On The Corner Of First In Amistad

My new favorite song is You Found Me by The Fray.

About two years ago I got a call from a former intern who gave me free tickets to The Fray show. He had grown up in youth group with two of the band members in CO and when voicemails got returned, he and his fiancee received better tickets and backstage passes, which left him with two extra tickets for a sold out show. "FREE? The Fray? Yes, please!" This was at the height of The Fray's introduction to mainstream music. It coincided with the beginning of their whirlwind trip to massive radio airplay and popularity... and I got FREE tickets to a concert (and consequently never failed to mention the six degrees of separation with the members through my connection to the aforementioned intern. Oh, and I did get to meet the drummer before the show, super cool, I know).

The Fray are about to release their second album, which usually spells doom for bands with a particularily successful first run. The writing is never quite as good, the melodies not quite as tight and somehow these sophomore efforts always seem rushed...and forced by greedy record executives. But, the first single to be released to the scores of eager radio listeners is amazing and even prompting a blog entry. :)

In lieu of posting all the lyrics, go here to find them.

I love how this song paints an authentic picture of a relationship with God. And, more importantly, I rest in the fact that we have a God who can take it. He can take us standing and pounding angry fists up at Him. He can take our endless questioning through tightly pursed lips. He can take our indignantly folded arms and our pointed fingers. And, when we find ourselves lying in a pool of our own tears at the fraying (pun intended) ends of ourselves, He finds us. He picks us up and loves us as much as He ever has. Who we are and how we understand suffering has nothing to do with God and can never change His character.

We can have it all wrong. Our perception can be as muddy as a river in Alabama...and usually is. I'm thankful that He never tires of sifting through all the gunk and mud to find us, His beloved.

Not unlike the “School of Hard Knocks” the School of Contentment takes in the rough-edged people needing to learn something. The difference is those entering the School of Contentment have more than likely already taken the beating.

I ashamedly admit I’m only a part-time student in the School of Contentment at the present time. Full-time enrollment would require me to give up so much of my whining, martyrdom, and my intimate little pity parties for one with such great tiny violin accompaniment. Uh…Okay…sign me up.

Now, I understand everyone has their own reasons for donning the suit of armor known as pity and refusing to let any joy in. My reasons may seem frivolous to many, I am sure, but to me…they are HUGE.

Let me attempt to explain. Last week two bombs dropped. The first, I found out my ex-fiancée is in a “relationship”… ugh, not that it was a competition, but did he have to reach that stage before me? Second, my extended family canceled Christmas…or, to be a little less dramatic, they canceled our traditional gathering on Christmas Day because all the cousins my age (including my own brother) are spending the day with their significant others’ families. Awesome. As if I needed a reminder I was single. Now, I have “dated” since the big breakup over a year ago. I’m no hermit. But, I need to make sure everyone sees the quotation marks around the word “date”. I must use the word lightly or humorously rather. Actually, that could be an entertaining blog by itself in a Bridget Jones-esque style, but I digress. ..

Back to the School…
So, you see why I need to enroll. Obviously the invitations to pity parties have been coming more frequently, I catch myself just before I lay the hand, palm up across my forehead as I tell of my Christmas Day “plight”, and I’m just plain crabby.

What is the School of Contentment?
In Philippians Paul writes: I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

Paul enrolled in the School of Contentment too. What? Paul? Little Mr. Gold-Star, Apostle of the Millennia? If Paul had attended Sunday school, his mom’s fridge would’ve been covered in certificates. He is the man. And he needed to learn contentment. Wow. And notice the favorite bookmark quote so oft taken out of context that follows: I can do everything through him who gives me strength. The way I see it, if Paul had to learn contentment then maybe it’s not so bad that I have to learn it too. It’s not natural. It’s okay to be in process, working on it. And the secret isn’t so much of a secret is it?

Also, a good friend of mine shared a bit of her story with me recently and closed with this great advice. “The more impossible the challenge and the amazing the outcome, the greater God is glorified”.

I think about my story to date. Those that have stood by me are both close to God and not so close to God, but they love me and that’s why they’ve stuck by me. How amazing will the day be when God writes more of my story (the part of the contentment that is the plenty part) and I can point to Him and He truly is glorified?

So, if the more impossible the challenge and the more amazing the outcome, the more glory to God…I’m thinking Matt Wertz probably needs my number right about now…:)


Note:For a good sermon in which I stole the title of this blog:Check out Jeff Manion speaking to the community at Mars Hill, The School of Contentment, 2007. THANKS CRISSY!

It's Official...I'm the Grinch!

This past Saturday I endured one too many helpings of Christmas cheer...and completely lost it. That's right, I was officially Grinch-ified. Working in a church is especially taxing during the Holidays. I get so burnt out on the songs, the decorations, the concerts, the productions, and the services that by December 1, I'm ready for it to all be over and...ugh, it's just begun.

Like the mall Santa in A Christmas Story I wanted to kick some children down the slide and out of my way. I'd been at church all day Saturday rehearsing the youth choir production with some teenagers when I suddenly remembered that I forgot about an important errand. I had arranged for someone to sew us offering bags and she was picking up the material (which I already had) and the cording to make a drawstring (which I didn't have). Crap. Off to Michaels? Nope. Target? Nope. JoAnn Fabric? Sheesh! After almost vomiting from the overly cinnamony scent wafting from the fake topiaries strategically placed at the entryway, I was greeted by a mass of people wandering about JoAnn Fabric on a Saturday night. Happy people. Buying fabric?!?! What the? I just need to get in and get out, people. Clear the way. I am buying cord for offering bags. That's right, I work at a church. I'm not buying something for myself. I'm not caught in the clenches of a consumerist Christmas. I'm here to buy something for a church, so get outta my way!!!

I (of course) didn't find enough of the cord I needed, but decided I'd just buy what remained on the spool and get started, but at a fabric store you have to go to the cutting station to get it measured and get your neat little slip so you can check out. Awesome. I just want the whole spool, but I can't go directly to the check-out. I have to make a detour to a cutter. I quickly scanned the store. Every cutting line has a line. A LINE. Nice. Well, I'll just go...here. About 2 minutes into my waiting, I noticed I had chosen to stand behind the Duggar's. Okay, not really, but this family had Duggar written all over them. You know, the we make all our own clothes, are homeschooled, and freakin' happy all the time? I didn't want to wait behind a family buying all the fabric for their winter wardrobe, nor at this point did I care to be around happy people. Crazy, I know. I feverishly scanned the room again for any hope of an open cutting station. Nothing. The lines at other stations were longer. I was trapped in an annoyingly happy hell. I felt my rage begin to boil just below the surface. I just want to get this whole spool. I wish I could just skip this charade and check-out. I am buying it for church remember? Gosh, I am so good and what, you are buying fabric to make your Christmas frocks? The fabric continued to pile on and on. 3 yards of floral polyester, 4 yards of...what? Blanket material. You are making blankets to give away? Great.

I started to feel like Scrooge and the Grinch all rolled into one. I didn't even care that they were giving blankets away. My thick casing of crabby crud was inpenetrable. Not even puppies and chocolate would've made a dent in it by now. I was gone. I was a B and it was showing. By the time it was my turn, the toxicity of my crab was poisoning those around me. The cutting station lady threw the cord and slip at me without so much as a word. I raced to the checkout only to find myself behind the DUGGARS! Really? A lady opened a counter when I was at the front of the line and a guy behind me rushed to her as his wife pointed to me and protested, "She was next". "That's okay", I replied in a snotty tone. "I've been waiting all night" I said as I shot a dirty glance toward the sweet blanket making family. I finally got to a checkout counter and subverted any attempt of the high school clerk at small talk. As I exited the store I took one last chance to say, "EXCUSE ME!" to the Duggars who were blocking the entire lane.

As I entered the safety of my car and started home, a wave of disgust immediately washed over my whole body. I actually shuddered or shivered or whatever you do when your whole body trembles at something disturbing and gross. That disturbing and gross thing was me. I didn't like me. My heart was disgusting. I thought, How great would it be if any ONE of those people go to your church and see you leading worship in a few weeks? Awesome. God would be proud of me...the hypocrite.

