Thursday, December 4, 2014

Slang, tickets, and other new things!

Things and terms I've been learning at ICI and in Chicago:

Pay attention to parking signs. Acute attention. Look up and down the street and BE SURE you won't get a ticket. AND DON'T FORGET TO MOVE BEFORE RUSH HOUR.

Vandalism happens. Sure, you hear about it, and see it happen to other people, but now it happened to me. Someone broke my taillight this morning, and there's very little chance it could have been an accident. Thank you, Chicago person, for keeping the stereotype alive.

"Side chick" - a term to describe the girl who is not your girlfriend but with whom you flirt and do stuff. Taught to me by an 8th grader boasting of his girlfriend and 5 side chicks. In keeping with centuries of skewed culture, it's perfectly ok for him to have girls on the side, but if his girl had boys on the side oooooooh! You'd better watch out!

"Finna" - a cross between "fixing to" and "going to" (or "fixin' ta" and "gonna"). I subconsciously use this sometimes, and then wince at the degradation of the English language!

"Thot" - A hoe (which in turn is slang for whore). Not acceptable language at ICI.

"Shorties" - Definitely a word that has been integrated into my idiolect, I sometimes have to remind myself that those not in the urban world don't know I mean little kids/younger siblings.

Parallel parking is an art form. I've made it with just inches to spare in both front and back in one try, and I've had to pull out and try again 8 times. It's like trying to paint when I'm not feeling artistic - hit and miss. I've had people sitting on a porch watching congratulate me, and I've wanted to do the same for others. Today I added it to the humorous list of what makes a guy a potential mate. If he can parallel park, he's golden.

"Rachet" - Though I learned this when I first started in May, I still don't really use it. It means "ghetto", normally in reference to a girl. "Girl, you rachet!" Ask me what it means for a girl to be ghetto? I can understand but I can't explain.

"Sauced" - forget spaghetti or even inebriation, here this means burned (and not in the flame sense). Used in the context of back and forth banter, the "loser" got sauced.

I don't know how to dance. I really don't. I am way too stiff, I haven't the foggiest idea how to "bop" and don't know where to begin with the DLow shuffle. Maybe one of the girls will teach me in exchange for tutoring!

"Ask" and "Tell" are interchangeable. This is not one I'm willing to accept, as asking is an important part of polite society. "Cristina, tell Liz is she gonna pick us up." is the equivalent to: "Cristina, could you ask Liz if she could pick us up?"

Jokes about one's race are OK sometimes. I can't tell you how many times I've been teased for my "whiteness", and I've learned that it's ok to joke about stereotypes (hot cheetos and taquis anyone? Hot sauce on popcorn?). Yes, I listen to white people music. Yes, I eat white people food. Yes, I dress like a white person. In case you didn't notice, I am white!

Things are not black and white. Why get in a fight? It's simple, just don't. Why break the law? Just don't. Why dislike cops? They're there to help. All of these things and more are heavy with cultural values and influences, baggage and pressure from those around them. A simple "don't fight" isn't going to make much of a difference. I don't mean there isn't right and wrong, but that giving a blanket "This is right, go and do it" won't work. A lot is going on underneath the surface, and a lot of basic underlying values at odds with Scripture may have to be addressed before any lasting change in behavior could take place.

All in all, I'm learning a lot and have so much more to learn!


Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Too Still.

He lay still.

Very still.

I recognized his face from pictures posted by my friend captioned with endearing words of admiration and respect and sorrow.

This is him.

So still.

More like the wax replicas of life found in museums than a living, breathing human being.

But that was the point. He was no longer living or breathing.

Just still.

I wondered how much the mortician had to do create this frozen image of life.

I was transported back to a small, crowded room, diesel-polished wood floors creaking, people quietly shuffling forward to view the body in the casket or to give respects to the family. His mother wailing in the chairs lined against the wall. My 9 year old self both curious and frightened, what do dead people look like? I stepped forward to the table at the center of the room, hesitant. He had a rose on his chest. I wanted to curl up next to him, for him to hold me in his strong arms like he used to. I was afraid to touch him. I turned quickly away. Memories of the death of my neighbor - an uncle figure in my life - are still vivid.

