Immanuel

The following in italic is an excerpt from Max Lucado’s An Angel’s Story, written from the perspective of the Angel Gabriel.

…My Father’s response was a pronouncement. “The time has come for the second gift.”

The frame beneath [Lucifer’s] cape bounced stiffly as he chuckled. “The second gift, eh? I hope it works better than the first.”

“You’re disappointed with the first?” asked the Father.

“Oh, quite the contrary; I’ve delighted in it.” Lifting a bony finger, he spelled a word in the air: C-H-O-I-C-E. “You gave Adam his choice,” Satan scoffed. “And what a choice he made! He chose me. Ever since the fruit was plucked from the tree in the Garden, I’ve held your children captive. They fell. Fast. Hard. They are mine. You have failed. Heh-heh-heh.”

“You speak so confidently,” replied the Father, astounding me with His patience.

Lucifer stepped forward, his cloak dragging behind him. “Of course! I thwart everything You do! You soften hearts, I harden them. You teach truth, I shadow it. You offer joy, I steal it.”

He pivoted and paraded around the room, boasting of his deeds. “The betrayal of Joseph by his brothers—I did that. Moses banished to the desert after killing the Egyptian—I did that. David watching Bathsheba bathe—that was me. You must admit, my work has been crafty.”

“Crafty? Perhaps. But effective? No. I know what you will do before you do it. I used the betrayal of Joseph to deliver my people from famine. Your banishment of Moses became his wilderness training. And yes, David did commit adultery with Bathsheba—but he repented of his sin! And thousands have been inspired by his example and found what he found—unending grace. Your deceptions have only served as platforms for My mercy. You are still my servant, Satan. When will you learn? Your feeble attempts to disturb My work only enable My work. Every act you have intended for evil, I have used for good.”

Satan began to growl—a throaty, guttural, angry growl. Softly at first, then louder, until the room was filled with a roar that must have quaked the foundations of hell.

But the King was not bothered. “Feeling ill?”

Lucifer lurked around the room, breathing loudly, searching for words to say and a shadow from which to say them. He finally found the words to say and a shadow from which to say them. “Show me, O King of Light, show me one person on the Earth who always does right and obeys Your will.”

“Dare you ask? You know there need be only one perfect one, only one sinless one to die for all the others.”

“I know Your plans—and You have failed! No Messiah will come from Your people. There is not one who is sinless. Not one.” He turned his back to the desk an began naming the children. “Not Moses. Not Abraham. Not Lot. Not Rebekah. Not Elijah…”

The Father stood up from His throne, releasing a wave of holy Light so intense that Lucifer staggered backward and fell. “Those are my children you mock,” God’s voice boomed. “You think you know much, fallen angel, but you know little. Your mind dwells in the valley of self. Your eyes see no further than your needs.”

The King walked over and reached for the book. He turned it toward Lucifer and commanded, “Come, Deceiver, read the name of the One who will call your bluff. Read the name of the One who will storm your gates.”

Satan rose slowly off his haunches. Like a wary wolf, he walked a wide circle toward the desk until he stood before the volume and read the word: “Immanuel?” he muttered to himself, then spoke in a tone of disbelief. “God with us?” For the first time the hooded head turned squarely toward the face of the Father. “No. Not even You would do that. Not even You would go so far.”

“You’ve never believed me, Satan.”

“But Immanuel?” The plan is bizarre! You don’t know what it is like on Earth! You don’t know how dark I’ve made it. It’s putrid. It’s evil. It’s…”

“It is MINE,” proclaimed the King. “And I will reclaim what is mine. I will become flesh. I will feel what my creatures feel. I will see what they see.”

“But what of their sin?”

“I will bring mercy.”

“What of their death?”

“I will give life.”

Satan stood speechless.

God spoke, “I love my children. Love does not take away the beloved’s freedom. But love does take away fear. And Immanuel will leave behind a tribe of fearless children. They will not fear you or your hell.”

Satan stepped back at the thought. His retort was childish. “Th-th-they will too!”

“I will take away all sin. I will take away all death. Without sin and without death, you have no power.”

Around and around in a circle Satan paced, clenching and unclenching his wiry fingers. When he finally stopped, he asked a question that even I was thinking. “Why? Why would You do this?”

The Father’s voice was deep and soft. “Because I love them.”

The two stood facing each other. Neither spoke. The extremes of the universe were before me. God robed in Light, each thread glowing. Satan canopied in evil, the very fabric of his robe seeming to crawl. Peace contrasting panic. Wisdom confronting foolishness. One able to rescue, the other anxious to condemn.

I have reflected much on what happened next. Though I have relived the moment countless times, I’m as stunned as I was at the first. Never in my wildest thoughts did I think my Kind would do what He did. Had He demanded Satan’s departure, who would have questioned? Had He taken Satan’s life, who would have grieved? Had He called me to attack, I would have been willing. But God did none of these.

From the circle of Light came His extended hand. From His throne came an honest invitation. “Will you surrender? Will you return to me?”

I do not know the thoughts of Satan. But I believe that for a fleeting second the evil heart softened. The head cocked slightly, as if amazed that such an offer would be made. But then it yanked itself erect.

“Where will we battle?” he challenged.

The father sighed at the dark angel’s resistance. “On a hill called Calvary.”

“If you make it that far.” Satan smirked, spinning and marching out the entryway. I watched as his spiny wings extended, and he soared into the heavenlies.

The Father stood motionless for a moment, and then turned back to the book. Opening to the final chapter, He slowly read words I had never heard. No sentences. Just words. Saying each, then pausing. “Jesus. Nail. Cross. Blood. Tomb. Life.”

He motioned toward me, and I responded, kneeling again before Him. Handing me the necklace, He explained, “This vial will contain the essence of myself; a Seed to be placed in the womb of a young girl. Her name is Mary. She lives among my chosen people. The fruit of the Seed is the Son of God. Take it to her.”

“But how will I know her?” I asked.

“Don’t worry. You will.”

I could not comprehend God’s plan, but my understanding was not essential. My obedience was. I lowered my head and He draped the chain around my neck. Amazingly, the vial was no longer empty. It glowed with Light.

“Jesus. Tell her to call My Son Jesus.”

