Cielo

Heaven. I remember when I first heard about it as a small child. As any curious adolescent would, I pestered my mother endlessly with questions about what I could take to Heaven, who would be there, why I had to go, where I would live, what the angels looked like, and who I would be. I was always so frustrated by her answers, which all left it wide open and up to speculation. She told me a story once about a woman named Ellen G. White who had a vision about Heaven and then came back to earth unable to tell about it. I thought that was rotten luck, and wished I would have a dream. I would tell EVERYONE my dream so that they could all know what it was like. I didn’t like not knowing and I didn’t like how many questions my parents and teachers couldn’t answer. For a little while I got obsessed with reading Revelation. I read and reread the chapters describing the Heavenly city and tried to picture it all – even tried some measly sketches (I was quite the artist back in third grade…) but never felt like I grasped it.

Unanswered questions probably lead to huge levels of curiosity in most people, but to me it just caused a lack of interest. I decided that I didn’t want Jesus to come back for a long time because I wanted to grow up and get a job and travel the world. I had too many plans for Him to come back yet. I mean, come on, I was only in fourth grade, and if He came back now I was never going to get to be an eighth grader. I really wanted to be in eighth grade. High school called my name! College was on the horizon! I knew that I had multiple brilliant careers ahead of me… At least, that’s what my mom said. And I wasn’t ready to give up any of those. Well, I would give them up if Jesus just HAD to come now… But I didn’t like the idea. I wanted a good 50 years. So I became distant from the idea of Heaven. When the nice little ladies with the big smiles told the children stories in church and asked, “So, who wants to go to Heaven?” at the end of the story about Jimmy stealing candy at the grocery store, I just wasn’t too jazzed. No offense nice little lady with the big smile and the intriguing story, but I want to own a mansion and a yacht and a Saint Bernard. Or at least a four-wheeler. As I grew up, and even through high school and my first two years after graduation I wasn’t all too jumpy to get on the “When we all get to Heaven!” wagon.

Then I met the world. Like I had never met it before. Because something was different this time… I was different this time. I stopped looking at hurt people and wondering why they were hurt – I now felt the agony streaking their faces. I saw the vicious cycle of sin and the abuse and the violence and the unadulterated hatred that clung from this world like filthy rags. All of a sudden, the yacht, the brilliant career, or even the four-wheeler just weren’t that big of a deal to me. Now these people were a big deal to me. Now, seeking the hurting and the broken was a big deal to me. And oh, how I longed for Heaven. The idea of no pain, no hatred, no malice, no more broken people. The ability to live a life in complete simplicity with the Lover of my soul… the Man who’s absolutely obsessed with me. I wanted it more than anything. And I still want it more than anything. Complete intimacy with God. Wow.

There’s a song by Phil Wickham that’s called “Cielo.” It’s stunning. If you’ve never heard it, I dare you to listen to it. And when you listen to it, I dare you to actually think about it. And then I dare you to forget the house, the family, the boat, the trips around the world, all the things you’ve planned for yourself … And then realize that all that really matters is complete intimacy with God.

Doing that "Joy" thing...

I love driving. My favorite time to drive is at night. So, I was exceedingly happy to find myself driving from Spokane to Walla Walla late last Saturday night. Aside from the deer I almost hit and the crazy trucker-man I met at a dimly lit gas station, it was rather uneventful; Unless the word “uneventful” carries the same meaning as the word “boring” for you. Because that would be wrong. It was one of the most wonderful drives to Walla Walla I’ve had in a long time. By a matter of chance, I was in the company of a friend. Before the trip I would have referred to him as an acquaintance … but now he is a friend.

We spent the entire three hour drive simply talking. It never got boring, it never seemed purposeless— it was good old conversation. And most of it was on my favorite subject: Jesus. Even if I had space on this column page, I couldn’t begin to relate to you the full extent of our conversation – or even come close. But I want to stir up some thoughts in your own heads about one subject discussed during the midnight drive through the Palouse mountains last weekend.

I’m an active person. I need to be DOING things … If I find myself with a lack of things to do or a lack of purpose to guide my “doings,” I feel lost, alone, and depressed. This applies to my spiritual life as well. I continually have this idea that I have to be finding bigger and better actions, or a bigger and better purpose for my actions. I’m always afraid that what I want to do isn’t what God wants me to do. And then I’m afraid to move … My decisions concerning next year have been riddled with these problems and questions. Where does God want me? What am I supposed to be doing? If I go here or there, will I be outside of His will? Where will this or that take me? Where will I be fulfilled? Where can I minister to others most effectively? All of these questions have plagued my mind. And I’m tired of it.