How can I be so self-righteous one minute and then so full of anger and impatience the next? How can I profess to have Jesus' Spirit living in me and yet spread the toxic crud of crabby to everyone I meet?

Maybe this season I need to actually listen to the lyrics that I am so quick to tune out. Maybe I need to once again reclaim the essence of Jesus' birth and His impact on our world. Maybe I need to learn to love in a way that is so simple, yet requires so much more of me than I realize. A smile and conversation with a family making blankets, a free pass ahead of me in line, encouragement to a high schooler working the long days of a Holiday season.

I want to like me when I get in my car to drive home because I'm stuck with me.

Found

I am currently sitting in Hermeneutics class and as we were discussing empirical versus implied authorship a classmate brought up this website. Found

Interpret away. Isn't it amazing how we want to interpret and know the context surrounding everything?

It's heartbreaking, hilarious, and what the ? all at the same time.

Warning: A bit addicting. My professor called me out in front of the whole class. Good thing I'm sassy and quick on my feet :)

Here is a sample of one I "Found" on found




Haha! Cheeeeeesy, but oh, so cute.

Bold, Bold As Love

I broke down and purchased the John Mayer, Live at the Nokia Theatre album a couple of weeks ago. I knew it had many of the same songs as the Continuum album, which I already have, but I really, really wanted his version of Free Fallin' (it makes you say, "Tom Petty who?"). To my surprise, the narcissistic Mayer pontificates in the middle of the song, Bold As Love.

Great. I can't wait to hear a self-consumed musician speak. Just stick to what you know Mayer. Really, I don't care what you have to say.

But, within the first couple of sentences, I found myself actually leaning in, engaged and wondering what Mr. Mayer was going to say next. He had almost stripped his mega-star air and traded it for a down-to-earth, refreshing humility. It seemed as if he wanted to share something he had learned through years of mistakes and wasted arrogance.

This is what he said:
So check it out right, I've tried every approach to living. I've tried it all. I haven't tried every thing, but I've tried every approach. Sometimes you have to try everything to get the approach the same, but whatever. I've tried it all. I've bought a buncha stuff. I went "ehh, I don't like that." I kinda came in and out of that a coupla times.

I thought I would shut myself off. I thought maybe that's cool. Maybe that's what you have to do to become a genius is you have to be mad. So if you can get mad before the word genius, then maybe you can make genius appear. Right? That doesn't work either.

And I'm in a good place. I've paced myself pretty well. I'm 30, I've seen some cool stuff. I made a lot of stuff happen for myself. I made a lot of stuff happen for myself. That's a really cool sentence when you're in your 20s, right? "I made it happen for myself." But all that means is that I've just somehow or another found a way to synthesize love. Or synthesize soothing. You can't get that, and what I'm saying is I've messed with all the approaches except for one, and it's gonna sound really corny, but that's just love. That's just love.

I've done everything in my life that I've wanted to do except just give and feel love for my living. And I don't mean like, uh, Roman candle, fireworks, Hollywood hot pink love. I mean, like, "I got your back"-love. I don't need to hear "I love ya." You guys love me. I love you. We got that down. But some of the people who would tell you they love ya were the last people to just have your back. So I'm gonna experiment with this love thing. Giving love. Feeling love. I know it's corny, but it's the last thing I've got to check out before I check out.

- "Bold As Love (Live)," from Where the Light Is, by John Mayer


I especially appreciate how Mayer speaks of the "Hollywood hot pink love". That is what we see way too much of in our culture. That love is easy and empty and selfish. It gives little and requires even less...from us.

It all comes down to love, doesn't it? You can't buy it, trade it, fake it, consume it. You experience it. It requires you to give...of yourself...

And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. ~1John 4:16

Old Shoes

Okay, I realize I am going bloggy with two posts in one day, but an email I received today from Tom's shoes ignited an idea I had a few days ago.



I recently started playing competitive tennis again. In order to keep up with the other 4.0-ers at Lifetime I needed real tennis shoes. My year and a half old running shoes were downright embarrassing among the tennis clubbers not to mention beginning to fray at the seams...and well...smelly.



So, off I went to the store to purchase some brand spankin' new tennis kicks and a thought crossed my mind, what should I do with my old running shoes? What do I always do with my old shoes? I can't bear to throw them away so I hang onto them in hopes they will come in handy for a mission trip or painting project soon. In my parents' basement is a box of old athletic shoes from my years of tennis, basketball, softball, and running. There are probably ten pairs!! Just sitting. Collecting dust. They still have a good foundation to them, but not quite enough for competition.



Now, I'm just one person and I have ten pairs. What if more people gathered their slightly used, but not-suitable-for-athletics-anymore shoes and donated them? Jeez Louise! That could be a lot of shoes!



I spent a little over a week in Africa last Spring and everyone runs around barefoot. No, not because they love the feel of the grass on their toes. They don't have any shoes! We brought as many flip-flops as we could and still we would receive many inquiries about more shoes. I never knew how devastating lack of shoes could be. Watch the video below for some alarming news on what living without shoes does to people in Ethiopia.



So, my dream is to start an organization that collects the slightly used athletic shoes that really are still in good shape and send them to countries where they would be utilized in amazing ways. I might have to invest in some Odor-Eaters first, at least for mine. :)

So, who's with me? Got any old athletic shoes? I have no idea how to get this thing started, but if there's anyone out there like me (pseudo-athletes with a tendency to save old shoes), we could have a ton of shoes on our hands. What if we could somehow get other athletes involved? Hmmmm...

Oh, and if you are thinking of Christmas presents for peeps, may I suggest a pair of Tom's? :)

Cookies for Breakfast

Growing up my older brother and I were not allowed to have sugared cereal for breakfast. I never knew if it was the result of a health conscious mother or more of a financial decision (having an ad campaign with a talking Toucan is spendy). In any case, sugared cereals became this elusive desire of mine. It seemed like every one of my friends had Fruity Pebbles or Cap'n Crunch induced smiles on the school bus as I sat calmly digesting my dull, predictable Cheerios. It was always fun to have sleepovers at friends, grandma's, or my godparents' however. These loyal comrades were well aware of my plight and happily indulged my desire for sugar in the morning. Often times I would appear like a ravenous animal who hadn't eaten in days as I "bellied-up" to the table and consumed 2-3 bowls of the over-processed decadence.

Far removed from the strict breakfast clutches of my mother, this morning I ate cookies for breakfast. Oreos to be exact. I am an adult now and I make my own choices. If I want cookies for breakfast, I simply open the cupboard and tear open the package with not so much as an eyebrow raise questioning my source of morning sustenance. As I sat with coffee mug in one hand and oreo(s) in the other I thought, "This is great. I can eat whatever I want".

About 10 minutes later I stepped into the shower and started thinking about the day ahead of me. Immediately a wave of what the ??? washed over me. Oreos! Seriously, Dana?!?! You have a full day of work, a tennis match, and two papers to write tonight. Mom would've given me the breakfast of champions, but my choice was the breakfast of a chump.

When given our own choice, how often do we go crazy and rebel in a way that could be potentially harmful? Why do we not always see the difference between the things that are good for us and things that are not so good for us? I need rules. I need guidelines. I need to be held accountable to a standard. If left to my own devices, I choose Oreos.

I see that scenario play out in much more destructive ways in my life. When I choose something that I know is not what God would want for me, I'm left to pick up the pieces. He's there picking them up right beside me granted, but still...maybe all that would've been avoided if I'd chosen a little bit better, asked a trusted friend or prayed before I just jumped in and took action.

If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!"

I have a God who loves me and cares for me more than I even care for myself. Why would I choose Oreos for breakfast when I know He has so much more for me?

I stole this from a friend's blog. I couldn't help myself. I have no words...

A blast from the past

Not that I feel blogging is the best place to be transparent, but I ran across something I wrote almost two years ago and I could hardly believe it came from me. We are always on a road of trusting God and not knowing what's next...only God knows. I guess this post is proof that sometimes I do get introspective and a little reflective instead of just a ball of metaphors.