-Excerpt from An Angel’s Story by Max Lucado


The days leading up to Christmas this year seemed laden with the contrast of heaviness and blessing. It was easy to see God’s goodness. But, it was also easy to see the difficulties of life—of those hurting, of those confused, of those searching. Over and over again, I kept being drawn back to God’s sovereignty…that in all this, He knows. In all this, He will use for good. All this pain, He can redeem. There were a few looking to me for counsel. In it, I felt the overwhelming need to encourage them to turn to Jesus. To allow Him to show them that He knows, and He understands. To remind them that even when there are no answers at the present, there can still be peace. To allow Him to give them hope even when it’s hard to hold on to any.

Jesus. Such a name greater than all names. Such a Savior in a world broken, and laden with pain.

I read the above excerpt a few days before Christmas, and it took my breath away. We do not know exactly what happened in the planning and giving of a Savior, but we do know the Father’s heart, and what was written by Max Lucado captures it so beautifully, I feel.

We do live in a broken world. It is hard to see the light at times, especially when Satan’s schemes so often succeed. But, it is easy to forget that God allows Satan’s schemes, and He will use them for His good. And more so than that—He has always had a plan for redemption.

Immanuel. God with us.

He would send Himself into this world, to become flesh. To feel what His creatures feel. To see what we see. He would bring mercy and light.

And more so, He knew that coming into this world through a pure virgin, taking on flesh, meant an eventual painful death on the cross on a hill called Calvary. Satan would battle there too. But God would be ultimately victorious.

This…it is so profound to know that there is a God who loves us to battle and sacrifice Himself on our behalf. To know that the plan existed before time, and started its process in the body of an infant child, meek and mild…of the Father and destined to conquer sin for all.

And this…this we must remember and carry with us, not just today but always…that though Satan wars still, through Jesus, we can be victorious. All can be used for His good. The Father has been and always will be, a Sovereign God. Satan ultimately does not have power that the Father does not allow. Let us keep in mind and heart, now and forever...that to Satan, God essentially speaks, “I love my children. Love does not take away the beloved’s freedom. But love does take away fear. And Immanuel will leave behind a tribe of fearless children. They will not fear you or your hell.”

For today

This morning, I awoke—with little light streaming through our newly hung curtains—and checked the weather on my phone. A special alert came up: “Dense Fog Advisory.” Could it be? I wondered…I really haven’t experienced fog much here in Brooklyn yet, at least not on the street level. I peered through our curtains to the east and found I couldn’t even see the buildings more than three streets over, including the dominant Brooklyn skyline that is now our normal view day in and out. I smiled. I went to wrap on further warmth to my body with the robe that has been packed away for a week, finding comfort in its softness, and walked into the kitchen to see the west view. I couldn’t even see the river, less than ¼ mile away from us, just over the highway. Again, I smiled.

The internet wasn’t working this morning, so I did not read the news as I usually do while eating my breakfast. Instead, I simply sat, ate, and read a book that fed my soul instead.

In doing so, it made me wonder again--like I did last night--as to why in a city with as much stimulus it bears, do I seek to create more stimulus in my mind than is needed? It seems there is such a line between stimulus that is beneficial in resting and stimulus that just clutters up the mind more. The line is not always thick and it is not always thin. It depends on the day, on my heart and mind, and this is where discernment must come in.

This city…this city. The only way to truly “escape” it is basically to close one’s eyes and sleep, but even then, as my dear husband has found, there is not always rest. There are noises from the hissing of a radiator heating, honking from the highway, doors closing of nearby neighbors, and occasionally, lights that shine forth into said windows. We even found that we must close our bedroom door at night, for right now our living room window without curtains, displays a seeming strobe light of endless lights in no true rhythm or pattern as they stream forth from the highway. Even our new apartment is evidence of this paradox: on the east, the street is calm, quiet, very few cars but more pedestrians with their children, families, dogs. On the west side with a barrier of about 50 meters, we have the craziness of the highway, complete with the on-ramp in front of us, but then, just on the other side of it, is the East River, its tranquility evidenced as water sparkles and shines both in the day and night. We go up to the roof above us, and we can see for seemingly miles—a rarity in this city—complete with the sunsets, city lights of night, and breaking of dawn. This, is peace.

There seems to be such an innate human wrestling with the pursuit of peace and how to best attain it. We cling onto the little we have and fight for what we do not yet. The drivers on the highway show the best example: in their pursuit to get to a said place, they honk, swerve into the lanes, accelerate quickly only to have to decelerate quickly due to the traffic in front, and all of these actions on every individual’s part only leads to more frustrated individuals, a frustrated general public, and a disharmony of the parts working as a whole.

What then, in my mind and my heart, honks forth, swerves in front of things that shouldn’t, races ahead to only be decelerated again? And what of my mind and heart is simply resigned to sit in the traffic and go the pace that the situation currently allows at the time?

In time, I will get there. But there’s only so much I can do to in navigating a situation. It is better to be on the journey and allow it to take me when and where I should go.

I see this exit—should I take it? Should I go there? I see that building—what’s in it? The walking and learning of a new neighborhood feeds this innate questioning. But even more, it whispers to me, who do you want to become?

Overall, there is such peace. But there too, is an innate wrestling. I see the prospects of so many things, like the rooftops and skylines from our new building, both near and far. And those far—for some reason, I think I have to get there soon. The questions race through my mind… “What of getting involved here? What does that mean? In a few years, God willing, we will start a family. So, what does that mean for now?” In this questioning, the buildings between here and there create tension; they seem to become obstacles needing to be navigated on the way to an eventual goal and reality. I start to get anxious about what those intermediate buildings may hold and I forget the process of journeying, of discovering.

I forget that what is between here and there, God uses and will continue to in shaping me to whom I hope to become.

Take, for instance, the quaint little neighborhood café on the first floor of our building: Iris Café. This too, is a reminder. John brought to mind a poem I wrote three and a half years ago titled “Flowers Along the Way.” In reading it just now, I find it ironically appropriate here too, in a new way.

Heart unsettled
Uncertainty resides
Whisper in the midst
New things into light
Unknown territory ahead
Ground unsteady beneath
Destination a ways away
But still I never fall
For the Spoken Word remains
Be still in the moving
Sands ever shifting
Path ever changing
Only One keeps me going
For the Living God remains
Climbing still
Trusting ever more
Heart will never break
And there will be flowers along the way


It is easy to forget that there are treasures in the journey, flowers along the way. Or perhaps—in this city—buildings along the way.