I was lamenting my sorrows about this subject when my friend said some important things. He started sharing parts of his life story. He started telling me about his own struggles with his purpose and calling. This is a friend who I have always looked up to and respected spiritually. I’ve been jealous of how much he has worked for God and traveled around the world. But he started telling me how it’s not that easy. He is close to many people who run around the world doing even bigger and better things for God. Their lives are just walking testimonies of how much God can accomplish through one individual. And he feels completely overshadowed by their lives.

But over the years, he has come to realize something. He’s realized that those friends can’t do what he does. Those friends don’t have the same loves and passions and callings that he has. And He doesn’t have their loves, passions, and callings. Neither of them could trade places. And God’s not worried about that. God isn’t up in heaven wringing His hands because Sacha Kravig can’t decided where she wants to go to school next year. And He’s not freaking out because I haven’t written a book or toured the world preaching to millions about Jesus. He’s not afraid of my fears. And He’s not afraid of my desires. In fact, He GAVE ME my desires. Our desires are gifts and we need to realize that. We can’t be afraid to follow our desires. If there’s something that I love and it’s a wholesome love, then that’s from God and diving into it is His plan for my life. He wants me to do what I love, He wants me to enjoy where I’m at and He wants me to be fulfilled. The joy we find in life is all centered in Him. So don’t be afraid of joy! He’s the Father of love! He’s the Father of joy! It all comes from Him and it can lead you right back around to Him. It’s less complex than we think it is. And that’s hard for me to grasp. But I’m trying … I’m reaching. Stop worrying about doing things … Let’s try looking for joy.

If it's all the same to you

If it's all the same to you, I'd rather eat my porridge cold. I'll take a gust of wind while on my walk, and some rain on my window pane. I prefer my tea without sugar, thanks; my roses red, my violets blue... That is, if it's all the same to you.

If it's all the same to you, I can't abide the smell of bacon. Your snoring makes my stomach tired, the house is smoky when you make the fire, the flowers in the front yard have all but died since you dumped your coffee ground there, so if it's all the same to you, just stay stimulated with a little more care... I'll try to be patient, watch them grow again, and try to see it all the same...

If it's all the same to you, sometimes I wish you weren't here. I'm tired, I'm stressed, I want to undress and go crawling into my bed. Sometimes I feel oh so old when I'm lying, alone in the cold. I know in my head, from my little bed, that you're quietly smoking your cigar and reading your book by the fire. In an hour or two you'll come to bed, quietly kiss me on the head, pull up the covers and put out the light because to you it's all the same.

If it's all the same to you, I want to watch us both grow old. I want to see your heart and hold the little memories there. I'll poor your tea, stir your porridge, and pick you flowers everyday. I'll learn to be patient, try to listen to every word that you say. I'd even be willing to settle down and marry you today... But, that is, only if, to you it's all the same...

It's like coming home...

It's like coming home. It's like taking a breath after you've been underwater. It's like waking up one morning and realizing that it's summer. It's like a hug from the person you love most. It's like stepping off of a plane and setting foot, for the first time, in a foreign country. And it's like coming home.

Missing someone. Finding someone.

It's like coming home.

Trois mots... Three words...

France. It's the word written at the top of my Adventist Colleges Abroad application. It's a nice word. People really like that word... France. It's a favorite vacation spot, it's rich in culture, it's beautiful, and its language is supposed to be the most beautiful and romantic in the world. Who wouldn't want to travel to France? Who wouldn't want to study for an entire year in France? I've been thinking about these questions since the beginning of fall quarter. The ACA application has sat on my desk since the beginning of fall quarter. Why would I ever regret a year in France? Oddly enough, I have had many fears holding me back. Yes, I LOVE to travel. A lot. But I wanted to make sure that, if I went, next year wasn't going to be just another trip to France; just another trip around the world for the sake of cultural diversity. I need a purpose. And I need a purpose bigger than learning French or cultural exposure or even education. I need a Jesus purpose.