Thanksgiving 2006
This Road

Driving today I found myself reflecting on where I was a year ago Thanksgiving Day and emotions still flood my heart as I type. A year ago on Thanksgiving I took a long run in the morning because I was training for a half marathon with my then roommate Jenni. After a difficult living situation, I was incredibly blessed by my new roommates, Marsha and Jenni, and was about to discover just how blessed I was going to be. It was about 65 degrees and a sunny morning, rare in southern California. I was desperately trying to hold together a youth ministry full of beautiful young people, but had no idea how to let go of the fraying ends of my own limitations while swimming upstream against currents of responsibility and the heartache of church politics and egotistical leadership. After my run I headed over to the Vannoy’s, my adopted family. They had invited me to share Thanksgiving dinner with them. I semi-grudgingly agreed and cried as I spoke via cell phone with my family on the drive over to the Vannoy's. The sounds of my family enjoying a family dinner were especially painful because my absence didn’t change the sounds of laughter and love around the table.

Today I am home. I miss the friendships that changed my soul and made me a better person. I long for the students who believed in me and made me cling that much harder to the God who put me in their lives. I miss early morning surf sessions, coffees, dance parties, bible studies on the beach, laughter, tears, life’s loves shared with the ones who were rooting so intensely for me to make it. I feel some days like a part of me got left behind in California. Once a while it washes up on the shore and I try and catch it. I’m chasing after waves and a tide so unpredictable.


Today Terry, my adopted Californian dad, is gone. This Thanksgiving, his wife Linda will spend each breath breathing the agony of loss. A loss no one deserves. Today, I think of my students in California and pray that I didn’t mess them up too much. Today, I say a prayer for Jenni who is in New Zealand bravely conquering the false self that too often defeats the utter greatness found within her. Today, I learn to love. Today, I trust in the God who knows every road I have gone down, every road I will have yet to discover and I rest in the promise that only He knows why.

Check one, two...

I wrote a couple of weeks ago that I was scheduled to speak during our evening service. It happened. I got called up from the minors and had the honor to speak last night at church.

It was amazing to have my friend, Lauren, sing Shadowfeet by Brooke Fraser after my talk. She brought tears to many eyes. I couldn't post Lauren's rendition because of copyright issues, but for the full effect, go to Itunes and download Brooke asap. You'll be glad you did.

There are approximately 1.23 people that requested I post my talk online so...

Click here
to download or listen to it. It can be podcasted, which is a little trippy.

p.s. Thanks jz for my hermeneutical consultation.

A blog about blogging

Does anyone else think in a narrative form? Last night I lay awake thinking about life and as my thoughts drifted around in my head they seemed to arrange themselves in paragraphs and pages. Maybe our cyber world has become a bit too invasive if I'm thinking in blog terms. It reminds me of a quote from "You've Got Mail" (cheesy I admit, but hang with me). Meg Ryan's character is writing to a still mysterious, email-only version of Tom Hanks, "Sometimes life reminds me of something I read once and I can't help, but think it should be the other way around".

Is art a reflection of life or is life a reflection of art? I'm sure an argument can be made for both positions, but I'd rather my art be a reflection of a life lived to the fullest. This concept made me think about blogs in general. Never before in history have so many "authors" been able to be "published". Blogs have the power to influence, teach, inspire, and encourage as well as be a vehicle in which to "air dirty laundry", appear witty and intelligent, or emotionally vomit the tragically minute details of the latest break-up or drama-infested encounter. The latter of which is not unlike a train-wreck of words that suck the reader in until they've wasted 15 minutes of their life that can never be reclaimed.

I've recently stumbled upon a blog that at first glance almost made me cringe with that overly sweet, Jesus-y taste, but upon further reading has captured my attention and brought tears to my eyes. When life is lived authentically, it's bound to be messy, but the true marker of faith is what you do with the mess. I humbly admit that there have been some (very few) people in my life that have proved to me an unwavering faith in the face of horrible tragedy, but I continue to be pessimistic or skeptical about that kind of faith.

This woman doesn't live her life in a haze of blogworthy narrativity nor does she sit on the sidelines and pout as she folds her arms and points a blaming finger up at God. She authentically loves a God through tragedy and shares her journey with the blog-world. It's kind of a check for me. What kind of a blogger am I? What kind of blogger do I want to be? What kind of a person am I? What kind of a person do I want to be? Are these inextricably linked because of the infiltration of cyber-world to the real-world? Am I like Meg Ryan (reading) writing about things I haven't even experienced? Am I living a life worthy of being written?

Check out this blog and read about a life worthy of blogdom and so much more.

But first a caveat: Read the whole story here and read it with a box a kleenex close by.

This one is my favorite entry. What's yours?

He made me do it!

We can no more force someone to do something than we can bend a spoon with our minds, so why do we try?

This morning on the way to work I was in the slow lane of the freeway and noticed the distance between myself and car in front of me closing rather rapidly. Granted, I developed some bad habits navigating the 405 in Orange County daily, but I am not a reckless or dangerous driver. Almost as soon as I noticed the gap closing, I saw the red glow of brake lights in front of me. THERE WERE NO CARS IN FRONT OF THIS CAR! In other words, no plausible reason for the sudden slowdown. I became even more frustrated when I looked down at my speedometer to see "35mph". WHAT?!?! I looked up again at the driver (this all occurred in mere seconds) to see the man take both of his hands off the wheel and show me in a pantomime that he wanted more space.

I gave him more space all right. I changed lanes as soon as I could and left Mr.35mph in a cloud of dust on Highway 77.

The thought crossed my mind as I drove away, he was artificially trying to make me give him more space by slowing to an unsafe 35mph on the freeway, not to mention taking both hands off the wheel.

Why do we think we can manipulate people into doing what we want and at what cost and lengths will we stoop to?

I think we all have a little manipulation in us and it rears its ugly head every now and again whether we are conscious of it or not.

God never manipulates us. He knows we do so many things we shouldn't and need drastic intervention and yet, He stands by poised to catch us when we fall because he can't MAKE us do anything. I love the line from Bruce Almighty when Bruce is chatting with God about the "rules".

Bruce: How do you make so many people love you without affecting Free Will?
God: [snorts] Heh, welcome to my world, son. If you come up with an answer to that one, let me know.


In Psalm 139 it talks about the God who knows us better than we know ourselves. Even though He knows, God waits patiently, lovingly, and ready to catch us when we fall. I must admit, sometimes I wish he'd just slam on my brakes!


p.s. Just in case you were wondering, Yes, the man was an "older" gentleman. ugh! I hate when stereotypes are true!

What are you made of?

Phrases like "when the rubber meets the road" or "when the sh** hits the fan" never used to pack any kind of punch for me. I always thought they were kitchy little bumper sticker quotes to sprinkle into conversations. But lately, I've been thinking about who I am when the rubber really does meet the road. Who am I when sh** hits the fan? Because it does. No one can escape the realities of life from infringing upon your "plan".

I always used to fumble around in the dark searching for the fast-forward button bumping my knees on the sharp-edged end tables all the while wishing that I were somewhere else...someone else. Pain to me was a four-letter word. How could I fix it, get away from it, prevent it? I'm far from embracing pain, but this past year I've been learning what stuff I'm made of...and just who made my "stuff".

The opening lines of Brooke Fraser's song, Shadowfeet, capture the essence of what I feel:
Walking, stumbling on these shadowfeet
toward home, a land that I've never seen
I am changing, less and less asleep,
Made of different stuff than when I began
and I have sensed it all along, fast approaching is the day

When the world has fallen out from under me
I'll be found in you, still standing
When the sky rolls up and mountains fall on their knees
When time and space are through
I'll be found in you



If life is a journey and can be likened to a marathon, then this past year I hit the wall on the 21st mile. Muscles seized and rendered me paralyzed. The road disappeared before me. All other runners seemed to glide effortlessly passed me and there I was...hopelessly stuck. My heels dug deep into the asphalt and my legs too heavy to lift. I started the race strong and confident. It was a goal of mine for as long as I can remember. I prayed and prepared. I trained and ate healthy. I did my absolute best to be ready and more importantly put God before each twist and turn in the race, but still I ran at full speed into a wall.

