrating in the USA (despite the lack of spectacular displays of patriotic pyrotechnics, of course).  To get in an independent-frame-of-mind, I ate a PB&J sandwich with my firecracker nails.  And made a couple of red, white, and blue fruit pizzas for the big party Shay and Juli hosted.  I even wore one of Denise's aprons.  I feel like a cupcake... sans sprinkles.

The fruit pizzas, along with burgers, hot dogs, apple pie, and a friendly game of whiffle ball were enjoyed by this group of folks.  Though the Americans were definitely in the minority, we had a great time sharing our favorite cultural past times with all our Irish, German, Polish, Hungarian, Argentine, and Cuban friends.

In an attempt to share the holiday love with my sisters, I created little 4th of July inspired WeeMee versions of them.  Oh, they're so adorable... just like my real-life sisters.

Lessons from silver linings.

My laptop got stolen last night.  During a softball game.  At least 8 cars were broken into.  Juli's was one of them.  I know, I know... I shouldn't have left it in the car, but "the car park is out of the way" and "we park here all the time" and "I don't want it to get rained on" and "it'll be fine in the back of the van."  Wrong.

I sent Shay down to the car park to check things out as soon as we got word that several cars had been hit.  The one, tiny flicker of hope I had was already being snuffed out by the sinking feeling in my stomach.  Of all the days to have my computer with me, why did it have to be this one?

My phone rang.  It was Shay.  Calling to tell me what I already knew.  It was gone.  Along with my oh-so-awesome orange Patagonia bag that I'd had since college, 30 euro, the Smith's satnav, and Shay's 3 euro sunglasses.

My first thought was about all the things that were stolen with my laptop.  The things that are inside of it.  The things that are worthless to the ones who took it, but priceless to me. My music.  My pictures.  Thousands of pictures.  Pictures of people I love.  Pictures of places I love.  Pictures of a dog I love.  Snapshots of my life, squeezed into a gigabyte of space.  When did my computer become so much more than a computer?  I may not have "big barns" full of "plentiful crops", but I did have a lot of "stuff" tucked away in 4 pounds of metal.  Storing up treasure is a tricky thing (Luke 12:16-21).

Then, in the midst of all the anger and frustration and sadness and kicking-myself-for-being-so-careless, came a slow trickle of realizations that made the terrible situation a little less terrible:

*it really is JUST A COMPUTER.
*I still have my phone... at least that wasn't in the car too.
*they left a lot of important things behind, like my bank cards and my Starbucks card and my immigration card and the cool double-zipper pouch that took me hours to figure out how to make.
*school's already finished for the summer, so I don't have to rewrite any essays.
*I had just paid Juli the 16 euro I owed her, so they only got 30 euro instead of 46... essentially saving me 32 euro (that's funny math, I know, but it makes me feel better, so please don't correct it).
*they broke into a car, not my apartment, so I can still feel safe in my home.
*some of those thousands of pictures are on Facebook (according to the softball team, the picture of my "Jane Fonda" headband and swimsuit/leotard is the most important of them all).
*I hit a triple in last night's game.
*the Creator of the universe holds me in the palm of His hand.  He is sovereign and faithful and loving beyond all measure.  Nothing can rob me of the immense treasure I find in Him.
*it's just a computer.

To God be the glory.  Amen!

Do not lay up for yourself treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourself treasures in heaven... for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."   --Matthew 6:19-21

There was a little girl, who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead...

...but when she was bad, she was HORRID!

Over two months since my last post... how embarrassed and ashamed and horrid I am!  After so much time, the pressure builds to write something totally awesome, which makes it even harder to break the slump.  I have a tendency to lean toward extremes.  Please forgive me.  So here it goes, time rip off the silence like a bandaid.  Time to get back on the horse.  Time to jump back in.  Time to get the ball rolling.  Enough with the cliches, here's what's been happening during my inexcusable Blog-Post-Drought:

*Pam and Jenny came to visit from Scotland so we could see the Hunger Games together.  Their trip really deserved it's own post.  My bad.  The Hunger Games was not disappointing.  That's the best compliment I can give to a movie made after a book I love.  It was good, but the book was better.  But that's how it always goes, right?

*Lots of people had birthdays.  People here.  People in the States.  Everyone got a little older.

*Baseball started!!!!!!  Go Rangers!  On a more local sport's note, the softball season started too.  The team Juli and I play for (Dublin Bay Packers) is currently undefeated!  And we're building the first actual softball field in Ireland.  We've got a tournament there this weekend.  Here we are sifting the rocks out of the base path.

*The school year ended.  I can't believe how fast it went!  I'll blame the end-of-term-crunch for part of my BPD.  I'm glad for a break, but I'm looking forward to being back in September.