I hate wakes. I'm glad we only held a memorial service for both my grandparents. My last memories of them are of living, breathing beings. I thought that I wanted a body and a casket and a grave and a stone, instead of a pile of ashes in the garden. But I'm glad I never saw them like that.

So still.

I found myself grieving again for my grandmother, even for Jorge, the jovial neighbor who spoke English to us but refused to translate so that we would learn Spanish better. Losses are revived at the sight of fresh grief. I was again overwhelmed with gratitude for the many who came alongside my family as we watched the days of her life tick by, my vibrant grandmother slowly fading. Tears fall even now.

I can't pretend relate, for the loss of a father must be so much deeper than the losses I have experienced. But I do weep with those who weep.

And so, my friend, who was also shocked by the stillness, the absence of life, I grieve with you.

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Learning from the young.

She drew near to my door and leaned against the frame, smiling and waving shyly, then stepping inside.
"Hey Cristina."
"Hey girl. Sorry, but you can't come in, it's policy not to enter each others' rooms."

Her shoulders slumped and the smile lost its shine. "Ok," she turned to walk back out and down the hall. Earlier she had told me she wished she were in my cabin for camp this year. She had approached me a couple times to talk, but it was in a crowded room or in the middle of an activity. I jumped up and closed the distance between us.
"We can talk in the hall though. How are you doing?"
As we talked about her experience at camp, I wondered why she continually drew near to me. We hadn't had much of a relationship before camp, so it seemed unusual that she would want to talk more now. Suddenly it dawned on me.

I paid for her to come to camp.

A week earlier when I heard that her dad hadn't been able to save for her to come, it weighed heavy on my heart. So I told her I really wanted her to be able to come, and said if she really wanted to, I would pay for her.

I showed her that she was wanted and made a way for her to be here.

Her response is beautiful and touching. A mere "thank you" is not enough for her, she doesn't just enjoy camp no matter how she got there. She continues to seek me out. She desires a relationship.

Her response should be our response.

God made a way for us, showed us that we are wanted, we are loved. There was no way that we could pay for our sins, so He paid the price himself. Too often our response is, "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind as I go about the business of life," when it ought to be like hers: I just want to spend time with you and know you more.

God made the way for us to have something we want, eternal life in heaven. This is not just a ticket to heaven to save until needed, a "Get out of hell free" card, so to speak. Jesus describes it this way:

"Now this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent."

Eternal life doesn't start when our bodies physically die. It's not about living forever in another life. It's starts now. It's about knowing Him from now into eternity.
Since the way has been made, the price has been paid, our response should be gratitude displayed in relationship - a desire to be near Him.

If we don't desire to be near the Living God, then maybe we don't understand the price he paid to make that possible. Maybe we don't really know Him. Let us desire more than the good things we can get from God. Desire Him.

Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you (James 4:8).




Thursday, July 24, 2014

"Cease Striving." A glimpse of my internal dialogue

Yesterday and today were hard days.

Deep breath, blink back tears. Deep breath, let it out slowly.

Myriad frustrations and fears, irritations and inadequacies swirl around, whispering incessantly that I am not enough.

Deep breath, blink back tears. Deep breath, let it out slowly.

All day I sought to pull myself out of the slough of despond with different songs. (If you know me, you know I am always singing. Always). Give me Jesus was one of the main ones. Good songs, beautiful songs, but songs that were still focused on me, on what I needed. That's where my focus was. I can't handle this. I need them to stop complaining. (J, I warned you I would write about you!) Why does nothing I say make a difference? I am so tired. I need to have a better attitude. Near the end of the day I started praising God rather than asking God.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise Him all creatures here below
Praise Him above ye heavenly host
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

When I took my eyes off myself and put them on Him, so much pressure was relieved.

But still, little things kept going wrong and my exhaustion blew them out of proportion.

Deep breath, blink back tears. Deep breath, let it out slowly.