God promises that He'll never leave us. God doesn't create the walls that we careen into, but instead He is there in the midst of the pain, the waiting, and the mending.

I've been asked to speak in a few weeks at my church and I am anxiously awaiting the day. It happens to fall on an anniversary of sorts and so I am going to celebrate that I am made of different stuff than when I began. No one chooses to hit a wall. No one asks for sh** to hit the fan, but God always and forever redeems us. He doesn't create the walls we run into, but makes us into different people than when we began.

363 Days

Many people think of feeding the homeless on Thanksgiving and Christmas. 363 Days is an organization dedicated to feeding the homeless on the other 363 Days of the year. One of the many services I'm involved in, Soulstice, partnered with 363 last Sunday and made 1,100 sandwiches in less than thirty minutes. It's amazing what we can do...one person at a time.





I tried to upload this to You Tube, but apparently Jonny Lang has a crack-legal team scouring the multitudes of uploaded videos daily to ensure his songs are copyright protected. Kudos to you Lang legal team! Try and find my blog! :)

Negotiation

I navigate through a myriad of negotiations throughout the course of my day. No, I am not a high-powered, albeit currently deflated Wall Street tycoon. Nor am I a smooth-talking, sweet-selling commercial real estate investor. My negotiations are much more run of the mill, day-to-day, and in a practical vein. My negotiations begin with a ringing alarm clock, "Okay, I'll stop pressing snooze and get up, but I am NOT going to shower". Nice. I got ya on that one. Take that, alarm clock! I negotiate with traffic on the way to work, "I'll stay here until the next exit and then I am ditching this mess and taking a different route". Haha. Thought you had me stuck here huh, Buster? I negotiate with my calorie intake. "Absolutely, I'll come with the lunch crew to Carbone's because later Lifetime Fitness awaits." In your face guilt! And even in my working out, "Sure I'll sweat it out on cardio machine X, but I am going to relax in the steam room and get a smoothie on my way out". Oh, geez. I am so good.

I am master of my own world. Everything is laid out as to best serve me, or at least I make it seem that way with my incessant negotiating.

How often do I negotiate with God? "Sure, I'll trust you on this one, but I am just going to rush it along a bit." He doesn't mind. That was going a little too slow. God helps those who help themselves, right? Negotiating my way through a relationship with God inevitably turns out to be unfruitful, frustrating, and just plain silly. The negotiations prevent me from actually seeing what God has for me. I'm so stinkin' blind sometimes and I am too focused on what I want to happen AND I think that because God loves me, He does too.

So, maybe I'll leave my negotiations to the alarm clock and try to stay in the places God has me. The lessons are learned in the mending. The hope happens when you're feeling stuck. Growth is in the tension of having the vision of what you want to be and feeling dissatisfied with where you're at.

Wise Philosophy from Christopher Robin

Last night as I was reading to my nephews a phrase literally leaped off the page. I re-read it over and over and wrote it on a post-it note before I left.

Christopher Robin says to his good friend, Pooh:
"You must remember this: You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."

Lies are plentiful and powerful and so often drown out the truth of who we are in Christ. Sometimes we need to become like little children and believe with a childlike heart.

GYA video

A couple of posts ago, I wrote about our Give Yourself Away event. This is a video I created trying to cast the vision for our community. The event was awesome. The Robbie Seay Band were a group of amazing guys. They drove all the way from Oklahoma City to MN because of Hurricane Ike. It was a blessing to us and I pray that this effort continues to be a movement of giving ourselves away instead of just a one-time event. If we are truly people of Love, then we should be giving ourselves away.

Note: the super cute little boy is my nephew, Tatum :)

Singing out of tune

I went on a road trip about a month ago to Spearfish, SD. What is in Spearfish, SD you ask? Good friends. And Sturgis motorcycle rally goers. Apparently I should have checked Harley.com before planning my trip.

I went to Sioux Falls first to pick up a friend to join me on the journey. She is a good friend I met my freshman year of college. She was a junior and couldn't stand me. She thought I was too sassy the first day I walked into choir with my ball cap on backwards and cracking jokes with anyone in my vicinity. However, I quickly won her over and she's been one of my closet friends for over 10 years. But, we are still very different. I'm still quite sassy and she is learning how to not be embarrassed by me little by little.

Like most people on road trips I crank the stereo as loud as it will go and sing along at the top of my lungs, but the difference is I sing the harmony and not the melody. My roadtrippin' friend asked me, "How do you know all the notes for harmony?" The truth is I don't know all the notes. I make them up as I go. I try to listen for the right harmony. Sometimes I'm wrong. Very wrong. I can be singing a great harmony to Brooke Fraser, Shane and Shane or Dave Barnes and then out of nowhere I hit a note that would send dogs running home with a whimper. I responded to her inquiry with an air that I knew would challenge her. "You are a better singer than me. Why don't you sing the harmony?" She replied, "Because I get notes wrong." She obviously hadn't been listening closely to my little "concert" on the driver's seat stage.

Someone once said, "If you are going to fail, fail BIG". I wish I could say that in all areas of my life I take risks and fail with the kind of gusto that makes people question whether I really failed at all. But the truth is, it's easy to fail with confidence from the confines of your car. I lack the stamina and character to fail in front of a crowd, out of the safety zone of comfort. When I make decisions I often find myself evaluating every possible outcome to the point where I don't make a decision at all. I'm so afraid to fail that I don't take action at all. I stack the cards in my favor. I'll do things I know I'll succeed at. Where is the growth in that?

So, there is this recurring theme of courage coming to the surface again and again. It's time to be brave and sing the harmony, even out of tune, beyond the steel cage of my Hyundia Elantra. Singing out of tune outside of my comfort zone is so much better than singing in tune in my small little world and hopefully I'll eventually learn the right notes...

beauty in the struggle

Ever since I read a quick side note about a Joshua Tree in a book, I've been fascinated and obsessed with these angular, gnarled, and striking trees. They grow and even find a way to thrive in the inhospitable deserts of California, Nevada and Utah. At first glance, Joshua Trees look ugly, harsh, beaten down and weary. They aren't the kind of tree you'd curl under and read your favorite book or catch a reprieve from the sun by basking in its cool shade. But, Joshua Trees are making it. They can survive where few vegetation can. They are hardy...and they are beautiful.

In the book I read about a naive, sweet, little girl. She feels sorry for the Joshua Tree. She sets out to water it everyday and protect it from the hard wind that tosses it about and causes it to grow sideways. Her mother raises her voice in an emphatic No! "The struggle is what makes it beautiful" she says.

The struggle is what makes it beautiful. The struggle is what makes us beautiful. I have many friends going through some pretty rough times right now and I know that this may sound trite and cliche, but I think there is profound truth in that phrase.

The struggle is only part of your story. The rest is beauty. Be beauty...because you are.

Sink or Surf?

During my two years as a youth director in Huntington Beach (a.k.a. Surf City, USA), CA I thought it was my duty to take up the sport of surfing. And I thought it would be wicked cool to be a surfer chick.

Thanks to some awesome students and their parents, my road to becoming a full-fledged surfer chick was relatively bump free. I had patient teachers, great surf (most of the time) and super cool students that were always willing to take me out, albeit at a crabby 7 a.m. I could probably wax poetic about many metaphors for surfing and my life, theology, etc, but today one came to mind.

One Sunday afternoon I went with two of my favorite surfing buddies, Lou and Zach, to Newport Beach. Usually we stuck close to home. I was familiar with Bolsa Chica Beach in Huntington. It was where I always surfed, ran, and went to study and prepare my messages. But today the boys thought I was ready for more...

Newport was packed. I was intimidated by all the shortboarders hoarding the waves with skill and ego. They seemed to pop up out of everywhere and I felt out of place, clumsy and awkward with my huge 7'6'' longboard. Now please understand that at this point and still today, I am a NOVICE. The longest ride I'd taken on a wave was roughly 5 seconds...of pure bliss, but still only five seconds! I maxed out on three foot waves and even the sight of that height sent my heart rate spiking.