In all this, what then of a smile this morning with the fog, and a blessed contentment that came with it? “Why so content with it?” I asked myself. In my spiritual life, fog has never really been a settling thing for me before. It has masked things I wished to be visible for perspective in my surroundings. Yet, on the morn of last night, I found it incredibly comforting. Yes. I can’t see those far buildings or river of possibilities today. I can only see what is right in front of me. Simplicity granted in a mind and heart of stimulus and thoughts, dwelling in the midst of a bustling and full city. Gratitude became the response for God masking the things far away today as a reminder…

…that for today, I am right here.

Ink

Here.

One could say that it is now truly fall here—if fall is measured mainly by the true changing and falling of the leaves. Every morning and evening I walk the walk to the subway stop and on my way home down the tree-lined pedestrian walkway, looking for the degree of change that might have occurred from the day before. I haven’t had an east coast fall before; I haven’t known what to expect. I have been hoping that it would be beautiful what with the variety and sheer number of trees here. It started off in early October with one tree species turning a beautiful golden yellow. But, that was the only one. The rest hung onto their green, and even some seemed to just to be turning brown and dying immediately. In talking with others, it was tempting to write off this fall as a fluke one and just await next year’s. Yet, I still had hope. There were still trees with green leaves, and there was still time for them to change.

There was one morning last week when it was foggy, unexpected. The crispness seemed to bring another level of seeing to my eyes and heart and help me to recognize, “yes, this is what I wait for, and it is good to wait.” The softness of light helped me see the edges of leaves from green to red, yellow to orange—change. The next morning, the sun blazed once again, and I sighed and knew, “Yes. Fall is truly here.”

And the trees my eyes behold now…a true rainbow of colors in the most beautiful ways. They are red at the top, fade to orange to yellow, and preserve their green at the bottom. Pure brilliance of color. Pure vibrancy and boldness. They stand out in the midst of their other leafy companions because they did not rush their time and wither away too quickly—they awaited the proper time to flourish in color and surrender.

The sunlight is now much shorter. I have the brilliant morning sun on my walk to work, but now it is dark when I walk home. It makes those moments in the morning all that much more precious, for it is then that I must drink in the sights around me in the true light the sun brings. Every morning, during those 10 minutes, I cannot help but well up with thankfulness of the Lord’s provision…

John and I are moving in two weeks. We knew we would be, but to where? Where in Brooklyn would we end up, and begin to truly settle for the first time in our year and a half of married life? Our apartment search was like walking the tree-lined pathways…there were some good options, there were some altogether promising ones that withered away too quickly, and there were others that were deceiving. Nothing really of brilliance. But then, in the middle of the search, we found one in the area we love, at a price we could afford, and it was just posted. Dare we think it might be meant for us? That God, knowing the perfect timing, provided this apartment to shine its pure brilliance, vibrancy and boldness, in the midst of more dull ones? One that matches our passions, our hopes and dreams, of what we wish life here to be like and what we hope to do? But, it wasn’t too good to be true—God lavished the blessing upon us, and we will be moving in there in two weeks. We are humbled. We do not have to await next year’s fall—it is brilliant here and now.

There has been so much overflowing provision…every good and perfect gift from our Father above. It has come in smaller proportions and also bigger waves of change. In every step of faith, He has called, and He has responded to our steps. And more so, He has lavished His love upon us, showing us that He truly knows and holds us firmly. Sometimes He just desires to bless His children. We are greatly humbled.

In this change of moving to Brooklyn, there have been moments that have been foggy, unexpected. God’s embrace brings another level of seeing to my eyes and heart and helps me to recognize, “yes, You are who I wait for, and it is good to wait upon You.” The fervor of His love helps me see the edges of blessing from challenges to provision, waiting and receiving—grace. In this evening, there was a full moon and scattered clouds in the sky. It lights up the leaves in the coolest of colors, unexpectedly, and I sigh and know, “Yes. You are always here.”

Keeper of Moments

I seem to be hanging onto moments lately. Moments, in the forms of tidbits or substantial servings, are lingering a while as I go back to them for multiple helpings. Some are sweet, delighting my senses. Some are bitter, where I am intrigued to remember why. Others are savory, warming my heart and soul.

I looked into the eyes of my mother this weekend and walked step-in-step with her for three days, both showing her and exploring this crazy city I live in together. It made me remember the joys of childhood—like the red basket she would put me in with a bag of popcorn as we traversed Target in running our errands. I remember the treats we shared as we stopped for “just a little snack.” But, this weekend, I also saw more. I saw a woman who loves well and has continued to grow throughout her lifetime, while still never compromising who she is, even the little quirks that she possesses. My husband commented that she is the same wherever she goes, and I thought that to be a grand observation. Clad in her shorts on the subway, she laughs and jokes with the person next to her, not thinking anything otherwise. She turned up the air conditioner so she could hunker down under the quilt and sleep all cold and snuggly, complete with her bean bag booklight at her side as she read into the night. These are glimpses of my mother, and moments pinned into my mind, as if they were snapshots of love hung on the walls of a family home.

Last night I looked at a picture of two incredibly dear friends together, one of the first of its kind, as they begin their relationship. It is just a moment in time captured in an instant, yet it encompasses so much. This picture is evidence of a real manifestation in their lives—not just something I have seen, hoped and prayed for some time for. In looking at their faces, they look the same and entirely different at the same time—these two I have known for over six years—because it’s as if a few years of lessons and refining have come to a new plateau as they now begin something together. This picture is just a moment, but it also contains several years, lifetimes that came before it, and it possesses the beautiful hope that comes with something new. And this mentioned picture seems to set off a slideshow reel of moments in my mind…moments with each of them individually over the years. These moments are all memories in themselves, but for some reason they are colliding and merging with one another at a rapid pace, yet still maintaining their integrity as a moment in time. Then is now mixed with now, and now is mixed with then.

What day do I live in? What moment am I embracing at the present? Is it the present, or is it the past or future? Does it have to be the present in order for it to be a wise stewardship of it? Or, can it be a montage of many moments together as I embark into the future?

Last night, I spoke with a new dear friend here about her foot and ongoing therapy. I recalled the moment when I was 17 years old in which I ran harder than ever that day and something in my foot snapped. Physically, that moment changed everything for over a year, and that moment brought effects that changed the course of my life. It set the course in which I would surrender athletics and its pursuit, allowing God to open my eyes to new things and new people. I shared this with my friend, and found out that she too, had a very similar injury in a very similar place when she was at the same age. We looked at each other in a sense of curiosity and delight for the similarities we yet again find between the two of us. These moments, if not revisited, would not help in the weaving of a new fabric of common strands of experiences that we can both relate in and share. It was a moment in which the past and present collided with one another.