"God, I don't understand why my day was so hard." My fingers pick out the chords to "I have decided to follow Jesus" as I finally unwind at home. The verse "The world behind me, the cross before me" rings through my head over and over again. The cross before me. Ever before me. Fix your eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning it's shame. Fix your eyes on Jesus. He endured the cross and I can't even endure a hard day. Really, Cristina? Fix your eyes on Jesus. You need to get better at this.

My phone trills, announcing the arrival of a text:
"Cease striving and know that I am God, I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth. Psalms 46:10"

Did you know that the Psalms were written for me? Because I'm pretty sure God said that specifically to me and had someone write it down a long time ago because (as I taught in the lesson about Joseph in Egypt today) God knows everything and knows what will be needed and so knew that I needed to hear that today. RIGHT NOW.

Cease striving and know that I am God, I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.

"I'm trying to do everything right, God, but I can't! I don't know why it's so hard or why I keep failing!"

"Cease striving."

It quiets my soul, the protests die out.

"Cease striving and know that I am God."

If He is God, then I don't have to be. I don't have to be perfect, I don't have to have it all together, I don't have to get it right all the time.

"Cease striving and know that I am God."

If He is God, then it's ok that I am weak, because He is all-powerful, and His power is shown off best in my weakness.

"Cease striving and know that I am God, I will be exalted among the nations."

Briefly the thought passes through my mind that I'm not cut out for the city. Last week someone on the street yelled at me harshly for parking the van, and I nearly cried. A friend was surprised yesterday that I stood up for myself in another situation, and when I tried to reprimand the kids apparently I did it too nicely.  I thought I had toughened up, but it seems not nearly enough. The thought passed through my mind that I won't be effective in showing the kids Christ, being too weak and gentle to be heard.

"I will be exalted in the earth."

If I "mess up" in trying to make Him known, it's ok. My failings won't keep God from receiving the glory of which He is worthy, He will be exalted. It's not conditional. Stop trying so hard. He's God and it's going to happen, the weight of the world does not rest on you, Cristina. He will be exalted.

And when you realize and remember who God is, that's all that really matters in the end.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

When people throw things at your car. (Because I have no better title).

Driving through an unfamiliar neighborhood, having dropped off a kid after Bible study who lived further away, I tried to maneuver one way residential streets to get back on a familiar main road. It was a beautiful day, cool, sunny, breezy - my ideal weather. I slowed the big 15 passenger van for the kids in the street up ahead. They looked to be about the same age as the kids I work with at ICI, around 8th or 9th grade. There was a plastic cup and some sticks in the street, and the girl motioned for me to slow down, she seemed to be indicating the things in the middle of the road. I slowed to attempt to straddle them, in case it was some game or something they were playing, then stopped when a boy stepped out in front of the van and crossed over to be with the rest of his friends. As I accelerated, the girl threw a half-filled water bottle through the open window, hitting my wrist, and the boy threw a stick in front of my tires. I swerved instinctively to avoid it as the kids scattered, laughing and screaming, as if surprised they made it through the window and afraid I was going to come after them.
A small part of me thought the idiot kids needed to be taught a lesson - you really can't do that to people. A large part of the kids in the back of the van thought the same thing, vocalizing it quite loudly. (One later told me I should go back to that block and give those kids a whooping, because it's just not right for them to act like that. THAT was pretty funny, as the kid has done his fair share of stupid things too.) Mostly, I was just amused as I shook out my wrist to make sure it hadn't aggravated an old injury, leaned over to grab the bottle where it landed on the passenger seat and dropped in the in the trash bin between the seats.

I'd like to tie this into some deep spiritual truth. I love when things like this illustrate theological concepts. Maybe someday I'll come across one.

Mostly it just confirmed once again that I'm in the right business: my first instinct was to get out of the car and get to know them, invite them to ICI. I couldn't at the time, having other kids to bring home. I am glad Christ stirred my heart for the youth of Chicago, I just love them. I want so badly for these young men and women to know Him and I greatly enjoy getting to know them.

Even though they do stupid things like throwing trash into moving cars.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Change.