I tried to be cool. I am with high school students after all. I'll just let them go out in the pack and catch the four-fives while I catch the little whitewater beach breaks Sure, they were only like one foot high, but I wasn't ready for the four-fives that were my only other option. Plus, I didn't want to look like an idiot with the rest of the surfers. They were experienced and I was well...blunderful (the opposite of wonderful combined with blunder).

I quickly lost sight of my students and started my "safe" shorebreak session. I remember thinking to myself, "It's so much nicer here. Nobody's surfing here. Nice". I tried unsuccessfully for about 20 minutes to catch anything decent and I was starting to feel really discouraged. It felt a little different than the waters I was used to, but I just dismissed that feeling to the fact that we were in Newport instead of Huntington (kinda like we're not in Kansas anymore). But the feeling wouldn't go away. Before I knew what had happened, I had drifted out. The shoreline was no longer a quick paddle away. I thought I'd get off my board and see if I could touch. As I wiggled off my board, I looked up just in time to see the most gigantic wave I'd ever encountered crash directly on top of me. The next five minutes felt like five hours. I was tumbling in an endless sea of saltwater unaware of where the surface was. I didn't even know which end was which or where to paddle toward. I opened my eyes to try and see any hint of sunlight amidst the sting of salt, but I was clueless. My leash was still attached to me and my board and somehow, mercifully, just as I felt the last bit of breath exit my body, I surfaced. No sooner than I could gulp in a breath to replace what I had exhaled, another wave pummeled me under in the same twisting relentless force of ocean. This happened one more time. I remember thinking that I could die. I was exhausted and didn't see an end to this ruthless game of cat and mouse. I was being tossed about like some rag doll and I had nothing more to give. I could no longer fight the all - consuming, never weakening strength of the waves. Just then as I popped out for the third time I heard one of my students say, "Hey Dana, need some help?" I couldn't even answer. Zach told me to get on my board and grab his foot as he paddled us sideways. As we entered calmer waters Zach said with a bounce in his voice, "That was a pretty gnarly rip! You had like 6 foot overheads!"

A RIP TIDE!?!?! Seriously?!????? So, that's what they feel like...pretty darn awful.

As I reflect on that story today it reminds me of living a life of safety versus living the life God has called you to. I was too scared of putting myself out there...in the bigger waves, with the more experienced surfers. I thought I'd be safer if I stayed closer to shore, but that was definitely not the right choice. Sometimes the choice to be brave and step out into the deeper waters is the choice that needs to be made, it's the choice to experience more of what God has for you.

I'm not saying that if you don't pick His choice, He'll send you into a tumultuous season of constant riptides. I don't think our God is like that. We have many choices. What I do think is that we paralyze our growth by choosing to stay in the seemingly safer waters. We stunt our own growth. Maybe this is a bit like what Peter felt when Jesus called him out on the water. Staying in the boat would stunt his growth. It would keep him stuck in the same pattern, a status quo of discipleship. Jesus was calling him out to more.

So, have I learned my lesson? Do I still gravitate toward the shore or am I ready to catch some bigger waves?

Battling Expectations: Review of THE SHACK

A friend of mine in high school vowed to never watch Forrest Gump. It didn't matter how much time we spent convincing him it was worth watching because that wasn't the point. He felt that the hype had elevated the movie to a height that it would surely not be able to reach upon his viewing.

I battled this same expectation as I read The Shack. Although the hype hadn't been as big as a feature-length movie with a powerful studio behind it, Christians have an uncanny way of rooting for "their own team" in a sense and as a result I felt like I read The Shack with a much more critical eye.

Plainly said, I deeply enjoyed some parts of the book while other sections left me feeling a bit cheeseball and wishing that Christian allegory and metaphors could be a bit more.

#1: My all-time favorite theme of the book was redemption found through relationships. My favorite quite comes from the Foreward, "I suppose that since most of our hurts come through relationships so will our healing, and I know that grace rarely makes sense for those looking in from the outside." I exhaled deeply and re-read this sentence about four times before continuing. I just wanted to camp out right here. If there were no more words written in the book, I would have been satisfied. But, gracefully there was more.

#2: The theme of redemption through relationships continued to weave itself beautifully throughout the book. I never thought the author claimed to be a theologian and so I never questioned any of the concepts he introduced. What the author, Young, did do was paint a picture of relationship between the trinity and Mack that was beautiful, authentic, and heart-lifting. When the main character, Mack, struggled to connect with a God in whom he could trust he looked to Jesus and built a solid, loving, caring relationship with a man he found so easy to love.

Thank you for emphasizing relationship and denouncing religion. That almost made me laugh out loud picturing Jesus talk about his dislike for religion.

Here is what I thought was a little cheeseball:
#1: Mack's over-eagerness to engage in such a "spiritual awakening". For a man stuck in a deep depression, he seemed a bit to easy to convince that God was inviting him on a journey to the shack. Really, is it that easy? The next weekend? I wanted to see a bit more inner fight and maybe some spiritual battle happening just to get him there.

#2: Whoa! Slow down Mack! What happened to your anger? your sadness, your questions? For me being in the presence of the Holy Spirit doesn't make my emotions any less raw. What happened to your passion? I wanted more rage, more anger, more throwing of the fist up at Papa. He just seemed to melt into submission around the crew and let them do all the talking. And, when I say all the talking, I really mean ALL the talking. I definitely get it that the mystery of God is just that, but why does Mack need to look like an idiot replying in one word phrases and insisting that his brain was turning to mush while the crew continued to simplify by using metaphors and analogies that made me feel like I was reading a devotion by John Eldredge? (not bad by any means, but not original).

I believe The Shack can and is being used to touch the hearts of many. I am passing it on to my dad the next time I see him and I hope he'll pass it on. The message of hope and that God is especially fond of us is one that I will never tire of hearing or praying that people can accept. I've known too many people who don't believe that they are loved by God and their relationship or lack thereof with God affects all the relationships around them. For them and for all of us the message of being loved by God rings loud and true in this book.

P.S. In his acknowledgements he cites Matt Wertz as one of his many musical inspirations, but then adds after Matt's name in parentheses "you are something special". This dude has GREAT taste! :)

Kids Say the Darndest Things!

Back in the 50's and 60's Art Linkletter hosted a show with a section devoted to chatting with kids aged 5-10. Obviously, I wasn't around to see it live, but I've seen many clips and years later Bill Cosby attempted a show of his own in the late 90's with the same title. I LOVE the silly things kids say. I love how uninhibited they are and how they say exactly what is on their mind. What I also love is how they point so directly to the words on our own hearts. Often times kids say what we feel and what we wish we didn't feel. Kids haven't yet learned the art of tact or humility and in many ways they expose our own lack of humility.

Monday I took my nephews to the zoo. If you are losing interest, please stick with me. This is no doting auntie post believe me. I could post a long list of funny things my nephew, Tatum, has said, but what struck me more was a conversation he had with my dad after I took them home.

Tatum loves cars. He is a typical four year-old boy. He loves to race matchbox cars and crash them. He always asks you which one you want to be. If you answer incorrectly, he'll let you know. You have to pick the winning car. That's the way it works. As Tatum prepares for an upcoming matchbox race he proudly displays the two options before my dad.

"Which one grandpa?"

My dad selects a car at random fully aware of Tatum's game.

"No grandpa. That one loses."

My dad answers, "That's okay."

Tatum is fully bewildered at this point and tries to reason with my dad.

"Don't you want to win?"

My dad replies with a quick and easy, "No."

"But, then you'll lose. You want to lose?"

Tatum is puzzled beyond belief and his poor little head is trying to figure this concept out. His face is all contorted and if he had wrinkles on his brow, I'm sure they would've furrowed. Tatum tries again, "You don't want to be a winna" (he has a toddler accent :) and says this pleading with my dad to change his mind)

My dad responds with a classic line that characterizes the man I'm so blessed to call father. He says, "No. I don't want to win. Because If I lose, that means someone else wins and that makes me happy."