But, I too, hang onto the moments of friendships and times past…remembering who and what they were in my life, and honestly grieving a bit at times for the loss of it. It’s still hard to accept that some friendships have been lost, some seasons have passed, and unless God wills to raise them up again, they are laid to rest. Sometimes I feel as if I walk through the graveyard a bit too long, reflecting on the epitaphs and the dates of birth and death. Sometimes I kneel in reflection. And sometimes I have to strongly fight the urge to start digging and try to resurrect something or someone meant to be laid at rest in my life. But also, sometimes this reflecting drives me in my present and in my future—remembering ways I failed or things that could’ve been done better, and learning from its death in how to preserve life in these new things.


Yet—past, present, and future moments—I am not their keeper.

“For God has made everything appropriate in its time. He has also set eternity in our hearts, yet so that man will not find out the work which God has done from the beginning even to the end.

I know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and to do good in one's lifetime; moreover, that every man who eats and drinks sees good in all his labor--it is the gift of God.

And, I know that everything God does will remain forever; there is nothing I can add to it and there is nothing I can take from it, for God has so worked it that men should fear Him. That which is has been already and that which will be has already been, for God seeks what has passed by.”

Ecclesiastes 3:11-15

To See, To Live

I feel as if I’m always striving to some degree. That, while I do find myself often content, I hardly ever find myself satisfied. I see how much more things can be. I desire how much more some things should be. More justice. More mercy. More love. More learning. More growing. Sometimes I feel that the degree of difference between here and there is closer, but most of the time, I feel it’s very far away. We dream and we talk and we profess to know, and we try to go about our day-to-day business and responsibilities as best as we can. In those days, there are moments where we feel as if we are thriving and fully living. Others, we’re just happy to be surviving. Sometimes we care so much about caring, and other times we just don’t want to care.

This city presses on these extremes I listed and feel. Most of the time, I see and desire how much more things should be, and those other times, I’m overwhelmed and default to the not wanting to care and simply just survive a day. I’ve told John numerous times that “I feel like I’m settling in here more.” Each time I say it, it is more true; yet, it does still have a ways to go. Actually, I wonder if I will ever arrive at feeling fully settled in here. That is a significant thought to ponder.

Can I ever be used to seeing those in want, those in need, to make them “part” of my normal day and reality of this city, content to pass them by without thinking or feeling anything of their situation? Will the colors of skin, the languages displayed, the ethnicities and incredibly varied lives and lifestyles embedded within each ever really blend into something “normal?” Can I ever get to the point where I can embrace God’s provision of enough for John and me financially, without wondering why there is such an obvious disparity of the rich and poor here?

With these thoughts, I don’t think I will ever feel completely “settled in” here…at least, not settled in the ways that cause the eyes and heart to grow cataracts of self-comfort, unable to see the true realities that so glaringly present themselves to those with willing and able vision. To see, to truly see, is to truly live, and that means moments of joy and pain, moments of frustration and relief, moments of peace and of anguish. To live, to truly live, is to truly see, and that means to look beyond oneself and understand the humanity and inhumanity we are surrounded by and are a part of, for better or worse. To breathe, to be alive, means to not have a calloused heart or eyes and be willing to engage in God’s restoration of these things and people, though it is albeit difficult.

But that’s where I want more. More justice. More mercy. More love. More learning. More growing. Sometimes I feel that the degree of difference between where I am now and where I want to be is closer, but most of the time, I feel it’s very far away. I dream and I talk and I profess to know, and I try to go about my day-to-day business and responsibilities as best as I can. In those days, there are moments where I feel as if I am thriving and fully living. Others, I’m just happy to be surviving. Sometimes I care so much about caring, and other times I just don’t want to care.

All these things though, I must remember—and with thanks I do—these things I seek and desire are beyond myself but within the limits of a gracious and all-powerful God. He reminds me of this in the times where I need it most. Friday I was mourning over the lack of actions following up what I desire to see manifested in bestowing God’s grace upon those who need it most. I asked him why I and others know and desire these things but seem to see so little fruit. I didn’t realize it in that moment, but it comes out of a dependence upon His Holy Spirit’s leading and our willingness to respond.

Like every normal day at 5 p.m., I took the subway home. I was engrossed in my own activities of card writing and then a game of solitaire on my phone. Once the subway crossed over into Brooklyn, a young black man entered my car through another’s doors, rather than the outside platforms. He was talking out loud and swirling about from pole to pole—not your typical acceptable “normal” behavior. I put my phone away because I felt something was up. I made eye contact with him, and then it all began.

“Hi. I’m Seanepaul.”

“Hi. I’m Elise. How are you doing?”

A handshake followed, and we made our way through the first moments of conversation by asking normal questions as to where we are headed, where did we come from and what were we doing that day. And in those first moments of conversation, we silently assessed the other. I was assessing if he was a threat or not. He was probably assessing if I was actually going to be a person that wouldn’t blow him off like so many others do. We made it to the stop before the last one, and I invited him to move across the car to a emptier bench where we could both sit down. We talked for a couple more minutes before he interrupted me and said:

“You know, you know, I have been through every car on this train, trying, trying, trying to find someone who would listen. I make people nervous because I can’t control my mouth and they think I’m crazy. But you, you, but you…you not only looked at me, but you are listening to me, and you sat me down.”

His head fell into his hands at that moment and lingered there. His heart seemed to be bursting of gratitude where mine was bursting of being humbled. He was not the person I first suspected, and he needed something so simple that I am perfectly capable of giving.

The problem so often comes down to, am I willing?

Am I willing to let my preconceptions be challenged? Am I willing to trust the Spirit’s leading and ignore the flesh’s callings of fleeing from all possible discomfort? Am I willing to let it play out, with discernment, and see what God can do in it?

We arrived at the last stop, both of our stops, where we got off, and were about to part ways. A few minutes before, I asked God quietly in our conversation that this wouldn’t be the last of it. I desire for friendship to be built here, even with the most unsuspecting people. So of course, he asked for my email address, and asked if my husband would be okay with him emailing me. I replied he would be just fine, and perhaps you could meet him sometime. We talked a bit longer, but he didn’t want the time to end. So, he walked with me on my walk home, and we continued to talk.

As he put on his doo rag, I found he’s a writer of poetry, attending community college. He lives with his mother, father, and brother, and he has grown up and lived here his 31 years of life.