I just rearranged my living room.

This is a big deal because 1. Things are heavy and my roommate isn't home, 2. I started a little after midnight when I should have been sleeping, and 3. I HATE CHANGE.

I never understood the girls in college who rearranged their rooms a couple times a semester. Any time my roommate rearranged the room while I was gone during a break I cried a little inside as I put on what I hoped was a neutral face and said "Oh. You rearranged the room," listening to all the reasons it made the room better. I usually got used to it within a week, but preferred it to have stayed the same (I managed to be in the same room all four years, that's how much I love consistency).

So many things changed and fluctuated and made me feel "other" in my life that at least having the same possessions and having the furniture in the same place was something constant and familiar. When we moved when I was in Jr. High, my parents let us kids arrange the living room - it stayed pretty much the same for 7 years, as did my bedroom. (I still use the bedspread I started using when I was 12, brought with me from Ecuador).

I've lived here for less than a year and I have now changed things TWICE. The first time was out of necessity, things had to be shifted when I got a piano. The room is rectangular and I had the piano and the couch on the long sides, making the room very narrow. Today I moved the couch to under the window, making the room more square. And I like it.

Something changed and I like it.

Maybe it's the stability of living in one country for several years now, living in my own home for a nearly a year that allows me to enjoy change. Maybe it's the fulfillment that comes from loving your job and knowing you are valued and needed. Maybe it's from knowing I am exactly where God wants me right now. Maybe it's because things have been too steady, too safe, and I subconsciously need the change now. Or maybe the room arrangement was just awful before. Whatever the reason, changed happened and I was ok with it.

I think it is a sign that I am content. I am not holding on to things being exactly as they are, I am not fearful of the future or longing for the past or clinging to this scrap of reality. I am content enough to have something change and it not greatly shake my reality.

I am not fully in favor of change. I have not suddenly stopped liking things a specific way or being attached to familiar things (I will definitely cry inside when I trade out my car for something smaller). But I think it is a step. A step towards letting go of the need to cling to what I have, cling to the way things are, grasp on to anything for stability and consistency. My feet are planted and growing roots deep enough to enjoy the changing of seasons around me.

I could easily cry when I think of how happy I am at this point in my life. I love feeling planted.

I am content.

Thursday, June 26, 2014

Tornadoes and Sheep.

It's hard to think that only six weeks have passed since I started at ICI. The previous stage of life seems like a distant memory - was that really less than two months ago?

Summer at ICI is a flurry of activities, there is always something to be done, when one outing is done it's time to prepare for the next. Even so, there are some calm moments to catch your breath before diving in again. This is one of those moments, a few hours of quiet office work giving me a moment to reflect on all that has happened. Last week's three day camping trip to Baraboo, Wisconsin was a great time of relationship building and reflection on God. Many humorous moments offset the rain and mud, the first of which was at the very beginning:

On the way there, I was stirred from my thoughts by the young girls in the last row of the 15 passenger van.

"The city is just crowded and noisy, that's not really living. This is real life," one girl said, gesturing out the window, trees and fields rolling by. "Nature and trees and green. This is really living. Tornadoes..." she paused as if trying to think of other naturally occurring things,  then finished with "Nature. That's real life." Said with all the confidence and wisdom of a nine year old.  The chattering from the three friends continued, then was interrupted by a collective gasp: "Oh! Look! Horses!"
 I smiled in amusement, commenting "Those are donkeys."
"Donkeys!" they said with the same level of excitement, completely unphased. "And sheep! Now that is real life! Sheep." the very knowledgeable nine year old said matter-of-factly.
The picturesque field spotted with grazing sheep slipped past to be replaced by rolling hills blanketed in forest.
"Bye puppy-sheep!"

In a sense, our over-confident nine year old was right: real life is about tornadoes and sheep. There are moments in life that feel like everything is being torn apart and tossed upside-down. I've experienced many of those. You wonder what in the world God is doing, why, and how it could possibly be a good thing. I've given so much to you, God, and this is how you repay me? Tornadoes test our faith and bring forth our fears.