I felt as if the air stood still for a moment. It hung thick all around me as I felt tears rising from my clenched throat. Like a flood I recalled all of the countless times my dad has put me first. He truly lives his life this way. He is happiest when he loses...because others win. I am overwhelmed to have a father that has lost so many times for me so I could win. I wish I could be more like my dad, but I fear that I am more like my nephew Tatum questioning, "Don't you wanna win?" What is life really about? Can I be happy losing? or will I continue to question the sanity of those who willingly choose to lose?

Redpath

Some friends of mine just started a new group, Redpath, and I got to go into the studio to record their process. I thought it would be fun to do sort of a "behind the scenes" peek. This is their first single, "Let Go" produced by Darren Rust. They have another song coming out soon produced by Joel Hanson. I think they're pretty neat-o, but in the very famous words of LeVar Burton, "You don't have to take my word for it." Go check them out for yourself. myspace.com/theredpathsmusic

A Love Story

I'm taking a short reprieve from my usual blend of sassy cynicism to write about a love story that delivers more oohs and ahhs than the silver screen.

This year my grandparents will celebrate their 66th wedding anniversary. 66 years! Even as I type, I find myself shaking my head in a dazed disbelief. How can two people be married for 66 years? Maybe my questioning comes from the poisonous message of the current culture that validates an "I'm sick of it and want out" policy. Maybe it's because I don't really believe people can marry their high school sweetheart; don't we have to "discover ourselves" first? DeLores and Joe Ackert answer my skepticism with proof that I can't deny. 66 years after they said "I Do" they still stand by each other with unwavering loyalty and a love that I can't even begin to do justice with my feeble words.

About three years ago my cousin, Katie, and I stumbled upon a box full of old letters. When we looked closer at the letters, Katie and I both thought we had struck gold. The box contained hundreds of letters written by a young husband stuck overseas involved in a war that tore him away from his lovely bride for three years. Katie and I both vowed to type the letters and create some sort of a book for our family. The way in which our grandpa wrote brought tears to our eyes. Life has gotten in the way of our once ambitious plan to bring the love letters to life again, but my passion to tell their story has been renewed. Their health has been slowly declining and each day brings a new set of challenges. In the wake of my very own love lost, I have come to see the rare and priceless beauty in a love that defies all odds, years, and even wars. It's a love that makes me believe it can exist and trust that love really does overcome. It's a love story that begs to be told...and so...I will.

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. ~1 Corinthians 13:1

What is going on here?

For what seems like years, but in reality has only been about six months a small group of us have been planning a well...movement for lack of better word. Give Yourself Away 08 is a movement to connect people with needs to the people that can help meet those needs. It's kind of a "needs network".

We are launching it on September 14 with a big Robbie Seay Band concert. The catch is you can't get into the concert unless you give something away. You can sign up to the needs network at giveyourselfaway08.com or bring something to give away the night of the concert.

I'm angsty and feisty and just plain bored with church done the same static way it's always been done and this excites me in a way I can't describe. Being the Church doesn't mean we gather in a building once a week to smile and sing and learn how to be like Jesus. Being the Church is about getting our atrophied butts out there and connecting to the real world. One with pain and hurt, frustration and devastation.

It can be as simple as taking photographs of a family and putting them in a nice album or changing a single mom's car's oil. Money is good, but relationship is better. I once had a conversation with a friend about "assisting" bringing the Kingdom here on earth. He disagreed and said, "God's Kingdom is already here. He doesn't need our help to "bring" it". I've since revised my view. I feel as if God's Kingdom is under a veil of ugliness, unjustness, inequality, and oppression. Every time we step outside ourselves, we tear back a small portion of the veil to reveal God's Kingdom here on earth.

Whether you agree or disagree with my theology is irrelevant because I'm learning life isn't about me anyway. giveyourselfaway08 needs prayer and participants. Check it out. Tell your friends and family and strangers on the street. It's not solely a church thing or a Jesus thing. It's about loving people because we all deserve to be loved.

Consumerism at its best...for real

So, like most females I love to shop. I have to restrain myself more times than I care to however, because of lack of the ever vital dollar bills.

In the ugly wake of consumerism versus lack of money versus "Gosh, I should be doing better things with my money", I stumbled upon the most amazing thing; Tom's shoes www.tomsshoes.com. I'm dying to get these shoes! Not only are they super Cali cool and remind me of my (almost) surfer days, they actually donate a pair of shoes to a child in need for every pair purchased. Every pair!!! Not 10% of the proceeds, not an undisclosed portion of the profits, a whole pair!! Pair for a pair.

For those of us trying to be conscious of what we buy and how we spend our money, I think we should make a statement and get a whole bunch of these shoes. Keep a couple pairs for yourself and give some away as gifts. Talk about a gift that keeps on giving...for real. I love this company and their commitment to give.

Stay Classy Bloggers! :)

Yvonne

Often times I find myself having "aha" moments over and over again. I'm not sure if it's because my brain seems to be partial to exclamation marks or because I'm easily distracted and need to be reminded. In either case I had another "aha" moment last week over a topic I've been wrestling with for quite some time.

It began two weeks ago when I joined three other ladies from my church at a woman's apartment. We had been called by the CAC (Community Action Council). Yvonne had called needing assistance moving. Her husband had died three years ago and she had been on the waiting list for Section 8 housing for just as many years. Finally Yvonne's number was called and she needed help packing and moving her two bedroom apartment. She had surgery a few years back and couldn't pack herself and didn't have access to any help for lifting and moving items.

Yvonne is a larger than life character. She has two cats, one of which bites...hard. She is an adept chit chatter and can derail any small attempt at progress swiftly and with Bond-like precision. You need a designated out when you start talking with her or else your goodbye may last 45 minutes.She has amassed a colorful assortment of useless, indecipherable, and unmentionable trinkets over her life and they all sat proudly displayed in every available nook and cranny in the two bedroom apartment. It's an intimate thing to pack people's belongings. You see and touch their prized possessions. Sometimes I blushed at the items and other times I sighed with a heavy heart. Her husband's closet hadn't even been looked at since he passed away and I had the task of packing it up. I couldn't help but breathe a little deeper as I opened the doors. It felt like sacred space in a way.

When we got the call to go back a few days later and actually move her stuff I couldn't help but feel a little hesitation. Her apartment is thick with lung burning smoke, her cats are just plain scary and she's got soooooo much junk. I really wasn't looking forward to it, but we didn't have that many volunteers so the part of me missing the guilt trip immunity agreed to help, but I was grimacing on the inside. Upon my arrival I was surprised to see the amount of volunteers expected had more than tripled. "Great." I thought, "It'll be done quicker". I was wrong. 4 hours later I loaded my sweaty, smelly body back into my car, but I was smiling and my mindset transformed.

During the course of the night, I got to know Yvonne. I listened to her story. I found out that her husband had been diagnosed with cancer 2 months before he passed and that her daughter had been murdered 5 weeks within her husband's passing. She was the first African American woman to ever be employed by WCCO Television and she loves her mother. There's power in human connection when we allow a voice to be given to people's stories. It should be a human right to be heard; your story ascribed worth and value simply because it's yours, no one else can claim it and no one can take it from you.

Yvonne knew we were from a church, but we didn't tell her which one. We weren't advertising a worship service or even Christianity, but something amazing happened. She asked us. She wanted to know what kind of faith community would gather and help someone out who had nowhere else to turn. She wanted to be a part of that community.

I used to think relational evangelism was about listening to people so that you would "earn" the right to be heard. I realize now that that philosophy is manipulative and shallow and deduces the value of a person's story to some sort of a commodity or currency to exchange. You tell me your story and I'll tell you mine...about Jesus.

I became genuinely interested in this eclectic lady named Yvonne and in turn she asked about faith and our church service. It surprised me. I'm starting to see how powerful stories are especially when you listen without pre-selecting the words you are going to say next. Learning to listen is like learning to truly love.

First Impressions

Since graduating from high school I have lived in three states and about eight different cities. Needless to say I am constantly meeting new people and kid you not as I was typing this a guy at Caribou approached me needing help finding directions to an interview in Bloomington.