In his free time, he plays XBOX live with his friends (like my brother), and his favorite show is Law and Order (like my father).

We rounded the corner into my neighborhood, immediately coming into the paths of many of our local Jews. He stopped me upon first sight of them, and said “I believe, I believe that we have Jesus in our heart.” I replied gently, “I believe that too.” He asked if I went to church, and I told him about our church and invited him to join us sometime. He doesn’t attend a church often here.

A couple of more blocks passed before I arrived at my building, and it was finally time to part ways.

“It was nice to meet you, Seanepaul, and we will have to email each other and keep in touch.”

“Yes, yes. And thank you. Thank you.” Said his words with eyes full of gratitude as if he had been seen and noticed for the first time in a long while.

He crossed the corner and I walked into my building realizing that he thought he had been given grace, but I felt more a recipient of grace than he. God’s grace in helping me see that sometimes this city feels so very big. But sometimes it is much smaller than I allow it to be. Our differences aren’t as obvious as we sometimes make them out to be. In Seanepaul, I found him a person like a medley of so many that I know and love, yet he was also this brand new person and personality to engage with and come to understand. God was so gracious in bringing him on my path that day to remind me that this desire, this longing I have for more justice, more mercy, more love, more learning, more growing, is of Him. I can try to make the answer for giving and administering these things more complex than it needs to be, but it’s rather simple:

Am I willing to respond to what is put before me, and trust God to do what He will with it? Am I willing to see, to truly see, to live, to truly live?

This city, this I know, though at times albeit difficult, forces me to look beyond myself, to see with an uncalloused heart or eyes. There is so much need and opportunity to be a part of God’s restoration of these things and people.

And this, this means to breathe, to be fully alive.

Little of People and Much of Christ

If there’s one thing I had to say I’ve become more thankful for this year than I ever have before, it is the body of Christ.

I’ve lived in four different places within a year’s span. One of those was the place of college, one was my childhood home, one was my in-law’s home, and now we are in Brooklyn, NY. The body of Christ I engaged with has looked very different in those different places, yet I have found it has the same unity. The same purpose. The same function.

I have seen people wanting and people struggling in their walks. I have seen people growing, at slow speeds and at fast speeds. I have walked with people I know so very well and others I just see from afar when the body gathers.

I have experienced such rich fellowship, specifically in high school and college. In entering into this new phase of adult life, I didn’t know what to hope for as far as community or friendships. And perhaps this is strange, but I have found such a great joy and contentment in...

Expecting little of people and much of Christ.

Expecting little of people enables a freedom and joy of discovery in meeting new people and developing new friendships. The lack of expectation leads to a greater gratitude for what is bestowed and developed naturally, and by the blessing of the Lord. It allows for more open eyes and hands to receive who may not have been sought out or anticipated at the beginning, yet turns out to be a wonderful, unexpected blessing. With this, there is a surrender of right and privilege of friendships and relationships to the Lord; instead, recognizing that they are gifts to be treasured and taken care of.

Yet, we should be expecting much of Christ in their lives. Faith enough to know that He knows them, loves them, cares for them, rebukes them, teaches them. My prayers have changed in this last year as I pray for people. I hardly ever ask God to do specific things for people, as if He were not aware of what that person needs, and as if I know better and need to tell Him so. Instead, I pray for the person. I pray for the eyes of their heart to be open. I pray for them to willingly engage and walk with God in whatever He may be teaching them and bringing him/her through. If I have insight as to what those things may be, then I pray for those.

To expect much of Christ and little of people is not to belittle individuals and who they are. Rather, it is to recognize the human limits of striving and change, of goodness and pure motives. We all are sinners and fall short of the glory of God and who we are intended to be. It’s to recognize that He searches out the hearts and minds of individuals and knows their motives. It’s to recognize that Christ exceeds all limits and bounds, and the work He does and can do in human lives is tremendous.

Expecting little of people and much of Christ prevents us from attempting to make people out to whom we would like or expect them to be, but rather, enable an environment where they are free to be just as they are. It enables them a place where they have the freedom to grow and be encouraged.

In the body of Christ at large in the world, we don’t usually share a lot of similarities. We are rather diverse. It is an easy reaction to mentally “divide” the body of Christ into smaller segments in order to compare and contrast, to analyze and understand. Yet, I fear in doing that, we miss the opportunity to see an intrinsic beauty within it that cannot be explained or reasoned away. There is one body and one spirit, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, and one God and Father. We are comprised of many parts with the purpose of unity.

And expecting much of the Father and Lord means to recognize these truths about the body and remembering what and why it has been bestowed. It means to humbly receive the gift of adoption into this family of Christ, expecting much of what can be done through the works of redemption and salvation in people’s lives. It remembers and holds fast to the knowledge of the promise for those who do not yet know Him, that through the sacrifice of Christ, they too, may be redeemed and transformed. It remembers that we were once there ourselves and to never doubt the power of the Gospel and the saving grace of Christ.

There is such a gratitude and thankfulness that has grown in expecting little of people and much of Christ. We are a messy, diverse, young, old, immature, and always growing bunch. Yet, that is what makes the body of Christ beautiful, unexpected, dynamic, and always surprising. It is a lifelong pursuit of growing in the grace and knowledge of God. It is a wonderful journey to do in the fellowship of believers, all that they may be and are, and for that, I am truly thankful.

Bridges

Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge, Queens, NY

There are some moments of life that serve as bridges from one part to the next. They connect two seemingly unlike parts together, regardless if the passage between the two is narrow and shallow, or deep and wide.

In the moments as I fall asleep, I attempt to orient my thoughts to the same thing, night after night. It allows for my mind to simplify itself and quiet down. I’ve had to find a new thought as of late, and the choices are plentiful. What is it that I will choose to remember, to think of in the last waning moments before I slip into uncontrolled consciousness? The last few nights the choice has been coming back to the beach.

Sand. Water. Ocean. Sun. Warmth. All things that most people enjoy and might even say is rather trite as a focused thought to calm before sleep. Yet, for me, there’s a deeper meaning in this thought, one I didn’t really recognize until last night.