I'm going to let you in on a secret: I like tornadoes. Growing up, I loved visiting Ohio during tornado season. The air gets thick and heavy, the wind is gusty and fresh and musty all at the same time, the sky changes to a very un-sky-like green. I know you're supposed to get inside and away from windows, but I just want to watch the tree-tops whip back and forth, trash cans skittering down the street. The air is weighty with power, reminding me of my mighty God.

But that is a side track. Last year I heard about a teenage boy who dropped unconscious while playing basketball and died soon after. I mourned for him, but in a disconnected way. Now I know his brother, one of the kids who come to ICI. There is a lot of violence and unexpected death in Chicago. Tornadoes rise up suddenly and wreak havoc on our lives.

That is why "The LORD is my shepherd" is so sweet. He guides in the midst of fear and the changing patterns of life. He gives us rest, causes us to rest. "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death" (He is leading us, remember? That's what a shepherd does) we need not fear because he is there with us, more powerful than anything that could try to knock us over, gentle enough to comfort and restore us.

Real life is full of tornadoes - tumultous times - and sheep - people in need of a Shepherd to guide and protect them. Our nine year old didn't know how right she really was.

Saturday, May 3, 2014

Sunshine and a Chain Link Fence

The City is awakening.

The birds chirp and chatter their merry conversation, tulips open their hearts to the sunshine, daffodils nod their heads cheerily.
A gentle shower falls on the lawn, the garden hose waving back and forth in the woman's hand, a toddler by her side poking at the grass. Music flows out windows and open doors as you pass one house and then another. People are on the streets, pushing strollers, walking dogs, carrying groceries.

The City has come alive.

It's exciting, to see the people about, to pass children and teens, recognizing some of them as part of ICI. But as the weather heats up and draws everyone outside, so will the relations between people. Summer is a violent time in Chicago.

A part of me is afraid. I don't do well with anger, it frightens me. It runs rampant in the city, spreading like a disease. I've seen it in the eyes of a group of men on the street corner and in the eyes of a group of girls at ICI. When the anger is stored up inside it doesn't take much for it to spill over.

Another part of me becomes bold, all the more urgently wanting to spread the gospel of peace and forgiveness.

And yet, as I think of how I want to impact the people of Chicago once I start at ICI, I realize I haven't even met my neighbors across the street.

Or even next door.

I saw him today and spoke to him for the first time, this neighbor to the south of me. He said "Hey, how's it goin'?" I shot him a quick half-hearted smile and an automatic "Good, you?" He threw me back a distracted "Good" and called to his little girl toddling in the shadow of our two houses. We were separated by a chain link fence and miles of thought. I was focused on getting to the office before 1:00 pm and he was focused on getting his daughter. A second and a half later I turned back to introduce myself, but by then he had turned away and was walking towards his front steps. I met his wife, once, months ago. She has dark hair. She probably told me her name, it might still be in the dark recesses of the unused portion of my brain.

I have no trouble reaching out to those who are assigned to me as "ministry," but those naturally around me? It's so easy to be intentional in one area but not the other. But even when I try to make eye contact or look for an opening with people, they seem distant and aloof. I want to break this barrier that isolates us. Maybe as the sun warms up the city it will thaw the barriers between people, so that as anger increases on the street, compassion and love and friendship (or at least neighborly camaraderie) can as well. I
want to bring Christ to both - the kids I intentionally seek out and those I pass every day.

And that starts with a simple "Hello."

 Hopefully next time I'll add, "I'm Cristina."  


Saturday, April 19, 2014

NASA.

I am in the final countdown.
{TEN}
I can hear the crackling voice of the NASA announcer as the rockets power up.
{NINE}

NASA I thought. Not As Soon As I thought. This journey has taken a bit longer than I anticipated. BLAST OFF is not yet here, though it is at long last in the final stages. The feeling of anticipation rises, the engines power up and the restraints are shaking.

Not yet though.

Wait. 

Just a little bit longer.