What do we notice first about people? The way they look? Dress? Talk? How they present themselves? A friendly air about them? Whether we like to admit it or not first impressions are mainly based on shallow presuppositions. We accept or reject further relationship based on a limited amount of information.

I have a friend named Jeremy who is the coolest guy I know. He is the bomb.com.net.org.gov.edu. In wikipedia next to "cool" is a pic of this dude flashing a bright smile. It sounds like I'm exaggerating, but anyone who knows him knows that he is a solid man of God with incredible character and integrity who also happens to be super cool. Naturally when Jeremy was single I thought it was my right, no my duty as his friend to hook the brother up. We were both living in CA at the time and the beautiful ladies were plentiful. My first attempt fell flat when the first words out of her mouth to Jeremy were, "Do you like my shoes? They were $200." I totally mistook the first impression I had of this girl. I focused on the shallow points of her beauty and style and thought that she would be a good match. I was dead wrong. I was so wrong that the next time I tried to set Jeremy up he almost declined my offer...but thankfully he trusted that I'd learned my lesson about first impressions.

This brings me to Mikaela, a young woman from MN who had just moved to CA a few months before. A mutual friend was throwing a New Year's party and thought as fellow Minnesotans we needed to meet. By the time we met, she was heading out the door on to another party, but we did talk for ten minutes. Seriously, only ten minutes! Of all the words I used to describe Jeremy, she surpassed them all. In ten minutes I got a picture of an amazingly beautiful, sincere woman with an even more amazing heart. Her outside captured you, but her heart made your mouth hang wide open. I called Jeremy the next day and the rest is history. They were married last August.

It makes me think first impressions really are important, but not in the way I've always thought. It says in the Bible that there was nothing special about Jesus' appearance that would attract people, but that is just what He did. He attracted people by the droves with his heart. So maybe I need to think less about my wardrobe choices and hairstyle as I do the condition of my heart. We all say that we want to work on our character, but do we really believe character can come out in a first impression? I do.

I'm not gonna write you a love song

Have you ever felt like you were under the thumb of someone or something? Life is full of prescriptive mandates and you play the game according to the set rules or...what? You become a rebel?

Can faith be prescriptive? Follow this set of principles, stroll down the "Romans Road", pray a prayer and Bam!, you are saved. For as long as I've been a Christian I have struggled understanding certain tenets, especially the logistics of salvation. It may have a lot to do with my denominational mut status. I was raised in a Lutheran church, attended a Baptist college, went to church with Vineyard and AG friends, and have a whole side of my family claiming to be Catholic. Needless to say the messages about "being saved" have swirled about my brain in a confusing picture that looks like a finger painted Picasso. And interesting to note, the first mention of salvation wasn't until my first year of Baptist college. What??? What the heck is going on? I have gone to church my whole life? What are you telling me? The concepts, terminology, logistics surrounding salvation frustrate me. I often feel like it becomes divisive. If you believe this theology, proceed to camp A. If you believe in this theology, please proceed to camp B. If you do not believe in either, please proceed to hell...in a handbasket. I'm not saying that theology is not necessary, but it seems to aid in our grouping and distinguishing of individuals' salvation based on what denomination they ascribe to instead of the state of their heart.

Also, once you are counted among the "saved", your responsibility is to "save" more. I'm sure there are many people in my life that stood by me excitedly awaiting the day where I would come to a relational faith with Jesus Christ, but thankfully no one pushed, forced, or coerced me to pray a prayer before I knew what I was doing. I wish I could call those friends that I thought were a little loopy for being baptized in what looked like a hot tub when we were juniors in high school and say, "Guys, I get it now". Those friends loved me. They didn't try to change me and most of all they never tried to prescribe a certain journey of faith I needed to be on. God was pursuing me. The Holy Spirit was working and my faith was growing and developing.

This brings me back to my experience in Africa. As part of the medical clinics, patients were invited to receive counseling. For a weary heart and body I'm sure this sounded like a much needed respite from the harshness of their reality. I was expecting an opportunity to show compassion, share tears, embrace a broken soul facing a life with HIV, but instead I was shocked to discover the mandate of salvation. I felt myself becoming physically ill when a patient was hounded about her lack of relationship with Jesus and her desperate need for Him. Never mind that you came in here to talk about how scared you are to tell your family you have just been diagnosed with HIV. Never mind that you are scared to die. Never mind that you want a compassionate face and someone to accept you the way you are. You need to change. You need to have a relationship with Jesus before we will speak to you. Let me start by talking about sin and (y)our need for a Savior...

Really? We are going to talk to her about how she is a sinner? Right here? Right now? I could feel the uneasiness in my stomach begin to creep it's way up my esophagus. I've never gotten physically ill before, but everything in my body was screaming NO!!!!!!!! JUST LOVE HER!!!! You can listen and love her and tell about this amazing man named Jesus that gives you hope, but don't make her pray a prayer. Don't prescribe her faith like a pill to swallow. Let her be herself and love her just the way she is. I pray that after we left she was able to speak with someone she trusts about the grace, love, hope, and redemption found in this man Jesus and not just the freedom from sin.

I attended a class about missions in which a man once told a missionary, "Your message of Jesus comes to us already planted in a clay pot decorated the way you like it. We love the message of Jesus, but we had to break the pot and replant it in our own." We can't tell others how to know and love Jesus. We can only show and tell of Jesus' love for them. Let's leave the prescriptions for the doctors.

I walked out of the counseling and couldn't return for the rest of the week in Africa. I couldn't write the love song they asked me to write. I couldn't add to the number of "saved" that week, but it doesn't bother me because I know God is pursuing the hearts of all He created and He is drawing them unto Himself in His time.

Africa...Take 1

Here is my first attempt at describing my experience in Africa. My life has been anything but linear these last couple of months so when asked to go to Africa, I jumped on it faster than Angelina hopping on a plane to pick up her next kid. It’s hard to explain Africa. It seems to be the humanitarian cause du jour; social justice is the new “black”. It’s in. It’s trendy. You can wear it on an expensive tee or around your wrist. You can sip it out of a mug. You can drink it out of a bottle. You can put in on over your newly styled coif. You can be just like a celebrity, if you choose Africa.

A fellow team member asked me, “So, why did you choose to come to Africa? Of course you felt called, but why do you feel called?” Crap. This kind of question already? We’re still in New York. We haven’t even gotten on the “big” plane. I sheepishly retorted some rehearsed answer perfected by years of ministry and knowledge of the spiritual lexicon. It seemed to appease the questioner, but it caused uneasiness in the pit of my stomach for the rest of our ridiculously long journey to Malawi. Why had I come to Malawi? Had I ever really thought about Africa more than just the CCF commercials when I was a kid and I thought you actually adopted a child? (Incidentally my brother and I would argue over getting a girl or a boy because we thought they actually came to live with you). Or maybe when I’d seen the Invisible Children film and heard about the kidnapping of child soldiers in Uganda. Then of course I heard about Rwanda, and thanks to Leonardo DiCaprio, the Ivory Coast. But, Malawi? Can’t say that I’d ever thought about it much and here I was sitting in a plane for 26 hours about to embark on an adventure I really hadn’t thought about all that much. Story of my life. Act first and sort out the details later.

The first striking thing I noticed about Africa was my annoyingly ignorant and ethnocentric view of the globe. Africa is freaking huge! You could fit nearly 6 United States inside the continent. Clearly the maps we use to teach our children have an agenda. Fly South African Airways and look inside their in-air magazine for a more accurate take on the size of the world’s continents. Secondly, Africa is not all desert or barren wasteland. Granted, I had the blessing of traveling immediately following the rainy season, but it was covered in rolling green hills, mountains, and beautiful trees and flowers . I felt this overwhelming sense of entitlement as we rode through villages each morning to get to our medical sites each day. I couldn’t help, but think, who the h are we? We travel anywhere in the world that we want. We drop in on people, on communities that have never experienced life outside their tiny village and we swoop in to do what? To save them? To heal them? To teach them about McDonald’s and running water? Who am I to come in and change anything? What do they want? What do they need? Whatever I do, I want to start with asking those questions first. One of the many beautiful things about Africa is their list of wants and needs are generally the same. Growing up in our overindulgent society, needs and wants become this indistinguishable mix of stuff. When you shake it out, distill it, you actually start to see that our needs and wants are very different things and our list of needs is small, but what would someone else's list look like?