On August 1st, John and I went to the beach for the first time since we moved here in early July. We took the subway out, which was a grand opportunity in itself—to be able to go to the beach by subway in only an hour trip! We had packed lunches and aimed to get out there earlier to beat any crowds a Monday might bring. The subway ride was interesting in itself. It starts underground, which is to be expected here, but after several minutes, it climbs above ground. For a couple of minutes, the cityscape is relatively the same here as the rest of Brooklyn, but then it begins to change. Parking lots outside McDonalds and grocery stores begin to appear. There are less people outside and seems to be an air of calm. A couple of more minutes on the subway go by, and it changes still. Now we see the beginnings of a “small” eastern coast waterfront town, clapboard houses with white trim and sea hues on their bodies. There are backyards and boat slips, connected to a snaking stream that leads to a bay. And suddenly, the bay appears. Ironically so, it’s a wildlife refuge…one breathtakingly beautiful and can transport you to a different world, if you can ignore JFK airport and its hoard of planes on land and in sky on your left. There are so many birds here. Cranes, especially. We travel across the bay for several minutes on a narrow bridge meant just for the subway, surrounded by water the entire time. Sigh. After a quick transfer to another subway shuttle, we take the ride the rest of the way to Rockaway Beach, a narrow yet long peninsula home to over 100 blocks of public sandy waterfront. We leave the train and descend down stairs, then our legs perform a sequence of steps amounting to about 200 yards until we are on the sand…once again.

It’s familiar. We (more so me), spent much time at the beach while living in San Luis Obispo, CA. The choices of beaches there were plentiful…four completely different ones within 15 miles of one another. I had my own favorites each year, but I specifically remember going to Avila Beach just about every week by myself during my last quarter in SLO. It was a time of respite, reflection, and relaxation for me. It had become so much a part of my home and life in the five years of San Luis Obispo that I wanted to take the remaining chances I could to enjoy it before John and I moved away. And there are so many memories…

In September of 2005—my first weekend of freshman year of college—I went to the beach with a bunch of people from my dorms, rounded up by our Campus Crusade staff member who decided we should go hang out at the beach. There was a girl down the hall from me who was also from Colorado, and we had been connecting. We decided to rent surfboards and wetsuits to attempt surfing for the first time in California. We picked them up that day and put them in her open air Jeep, myself in the back seat to hold them down as we drove there. It was warm and sunny in San Luis Obispo at the time, but the course of thedrive revealed fog down at the ocean by Pismo Beach. I remember those moments to myself…thinking of how different this was than anything I had ever done before, and how different this place was than anywhere I had been. With it though, came an honest and unbridled joy for what I was about to experience, though I had no clue what it would be. What would that day bring? What would that year bring? What would life bring?

We arrived and met up with the group. The staff member and two other guys joined us in the surfing; the other girls and guys remained on the beach. Amy and I attempted surfing for about an hour and a half before we were exhausted and headed back to shore. We joined the group to go to the legendary Splash Café up the street to grab lunch. Later, back down on our towels on the sand and enjoying our food, I remember interacting with the guy from Colorado I was beginning to get to know. I remember looking at him in that moment and thinking that my life was going to be different with him now in it. He was full of joy, a little crazy and overenthusiastic, but contagious nonetheless. Our group spent much of the day there before we went back to our dorm and back into the beginning of “beginning-adult” or college life that we were learning to navigate.

As I sat on the beach on August 1st of 2011, I looked at this calm man beside me, wearing very few lines of childhood on his face, and I remembered the overenthusiastic, contagious, joyful young man he was then. Now, he is my husband, and I his wife, almost six years later.

Unlike the Pacific Coast I resided upon where the waters were almost always too cold to go into, this Atlantic water was the perfecttemperature. Therefore, I went out and swam a bit. I jumped the waves, remembering the unbridled joy as a child I had in doing so, and then arched my back as I trusted the dense seawater to hold me afloat. Ebb and flow. I was one with the water and the water with me…and in those moments I was reassured beyond all doubt that the Lord knows every part of me and my heart, for I couldn’t imagine much better than floating in the warm ocean in the presence of the Lord with my husband on shore watching me. In those moments, I knew we are exactly where we are supposed to be now.

And so the beach is the bridge. The beach connects me to the beginning of my college and independent life, and the beginning of self-sufficient married life. There are so many similarities in feelings and thoughts… the bridge possesses an honest and unbridled joy for what I did and will experience, remembering what was and not knowing fully what the futurewould be, what would that day, year, and ultimately, life bring.

In moments here in New York City, I feel so young all over again. I feel overwhelmed at the prospect of my entire life before me. But, I look back to the other side of the bridge and remember who I was then and see what six years has brought. I remember that six years ago, I had no idea where I would be now, but that bridge has been built and now I see. That’s the intermediate context I have for now. It’s a six-year bridge of the beach that connects then to now. There’s another bridge to be built from here; I know, and that’s all I know. It’s okay to be beginning again. The bridges are built beautifully with the care of the Lord and the passage of time.

Poverty of Spirit

Every subway ride is different.

During the workweek, the stations I frequent are the same, but the ebb and flow of a human group is always changing. Occasionally, I do see the same people, as we will take the trains at the same time in the same car, each holding to our own routine as if to preciously guard some semblance of normalcy and routine in a place where there is so little. But that too, gets interrupted. As good as one can get at putting on the blinders and attempting to enacting our own opaque personal bubble where we cannot see or be seen, reality does puncture it. Then, we are forced to witness people and events not of our own choosing. There are no filters for humanity on a subway ride except for two dollars and twenty-five cents.

It was between 51st and Grand Central, a ride of about two minutes, where I witnessed one of the most public displays of an impoverished spirit in a long time, and especially so for here. I stepped on the train as the doors were closing, and the car reeked of alcohol. There was a man, relatively calm yet dejected, with what appeared to be a freshly casted and bandaged arm. Next to him was a woman, his companion, who looked on the brink of despair. She had laid her head heavily on his shoulder. Then, her eyes started raining and her mouth wailing, as she collapsed into his lap. He stroked her, as if he understood her pain, and that it was okay even as she was making a scene. This woman had broken, in what seemed to be every way.

I don’t know their story. I only know what I saw in the two minute ride before I transferred trains, but my mind attempts to fill the gaps. Was he just injured? Did he lose his job, and is their financial future in doubt because of it? It looks like they just came from a hospital, maybe someone close to them died? They have their suitcases with them, were they just evicted? Or, are they simply the bearers of much pain, and this was the point in which it became too heavy a load for her to bear?

I don’t know.

And I don’t know what to do in times like this except pray. It was such a private display in such a public place that I felt as if I were intruding on something I shouldn’t be, seeing something I shouldn’t see. I prayed for their pain. I prayed that they would receive God’s mercy. I prayed that they would see hope somewhere and know God is the source.