It's hard to want to keep going through the routine procedures when the moment of excitement is so near. I've gone through them before, I'm sure everything will be fine now. I could just finish after, right? But it's important to make sure everything is as it should be, everyone is where they need to be. I am in that moment hovering between NINE and EIGHT and every moment before BLAST OFF, waiting for the remaining people to come alongside, to flip the switches and point the direction.

Okay, the rocket/NASA analogy might be a little dramatic. I'll restrain myself from continuing. Well, after this last bit: Think of all the people behind the astronaut - there is no way on earth he could leave and accomplish his mission without the hundreds of people who make it possible. I am glad for the past year and a half of support raising, because it means that I am not alone in my missionary endeavors.

This has been something I have struggled with. I had my whole life planned out after high school. A vital part of that picture was that once I graduated college and went into missions, I would have a partner in life. I would be married. I wouldn't do it alone.

Yet here I am, alone. The fairy-tale missionary prince didn't come along. I had to start the daunting task of tripling the number of people I know. Alone. And I won't lie, it has been challenging. There have been times of weakness when I didn't go to some event I should have gone to, or didn't talk to someone I ought to. Other times I pushed through and met the new person - contrary to the shy, introverted self that wanted to stay in the corner. ("How will you be a missionary if you prefer the corner?" you ask. By His transforming grace). So many times I felt alone.

But I'm not. I am not alone.

The great thing about support raising is that now I am surrounded by ministry partners who cheer me on, back me up in prayer, give words of advice and encouragement, intercede for me before the Father. I am so blessed by many I would never have known. There have been times when, worn out from "selling" myself, I met someone who caught the vision and whose excitement restored mine. And often a note with a monthly gift, a snippet of scripture or just an affirmation of prayer brightens my day.

So as I wait for that scratchy announcer voice to call out {EIGHT}, {SEVEN}, {SIX}, the percentages ticking away, as I wait for the moment I get to settle into the office of ICI, to walk the streets of Chicago and talk with the kids, I know that I don't do it alone. We wait and seek out those last six or so people who will join with us in the mission to reach Chicago's kids with Christ's hope.

Thank you for not letting me go forth alone!


Thursday, March 27, 2014

Last Goodbyes.

I should not dare to leave my friend,
Because - because if he should die,
While I was gone -  and I - too late -
Should reach the heart that wanted me - 
If I should disappoint the eyes
That hunted - hunted - so to see -
And could not bear to shut until
They "noticed" me - they noticed me -
If I should stab the patient faith
So sure I'd come - so sure I'd come -
It listening - listening - went to sleep -
Telling my tardy name - 
My heart would wish it broke before -
Since breaking then - since breaking then -
Were useless as next morning's sun
Where midnight frosts - had lain!

This was my favorite Emily Dickinson poem in American Lit. I loved the depth of feeling portrayed by the repetition. I still do. She wrote about Death a lot.

I felt rather like this when I found out my grandmother was dying three weeks ago. I should not dare to leave Grandmae, because - because if she should die while I was gone and I too late should reach the heart that wanted me. I stayed for three weeks, that I might be there when she died. In the end, I wasn't. It is easy for me to want to slip into Emily Dickinson mode, to be overwhelmed by the death and sorrow of life.

A few minutes ago I was writing a letter. A letter to the many who stand behind me, stand with me, and have lifted up my family in prayer. "I said my goodbyes," I told them.  I said my goodbyes. My breath caught and I stopped writing. I said my goodbyes. My friend put a hand on my shoulder as the tears started to fall. I closed my eyes and pictured it. I said my goodbyes. 