WANTS & NEEDS: MALAWI (NTSCHISI DISTRICT)
1. Clean drinking and bathing water that is less than a mile away.
2. Bandages so lesions don’t become infected.
3. De-worming pills so I don’t get sick from my every day life and all the parasites lurking in and around my home.
4. Soap to wash away the parasites before I eat with the very hands that touch the parasites.
5. A toothbrush and toothpaste so my teeth won’t rot away.
6. Shoes or sandals so I don’t have to go barefoot everywhere.
7. A parent so I don’t have to take care of my baby sister and actually get to play with the other five year-olds in the village.
8. A husband that doesn’t leave me and our kids when he finds out I have HIV.
9. A friend I can actually talk to about being scared to die of AIDS.
10. A hug and acceptance from my community when I tell them I’m sick.

So, I actually made up this list obviously. But, I think it wouldn’t look that different if a Malawian living in the Ntchisi District was asked to compile such a list. They wouldn’t ask for toilets with running water or restaurants serving burgers and fries. They wouldn’t ask for gas guzzling cars to get around (they may ask for a bicycle) or new clothes. It makes me think that the more you have the more you want. The more I’ve been exposed to, the more I’m accustomed to expecting it. The basics of life are not a want for me. I don’t even think about clean drinking water or getting sick from taking a shower. It’s so expected and taken for granted that I fail to think of the many people who struggle for such things on a daily basis.

Back to my original thought: Asking them what they want. What can I do for you? Instead of, bursting in with “Here I come to save the day”. It was very frustrating standing by waiting to help build a chicken coop because so many guys from the church came out to help, but isn’t that the point? Together. We build it. Also, I love kids, but I wanted a break and they followed me everywhere even when I was supposed to be doing something else, argh, kids. Attention and fun should not to be overlooked. Hugging a child with stuff oozing out of their eyes and nose and ringworm over half their head exposing their bare scalp, is usually not my idea of fun. But to see their faces when you reach out, to feel their bodies relax into yours is indescribable. Kids in Africa have to grow up so fast. The stress of life is unbearable. I pray that for one moment they felt what it’s like to be a kid.

Wow, I said this was “Take 1”. I’m not sure how to stop writing. More will probably come as I continue to process the experience. I didn’t even get into the ways God moved and also the ways in which spiritual agenda made me sick. Africa is worse than I thought and more beautiful than I thought. It’s not a cause. It is a place with amazing people and amazing stories. Africa makes me feel incredibly small and that is a very good thing.

Regret

I’m sure when asked in an anonymous poll many people would agree to having regretted at least one significant event in their life. In any given day we make choices that affect the next moment, next day, and the next year of our lives without realizing it. What would it look like to live a life without regrets? No what ifs? No should-a, could-a, would-as. No looking back and wondering how the ending could have played out differently. What if life is like a “Choose Your Own Adventure Book”? The journey to get to the ultimate end varies depending on your choice. As a kid, I used to read ahead and choose the way I thought would be the best. If I didn’t like it, I would go back and choose the other option, “If Sally goes in the tunnel, turn to page 34. If she eats a hamburger, turn to page 67”. I kept going back and usually ended up reading through every possible option before realizing all the options lead to an end that isn’t really that horrible. Is God’s will like that? We choose paths in our life, but He has written the ending or endings? We may regret choices we make along the way, but if we trust His ending is coming, even if just the end of the chapter, can it lighten the load of regret? I want to choose to live a life without regret. Maybe learning to trust that God is the author of my adventure can help me to see my regrets as turns and twists on the path toward His plan instead of debilitating mistakes. Maybe taking an action can be as simple as meeting your favorite singer after a concert and telling him you appreciate his music. Letting sweaty armpits, a tied up tongue, and a racing heart stop you (along with the embarrassment of feeling like a seven year-old at a Hannah Montana concert) would end in regret if only for a couple of days. Maybe action is more difficult like moving across the country, ending a relationship, choosing to enter graduate school, or choosing to forgive someone who wronged you deeply. Whatever the choice, holding back doesn't have to be an option if you believe God will catch you. Ray Anderson, a professor at Fuller Seminary once said, "Choices are not black and white. There isn't one wrong and one right answer when you place God before you." That concept shattered my conventions of choice and God's will.

Maybe theologically I am making absolutely no sense, but to an individual paralyzed with fear and uncertainty, I believe looking at God in this way can help. He is good. His plan is good even if we can’t see it. I have to frequently remind myself to see the forest for the trees. I will inevitably make bad choices. Some of these choices I will be aware of and some will be thrust upon me against my will and possibly against my desperate attempts to avoid them. Knowing that God is bigger than bad choices or unfortunate circumstances helps me to don the glasses of trust in the author of my adventure. And, like C.S. Lewis writes, “He isn’t safe, but He’s good.” After all, what do you call a safe adventure? Boring.

God(less)

I have the blessing of being in a small group with three ladies that just happen to all be wonderful worship leaders. This past Monday we got into a discussion about guess what? worship.

The different questions we tossed around:

Does secular music have a place in worship services? And if so, where?
What is worship?
Where is God in worship?

At the risk of bringing up a topic already highly scrutinized, I want to share some "aha" moments that occurred for all of us that night.

First of all the concept of secular music to me is a bit ridiculous when I remember the vastness and enormity of our God. We like to separate art, music, businesses, and people like sheep and goats. For what purpose? A good friend of mine pointed out a not so savory hip-hop/rap song that touched her heart deeply while she was on her DTS for YWAM (Youth With A Mission). She was feeling alone, broken, and ravaged by years of pain being forced to the surface with incredible force and destruction through her YWAM journey. She went for a walk alone in rural Thailand and the words of the rap song came to her like an all consuming embrace from God. She felt the words searing through the sin and pain and speaking truth to her heart. I have to admit that when she later told me of this story, I laughed with an uncomfortable mixture of ignorance and indignation. How could those words speak to you? Her reply was simply, "How could He not?" How dare I limit God to speaking only through self-professed Christian artists wearing their brightly whitened Christian smiles and freshly starched Christian t-shirts. I'm not saying that now I load my iPod with Snoop and Diddy's latest, but I do listen to music with a different ear, expectant of God to speak through His art.

The second "aha" moment goes along with the first. In this age of Rob Bell-esque inspiration, we have all been encouraged and blessed by investigating the Hebrew text and meaning when studying Scripture. We often call a church service "worship" or maybe we label just the section we sing as "worship". Some even say "Praise Chorus" or "Praise songs". What's the deal with Praise and Worship? Forgive me if I simplify the Hebrew because it is not my intent to be irreverent. But, from my understanding the word for praise is the uplifting, raise your hands in the air type of...well, praise. Worship is the kind that sends you to your knees to acknowledge the God of gods and that we are definitely worthy to be...on our knees before Him. We see that co-existing in the Psalms. I used to think David was a bit off his rocker praising God one second and crying and whining on his knees the next. Now I see his authenticity in the pairing of Praise and Worship. It's almost like one without the other doesn't make sense. It's like one side of velcro won't stick to anything or serve any purpose, but when they come together...Magic for your Roos!

So, connecting the praise and worship to "secular" songs and attempting to explain the final aha, the way I see it, when we authentically worship, we open ourselves up to hear God speak. God is everywhere and in everything, rap music, the crabby lady at Target, and a sun-filled leap day. Worship happens whether we do it or not. The very rocks will cry out and proclaim who God is. Why wouldn't God use everything in His world to speak to us? Saying secular music has no place in worship is like saying bulletins have no place or drums are not holy and do not belong in church. It's not about the style, it's about the intended purpose. I don't think we'll be going Younglife anytime soon and breaking out in "Brown-eyed Girl" on a Sunday morning, but my vote is to start with hearing secular songs differently in our own lives. Allowing God to speak to us through something we always thought just had a catchy tune or funky dance beat. Maybe we'll find out that worship isn't confined to brick walls and steeples.