Witnessing something like this is uncomfortable. It makes one realize the true poverty of spirit that exists in the hearts of many. We are broken but we try to hide it; we are dejected but we dare not ever show it, except for those moments where we simply can’t help it, when it simply becomes too much to hold inside and it must overflow whenever and wherever it releases itself. It is uncomfortable because in just one moment, we are hit hard in the face with the reality of our differences and similarities we share with our common men, and the lines are blurred. “I would help them if I knew them” is a common response, citing our differences as the reason. But the secondary response is “why does that have to be a qualifier for help?”

I don’t know.

What I do know is that we live in a world full of pain. Most of it is just more private than what I witnessed. Yet, this public display reminded me that they are not the only ones with pain. We are good at trying to hide, but in a place like New York City, pain is so often worn visibly across the sagging lines of a face, the emptiness of soul in the eyes, and the slumping physical body. People are weary and hurting. If you truly open your eyes to look, it cannot be ignored.

And it cannot be ignored in me that I can be a part of the solution. I know that somehow in some of these moments, God willing, I can be an instrument of his love and grace. When I look at these people and see their pain, I become intimidated at the depth of it that I forget how easy providing a little relief can be. First, let me look at them with these eyes with a look of gentleness they may not often see in this city, that they may know their presence is acknowledged, not ignored. Second, may I give them a small smile, to engage with them in a sign of human connectedness that they may know that they have been seen, singled out. It’s after these steps I tend to get a bit stuck. Do I talk to them? Will I understand them? What do I talk to them about?

When I get stuck, I end up praying for them. I know that God knows them and sees them, and He can do far more for them than I ever could. Yet, there’s a problem in this, and that is that I do not pray for myself. I do not listen nor ask how I may be His hands and His feet, bringing forth His words and His love. I simply pray for the other person, and ask God to bring relief to them through His divine presence and perhaps, another person who knows Him. But, I am missing out and mostly, so are these people.

I am intimidated by the amount of pain that I see. I forget that I do not have to be the solution, but that I can be part of the relief. I am intimidated at the prayer I know I must pray now, and that is that I would actively be the hands and feet of Christ in part of a world and pain I do not know. Yet I am compelled. I must, for every subway ride is different. Every subway ride provides an opportunity to bring relief to someone’s pain.

For the Scripture says, “Everyone who believes in him will not be put to shame.” For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; the same Lord is Lord of all, bestowing his riches on all who call on him. For “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.” But how are they to call on him in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching? And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!”
Romans 10:11-15

Before Irene

“The floods have lifted up, O Lord,
the floods have lifted up their voice;
the floods lift up their roaring…”

Irene is arriving. Hours now lie between what is now and what will be then, then, after the hurricane hits, however it hits. There is all kinds of speculation and predictions, fears and lack of fear, within this region, country, and perhaps world.

There is a sense of anticipation unlike others I have felt before. Part of it is the reality that I’ve never been around a hurricane before, and this one will likely be significant. Moreso, it seems to be the feeling of anticipation of God’s moving, of God’s sovereignty and timing of this hurricane coming when it is (the first hurricane to directly hit NYC in over 100 years), and that John and I are here when we are. I believe we are here for such a time as this. NYC is such an epicenter of the world, seemingly indestructible and invincible, but in times like this, incredibly vulnerable. In many ways, I think it is a complex icon for the human heart. Yet, God is “…mightier than the thunders of many waters, mightier than the waves of the sea, the Lord on high is mighty!” (Psalm 93:3-4)

I’m praying that our hearts will be sensitive to these circumstances and how God wishes to use them. I pray we will be ministers of His grace and gospel throughout it all. We do not know what the next 48 hours look like, and those 48 hours determine a lot of what the near future looks like here. But I know the Lord, and I know He will never change in an uncertain future, hurricane or not.

Praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord, O my soul! 
I will praise the Lord as long as I live;
I will sing praises to my God while I have my being.
Put not your trust in princes,
in a son of man, in whom there is no salvation.
When his breath departs he returns to the earth;
on that very day his plans perish.
Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob,
whose hope is in the Lord his God,
who made heaven and earth,
the sea, and all that is in them,
who keeps faith forever;
who executes justice for the oppressed,
who gives food to the hungry.
The Lord sets the prisoners free;
the Lord opens the eyes of the blind.
The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down;
the Lord loves the righteous.
The Lord watches over the sojourners;
he upholds the widow and the fatherless,
but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.
The Lord will reign forever,
your God, O Zion, to all generations.
Praise the Lord!
Psalm 146

An Impersonal Majority

Today I walked the block and a half to our fruit and vegetable market. It is a trip so close and worth it (good, cheap fruits and veggies), but I always find myself hesitant to make it. I did today though, and when I got there, I breathed a sigh of relief because the only other one in the store was the cashier, who is, to put it simply, a lot more like me than many others in this neighborhood. I gathered my items and went to purchase them. The cashier and I engaged in a bit of small talk, and I left and walked the block and a half back to our apartment, veggies and fruit in hand.

I’ve been thinking about my relief I felt in the store today and why I felt it. And I realized that that my inhibition in being out in this neighborhood is that I almost always feel as if I am being judged and/or watched. John and I talked about this tonight, and the fact is, I am. Because I am not Jewish, I will be judged here, seen as one who does not belong. And because I am not black, I am seen as an outsider, one who is lost or out of place. I know that I can’t assume that everyone thinks this. But because there have been more than a few instances of this, I assume it is true at least to an extent.

Sometimes it is frustrating. Sometimes it is intimidating. Sometimes it is aggravating. Sometimes it is not a big deal, and goes unnoticed. Almost all of the time, it is unfamiliar. I have seldom known what it is to be viewed as an outsider, and especially because of the way that I dress, my unapparent religious beliefs, or the color of my skin.

I have said before that I thought in moving to NYC, moving to Brooklyn would be less of a culture shock than Manhattan. I continue to find my hypothesis to be incorrect; the opposite is true. Other than being in the minority of people who have a significant hearing loss, this is the only other time I’ve truly felt to be something I have seldom experienced before:

A minority.

Sometimes it is easy to feel the desire to shirk back, to just slip in and out of our apartment and the five blocks between here and the subway and try to go unnoticed, and sometimes I do that. But overall, I think that is silly. We are all people. The love of Christ that I have experienced and know compels me to give, to serve, to look for opportunities to meet people’s needs, and to take them. I have been able to do that here in different instances. There are people I have seen the needs of, but was shut down and rejected by them when I offered help. There have been other times where I saw a need but didn’t know how to meet it or simply didn’t do it. But the recurring theme in this is that

We are a people in need.