Purpose is an interesting thing. I've been thinking a lot about it. I have no idea what I want to do when I grow up, and I am constantly thinking about where God might ask me to go. Options come to the table, and people want me to work, study, and play all around the world. But I refuse to go anywhere I don't feel is "purposeful." That word is so vague so often. There are so many "purposes" in life. Everyone has a different purpose, and most of our time is spent knocking heads with each other over this issue. Very few people even get to choose their purpose. It's all too often just handed to us by our circumstances, or our social structure. The purpose in life I choose to focus on is a spiritual one. My purpose is helping to bring the Kingdom of Heaven to earth, and I won't go somewhere if I don't feel like it's specifically in line with that purpose. But this can get ambiguous. Choices like France can get confusing. Where am I supposed to be? What am I supposed to be? What should I be doing? And why can't I figure this out?

I can see myself, standing on the streets of downtown Portland with a group of 30 other people. I'm on the Portland Mission Trip. The grime of oatmeal, maple syrup, and French toast that was breakfast for 142 homeless people an hour ago is now nothing but a sticky residue on my fingers. We've barely made a divot in the staggering homeless population in Portland. Now I'm standing on the edge of a curb grabbing as many mittens, scarves, blankets, and lunch bags as I can fit in my hands. I am in a group of five people. Five people who just want to be used... Five hearts that want to love these people... Five people who desire to change lives, but are more likely to have their lives changed.

The streets of Portland are cold this time of year. Some sun peaks over the edges of the old buildings, but it's barely enough to penetrate the cold wind tingling against my skin. But I'm thankful for the sun. I carry blankets and food in plastic bags at my side. An old man on a bike stops beside us and asks me if he can have a blanket. I hand it over and watch him awkwardly pedal away with his new blanket in hand - smiling. I can't remember his name. It's even hard to remember his face. But I'll never forget his heart.

Another man walks up to us at a crosswalk. Yes, of course he would love a blanket. And he offers to take us to a women's shelter where more than one person is in need of warmth. We walk with him for what could have been hours as he talks to us about his life so far. He's lived 20 years on the streets. Somehow he can still say this with a smile in his eyes. The blanket that we gave him is slipping from his hand, so I offer to carry it. He says thank you and tells me how hard it is to do so many things with one hand. With his left hand he finishes sipping on the coffee some dear heart had given him earlier that morning, and then he moves quickly to the nearest garbage can to throw away the dingy paper cup.

The street cars are loud, the stench from the gutters is slowly overwhelming my nostrils along with the smell of his coffee breath. The large bags of blankets and food are slipping out of my hands and the straps are starting to dig into my skin. I am forced to lean in close to his rough, unshaven face so that I can make out the words he's mumbling to us in a voice dripping with years of casual pain. He is telling me a story. Part of his story. He's lost all use of his right hand. It's limp and dead-looking, hanging dormant at his side. He explains that he fell asleep on the street one night and then woke up in a hospital bed. His body temperature was well below hypothermic when someone found him. He looks in my eyes, holding up his dead hand, and says, "I should be dead. I was dead." He means what he's saying. One look in his eyes and you feel like an entire world of cold nights and food-less days has trickled into your own system. He is homeless. He surprises me as he continues his thought, "I know that God needed me to be alive still. It's a miracle that I'm here. I must be here for a reason." I didn't know how to respond to this. If this man had been a friend or one of the high school girls in my youth group, I would have known exactly how to respond. I would have encouraged them, poured into them, explained to them how every thing they were doing was beautiful to God and that He had a special purpose for them. I would focus on their strengths and their great love for people, I would push them one step closer to grace. But I had no response for this man. I opened my mouth to encourage him, and nothing came out. I had no words. In all honesty, I had no idea why God still needed him alive. I had no idea why God would save this homeless man on the streets of Portland. I didn't have a clue what kind of purpose he could serve in life. I had no words.

What was his purpose? What was my purpose? It's difficult for me to answer either of those questions.

Everyone is going to have a different purpose in life. Was my purpose in life somehow better than the man lying on the street, just trying to survive until tomorrow? I have no idea. I have no idea where my purpose is taking me, I have no idea why my purpose is different from the person next to me. I wish that I could end this column with some resolute sentence of surety. But I can't. I have just as many questions now as I did at the beginning of fall quarter.

France. It's a nice word. Homeless. It's a hard word. Purpose... that's the confusing one...

Peace. Vision. Seasons.