*I sewed a little.  Created some new byjo. stuff.  I re-opened my Etsy shop and created a byjo. Facebook page.  Check it out.  I even got some business cards from Vistaprint with my new logo.  I feel so professional :)

*I cut my hair.  The wind and rain was too much for my long hair to handle.  I got really tired of ponytails and messy buns.  And I had a perpetual halo of crazy, frizzy fly-aways that always made Mooly say, "What's up with your hair?"  To which I would answer, "I was outside today."  Enough of that!  Now the wind can blow all it wants and it'll just make my hair look even better... who doesn't love a tousled, wind-blown look?  The fantastic girl who cuts Juli's hair came to her house and chopped mine too.  She didn't know what she was getting herself into.  This is only about 2/3 of what actually got taken off.  It only took an hour and a half.  Now I feel like myself again!

*Irish summer is here!  It came for a few days around Easter, then left again.  It's back this week!!!  The forecast says 60's and sunny for the next several days.  Hooray for sun that's warm enough to make my soul sing but not so hot that my soul starts to wail as it melts.

Now I'm off to enjoy the sunshine and meet up for the coffee shop Bible study we recently started in city center.  My BPD is officially over.  More soon.  I promise. 

Enough is enough.

I try so hard, spend so much effort, trying to prove that I'm enough for this work here in Dublin.  Strong enough.  Smart enough.  Spiritual enough.  Compassionate enough.  Perceptive enough.  Praying enough.  Open enough.  All so that I can love enough.  Witness enough.  Be enough.  Do enough. 

But no matter what I do, it's never enough.  Success through enough is impossible.

Luckily, God doesn't call me to be enough.  He doesn't even call me to be successful.  He calls me to be faithful.  He calls me to love.  "Since God so loved us, so we ought to love one another; if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is perfected in us" (1 John 4:11-12).

At the not-so-recent IBI retreat, we talked about faith, hope, and love.  During the last session, we looked at the impact vulnerability has on our capacity to love.  Not just any vulnerability either.  The "it might rain outside, but I'm gonna chance it and not take a jacket" kind of vulnerability won't cut it here.  We're talking about the "I know a hurricane is coming, but I'm gonna go stand on the beach and left my arms to heaven" kind of vulnerability.  The kind of vulnerability that leaves you totally exposed.  Totally helpless. Totally dependent.  We're talking about excruciating vulnerability.

Excruciating vulnerability means embracing all the things I've been trying so hard to fight with enough.  I embrace weakness instead of strength.  Not knowing instead of wisdom.  Failure instead of success.  Confusion instead of perception.  I embrace embarrassment.  Pain.  Loneliness.  Misunderstanding.  I embrace everything that brings fear.  A complete upheaval of my self.  Excruciating vulnerability allows God's "perfect love to cast out fear."  His "love is perfected within me, so that I may have confidence... for as he is, so also am I" (1 John 4:17-18).

He doesn't call me to be perfect.  He calls me to have confidence in His perfection within me.  He doesn't call me to be enough.  He calls me to abide in Him.  I don't know how to do that.  I don't know how to quit trying and just love.  But He is a patient Teacher.  And my heart will learn.

Note: Jars of Clay's song Faith Enough highlights how God uses our weakness to show His love and faithfulness.  It's pretty-much-literally-exactly what I'm trying to say here...  

Hope: Round Two

A few months ago, I wrote this post on the things I hope for.  But after the IBI retreat, and a slightly-too-close-to-home assignment on "singleness", it seems that there is more to be said about the nature of my hope. 

"What do you hope for?"  That was the question we were asked.  It wasn't hard to come up with lots of answers.  They range from completely superfluous to completely genuine.

I hope that...
*the Rangers win the World Series this year.
*I can go home for Christmas.
*Mooly and Daddy come visit me in Dublin.
*I eventually run into Liam McAwesome.
*my wings stay as strong as my roots are deep.
*I can let go of myself and surrender everything to Christ... for real.
*God is proud of me.
*my Daddy is proud of me.
*when people look at me, they see Jesus.
*my work and my passion will always have something in common.
*I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing.
*I won't always be so far away from Home.
*and so on...

(Several of my "hopes" had something to do with Sonic Happy Hour and/or Mexican food.  They were too ridiculous to properly mention.)

Family.  Faith.  Future.  Health.  Happiness.  Love.  Success.  It all went through my mind.  Then I found it.  The core of what I hope for.  The one thing that I want most: To know and be known by my Creator.  To be of one mind and one heart with Yahweh.  To pursue Him as passionately as He pursues me. 

And we boast in the hope of the glory of God.  --Romans 5:2