I sat on the edge of her bed and took her hand, soft and fragile, loose skin slowly withering from dehydration. When I was young I would sit on her lap and hold her hand, carefully tracing the soft blue veins that stood in relief from the wrinkles. I marveled at how fragile and beautiful old age made her hands. Her hands had been old and beautiful for a long time. Her soft white hair was straight, lying gently on the pillow. She used to only wear it permed and pinned up. I remember my surprise the first time I saw her hair down. I missed the way she used to take care of her hair so that it would always be proper. The bed was raised so she was half sitting, that her single functioning lung could effectively breathe. She looked at me and I at her. I swallowed hard, willing my voice to be cheerful and the lump in my throat to disappear. It was time. Time for me to go back to Chicago. I had stayed for as long as felt right, but I still didn't want to leave. This was the moment I always dreaded. I wanted to pretend it wasn't happening, pretend it was a normal, lighthearted goodbye. But I also wanted her to know how much I loved her, that I appreciated all the wonderful grandmotherly things she had done for me. I blinked rapidly and smiled.
Don't cry, she had said to me a few days previous. A smile was in her croaking voice and lit her eyes. My face is dry. I'm just watering it, I quipped. The smile touched her lips. 

I tried hard not to cry. Most of the words came out, but at the end I cracked and crumbled. I love you. She didn't say it back. The lump in her throat must be as large as mine. I leaned in and lifted her arm, and she hugged me back. The first hug she had given me in months. And the last. 
I said my last goodbyes. It finally hit me that she no longer lay in the bed with the white sheets, head elevated, crunching on ice chips. Her graceful, soft, withered hands no longer reached for us or roamed over the sheets, fidgeting. She isn't waiting for me to return. I said my last goodbyes.

The memory faded. I knelt on the floor, crying. Father, if she is indeed rejoicing in heaven with you, could you give me a reassurance of that? It would be less bitter if I knew. I just want to know. Moments passed. "She is alive right now." My friend's voice broke the silence. "Walking and talking." His hand on my shoulder a source of comfort, his words stilled the fears in my heart.

Death is so final.
Last goodbyes echoes in my thoughts.
Except it's not.
She is alive.


Friday, February 21, 2014

Psalm 77: When the past brings truth.

Psalm 77
I cried out to God for help;
I cried out to God to hear me.
When I was in distress, I sought the Lord;
  at night I stretched out untiring hands and my soul refused to be comforted.

I remembered you, O God, and I groaned;
I mused, and my spirit grew faint.
You kept my eyes from closing;
I was too troubled to speak.
I thought about the former days, the years of long ago.
I remembered my songs in the night
My heart mused and my spirit inquired:

"Will the Lord reject forever? Will he never show his favor again?
Has his unfailing love vanished forever? Has his promise failed for all time? 
Has God forgotten to be merciful?
Has he in anger withheld his compassion?"

Then I thought, "To this I will appeal:
  the years of the right hand of the Most High."
I will remember the deeds of the LORD,
  yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago.
I will meditate on all your works 
  and consider all your mighty deeds.

Your ways, O God, are holy. What god is so great as our God?
You are the God who performs miracles;
  you display your power among the peoples.
With your mighty arm you redeemed your people, the descendants of Jacob and Joseph.

The waters saw you, O God, the waters saw you and writhed;
  the very depths were convulsed.
The clouds poured down water,
  the skies resounded with thunder;
  you arrows flashed back and forth.
Your thunder was heard in the whirlwind,
  your lightning lit up the world;
  the earth trembled and quaked.
Your path led through the sea,
  your way through the mighty waters,
  though your footprints were not seen.

You led your people like a flock by the hand of Moses and Aaron. 


It's been a while since I've been so distressed. But I remember it. I remember being like the psalmist, with an ache so deep you can't even talk about it, and emptiness that nothing seems to fill. Where are you, God? 
The Psalmist lies awake at night, so very troubled. Looking back, he once sang with joy, but now sees only his troubles, and despairs. Will the Lord always reject me? Will I never see his favor again?  Will his unfailing love fail? Have his everlasting promises died out? This God who delights in mercy, did he just forget to be merciful? 

How many times have I secretly doubted? When I take the time to give voice to the unsettledness, the disquiet in my spirit, I realize I am afraid that it won't all work out. That there will not be healing and reconciliation, that God will not forgive, that He will not bring to completion the calling he has given. "Ok God, I'm here, now what? Will you just abandon me? Maybe you won't forgive this time. Maybe you've handed us over to the enemy and forgotten about us. Maybe you've set forth this task but won't help me finish it."