Seasons. Not spring, summer, autumn, or winter. But seasons ... of life. That phrase gets thrown around a lot and can be irritating at times. "The seasons of the soul." It looks like something that should be on an ornate piece of wood in my mother's kitchen. But it's become an actual part of my life. God likes to take me through seasons. I've known for the last month that I'm in some kind of transition between seasons, but I couldn't really nail down what the transition would mean. What season was I moving into? What was I supposed to look for? What did I need to do?

Peace. The first word that God has spoken to me is peace. I get so worried when I feel like I'm not DOING anything. I constantly fear that I'm becoming apathetic. When I step into a worship environment and I'm not passionate or eager, I instantly worry that there's something wrong with me. God has told me that I need to stop worrying about this. I need to stop worrying about what I am or I am not doing for God, and just let Him BE GOD. I need to be okay with peace. That's very hard for me. My genetics and upbringing revolt against a lack of movement, a lack of productivity, and a lack of doing. Today God informed me that I'm moving into a season marked by peace. He's going to teach me how to rest in Him, how to stop and listen, and how to be okay with His peace. Rest. Peace.

Vision. God is encouraging my capacity to see. To do this, He is growing my faith, because faith provides eyes for the heart. Faith isn't what gets me into the family of God. Rather, it is the nature of life inside that family. Faith sees. It brings the Kingdom into focus. Everything that God has is accessible through faith. Jesus said, "For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal." Jesus wants me to look at the invisible. Jesus told us that He only did what He saw the Father do. The beauty and power of His actions were rooted in His ability to see. I need new vision. This new season is a season of vision.

I'm done being a realist. I'm tired of believing more in what I can see than what God has waiting for me beyond my natural sight. I don't want my belief in this material world to over rule my belief in an invisible God. God is jealous for my heart and I don't want anything to get in the way of what He has for me. I want to know what He's doing!

New season. New start. Am I nervous? . . . Yes. I am. But I'm excited. My eyes are tired; I need new vision. My heart is tired; I need peace and rest. Peace. Vision. Season.

Who Are We Fooling?

We’ve all been there. You know the feeling... You’re with your friends, your “Christian” friends - you’ve all been Christians since your first breath. Every thing’s going swell, everybody’s laughing and talking. And then someone does it. They actually bring up Jesus Christ. ... yeah. Everything gets quieter. Everything gets... awkward. It’s that... “Did you really just bring up God?” silence. It’s that “I just got out of Bible class, why are you bringing this up AGAIN” silence. It’s that “What does this have to do with our conversation?” silence.

I find it odd when I can be on a “Christian” campus, with a majority of “Christian” students and peers, yet the Christ I see in the Bible seems so distant at times. We talk about “not putting God in a box,” yet we daily compartmentalize our lives so that there’s no overlap between friends, school, church, and the Lord. According to an extremely respected spiritual thinker and mover, “Everything is spiritual.” So, why does spirituality not take an ACTIVE role in our lives today? I don’t mean reading your Bible a little bit in the mornings, or praying before a test, or even just praying in your room and spending time getting to know God. I mean living every second of every day as if you’re living in the Kingdom of Heaven. Because we are! When we accept Christ and He lives in us, we carry the Kingdom of Heaven inside of us! It’s the crazy-awesome beauty of Christianity! Yet we live out our days like God isn’t a part of and doesn’t care about my entire life... second by second. All of it. What good is the Christianity we cultivate in our rooms, if it never let it flow into and consumes our lives? What does it look like to be an active follower of the Lord Jesus? Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s what we’re used to seeing...

Who are we fooling? Who are we trying to fake? Is it each other? Is it the world?... Is it Jesus? I hope that none of those are the answer. I hope that we’re not hiding anything. One of my favorite texts is Romans 1:16, and it says, “For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone...” So, if this presence of Jesus Christ in my life and His gospel is the power of God to save, then why don’t I live and breathe that every day? How important is it to me?

I want to make it more important to me. I don’t want to fool anyone anymore... I’m tired of being good. I want to be Christian. I want to be consumed... Consumed by God. Consumed by Christ and His heart for this broken, hurting world. I’m not sure how to do that, but I’m pretty sure that is not my job. That’s God’s job... He’ll get me where I need to go. I just need to desire it, ask for it, and be ready to hand whatever He gives me. No matter how awkward it is. And THAT, my friends... will be hard.