The Psalmist's answer is not, "Look, I've served him faithfully, I deserve all these things! I deserve his favor, his love, his mercy, his compassion." It's, "Let me take another look at what he has done." How can I know that God will be who he says he is? I can remind myself that he has already proved it, again and again. Is God faithful? Yes! He always has been! Will God show his favor again? Yes! He did before, time and again. Does God stay his anger and show compassion? Over and over again!  

Right now I am in a period of waiting. The days stretch out long before me yet still fly by, and there is only so much I can do. But even for what I can do, I am often overcome by fear. I secretly think that God won't provide. He won't see me through the support raising process, I'll never get to work with the kids at ICI, to do what he called me to do. I fear that this person I'm about to call or meet with will feel burdened and annoyed by me. God certainly won't speak to them or provide for them to be part of my ministry. I have probably angered him with my sin, he won't show favor until I make up for it. Yet as soon as I put words to those thoughts, they are revealed as ridiculous lies. Of course I know that God provides! He has done so for his people throughout history, for my family over the decades, and for me in the past year! Of course if I believe he can lead and speak to me and provide for my ministry, then he can also lead others to take part and provide for them to do so! Look how many times he has done so up 'til now. And if his favor and forgiveness were based on my deserts, I would be lost. But they are based on his love and his character, not on me at all. I can look to the past, both near and far, to allay my fears and find hope. 

What do you need to be reminded of? What has God done in your life or shown you in Scripture that can put to rest the fears and lies that disquiet your soul?



Thursday, January 23, 2014

New years, new creations.

Some friends with the "Old Man," New Years Eve 2005
Ecuador has a tradition for New Years Eve: At midnight the hombre viejo or "old man" is burned. This scarecrow/dummy is created by stuffing a set of clothes with newspaper or straw, and finished off with shoes, gloves, and a mask. The hombre viejo is then doused with gasoline and burned at midnight. This signifies saying goodbye to the old - of last year - and welcoming the new. It is a time of great celebration, even more than Christmas, with fireworks painting the sky and firecrackers snapping and dancing in the streets.

This year, the duality of old and new, goodbye and welcome, lays heavy on me. At the end of 2013, my dear friend and adopted "grandma"  Bobbie Borman passed into glory. She and her husband served the Cofan tribe of Ecuador for decades. She touched so many lives and will be missed dearly. On the 2nd of January, my niece Molly was born. She is welcomed with great joy. New life. 

The New Year also reminds me: "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation - the old has gone, the new has come" (2 Corinthians 5:17). Just as we burn the hombre viejo to say goodbye to the old year and greet the new, we put to death our old sin nature and live our new lives as children of God. Grandma Borman was a woman well acquainted with this. She desired greatly to leave her old sin and grow in holiness in Christ. A woman of prayer and unceasing love, she left both a legacy and an example to follow.

With her passing, I have been thinking a lot about death. Chicago is a place that is full of death - stories of shootings and accidents and murders are constant. Right my news app gives me headlines of "At least 5 hurt in city shootings", "Infant girl's death investigated in Barrington," "Autopsies: 2 died from cold exposure" and even "Peacock dies after escape from petting zoo."

Throughout the day as at odd moments I am reminded of Grandma Borman's death, I also feel a twinge of jealousy - she is in glory with our Lord, something I long for. Even as I cry, I smile to think of the joy she must be experiencing. But it brings to mind even more all those who encounter death without this hope. And I am reminded that this is why I do what I do. "Since then, we know what it is to fear the LORD, we try to convince others." We know what it is to have hope in Christ - how can we not share this with those who don't?

This support raising stage feels much like the "already-not yet" of our Christian lives. I am already part of ICI but not yet at ICI. I am already in ministry representing God's heart for missions to the Church, but not yet in hands-on ministry with the kids God has laid on my heart. We are already saved and justified, we are being sanctified, but we wait in eager expectation to be glorified and to be with our Lord.

Grandma Borman, sing a Hallelujah for me!


The person I used to be.

“We all change, when you think about it. We’re all different people all through our lives. And that’s OK, that’s good, you gotta keep movin...