And as a follower of Christ, I am compelled to give and meet those needs.

It isn’t easy though. I’m learning how to recognize people who are open to a conversation or having a need met. There was an older woman artist who approached me yesterday and asked for help finding a certain subway line. We ended up taking the same one and so we walked together and engaged in conversation. It ended when we got to the station, but then I picked it back up again. I learned of who she is in simple laymans terms and was invited to her gallery show starting in September. I gave her my email so she could send me an invitation to it, and we boarded the subway. I was on for just one stop, and when I got off, we both said goodbye cheerfully to one another.

Isn’t this how it should be?

I believe so. I believe that though we are people who put on the front of wanting to be self-sufficient, we do crave community and welcome help, even from a complete stranger. It’s just that some people have more barriers in their lives, whether self-placed or not, that keep them from receiving it from people they do not know. Sometimes it is religion. Sometimes it is race. Sometimes it is another factor we don’t know of.

I started rereading a book last night that I started a few years ago. In the first chapter, it referenced a famous experiment by Dr. John Calhoun involving mice. Here is the summary from Wikipedia in simple layman’s terms:

In July 1968 four pairs of mice were introduced into the Utopian universe. The universe was a 9-foot (2.7 m) square metal pen with 54-inch-high (1.4 m) sides. Each side had four groups of four vertical, wire mesh “tunnels”. The “tunnels” gave access to nesting boxes, food hoppers, and water dispensers. There was no shortage of food or water or nesting material. There were no predators. The only adversity was the limit on space.

Initially the population grew rapidly, doubling every 55 days. The population reached 620 by day 315, after which the population growth dropped markedly. The last surviving birth was on day 600. This period between day 315 and day 600 saw a breakdown in social structure and in normal social behavior. Among the aberrations in behavior were the following: expulsion of young before weaning was complete, wounding of young, inability of dominant males to maintain the defense of their territory and females, aggressive behavior of females, passivity of non-dominant males with increased attacks on each other which were not defended against. After day 600 the social breakdown continued and the population declined toward extinction. During this period females ceased to reproduce. Their male counterparts withdrew completely, never engaging in courtship or fighting. They ate, drank, slept, and groomed themselves – all solitary pursuits. Sleek, healthy coats and an absence of scars characterized these males. They were dubbed “the beautiful ones”.

The conclusions drawn from this experiment were that when all available space is taken and all social roles filled, competition and the stresses experienced by the individuals will result in a total breakdown in complex social behaviors, ultimately resulting in the demise of the population. Calhoun saw the fate of the population of mice as a metaphor for the potential fate of man.”

I love what Charles Swindoll, the author, has to say about this, and I will leave the thought here:

“What was most interesting to the observers was the strong independence, the extreme isolation syndrome of the mice. This was greatly emphasized by the fact that courtship and mating—the most complex activities for mice—were the first activities to cease. What result would similar conditions have on humanity? What would be the results of overcrowded conditions on an inescapable planet with all the accompany stress factors? Dr. Calhoun suggested that we would fist of all cease to reproduce our ideas, and along with ideas, our goals, ideals, and values would be lost.

It’s happening.

Our world has become a large, impersonal, busy institution. We are alienated from each other. Although crowded, we are lonely. Distant. Pushed together but uninvolved. No longer do most neighbors visit across the backyard fence. The well-manicured front lawn is the modern moat that keeps barbarians away. Hoarding and flaunting have replaced sharing and caring. It’s like we are occupying common space but have no common interests, as if we’re on an elevator with rules like ‘No talking, smiling, or eye contact allowed without written consent of the management.’

Painful though it may be for us to admit it here in this great land of America, we’re losing touch with one another. The motivation to help, to encourage, yes, to serve our fellow man is waning. People have observed a crime in progress but refused to help so as to not be involved. Even our foundational values are getting lost in these confusing days. And yet, it is these things that form the essentials of a happy and fulfilled life."

Charles Swindoll, Improving Your Serve, page 3

Trust and Hope.

Trust and Hope.

I’ve always known that these are related, but I think in my life, I have placed a distinction between the two. I would think about trust, and I would think about hope. The definitions in my mind have always been slightly different from one another. Up until recently, I haven’t recognized that this is perhaps a problem.

Last week, I was offered and I accepted a full-time job as an Advertising/Promotions Associate at HarperCollins Publishers in Manhattan. The significance of this is still sinking in. Over a year ago, John and I started praying about a possible move to NYC. In those prayers of asking God what types of things I should pursue, he laid book publishing on my heart. I believe He laid it on my heart as a step into a call I believe I will eventually be doing one day: writing a book. I don’t really know all the steps in between here and there, but I know that God is in the process, and I must be faithful to it.

Back in late May/early June, I remember setting my mind upon this belief: book publishing is a field nearly impossible to get into. I had applied for numerous book publishing positions at different publishers over this last year when we were in Colorado, and I heard absolutely nothing back on any of them. When June rolled around and I knew that we would be moving to NYC the following month, I looked around again. I found a few positions listed and saved them, but didn’t do anything about it at the time. I didn’t really feel like it was worth it. We spent much of June on the road, including our trip out here to find an apartment. On the last day that we were visiting and had a signed lease and address in our hands, I decided to look again in book publishing and see what might be out there. I felt about the same level of enthusiasm as I had earlier that month, but I did find one position that I thought could be a good fit from the position description. I filled out the application in our hotel room, and it was the briefest application out of all the others. It didn’t even ask for a cover letter, something I had spent much time laboring over with the other positions. I clicked submit and left it with the thought of “well, at least I’m trying, and we’ll see if anything happens, though I doubt it.”

It is funny even reading these words I write now to really remember what I was thinking. In my mind, I have trusted the Lord. I know He is faithful to provide and knows my and John’s needs. I have seen Him do it over and over again, and I know I need not doubt Him in this new season. When I was offered this job, I wasn’t surprised. I know it is within God’s character to do so and that He could make a way where there seemed to be no way.

But in the process, I recognize that I have reserved hope.

My first interview at HarperCollins went well. I first met with the HR director, and then with who will be my supervisor. I left the interview feeling good about it, but told myself to not get overconfident, or to basically hope too much. I didn’t want to set myself up for disappointment, especially since it was my first interview, and it was still the first week John and I were living in the city. I knew that things could happen quickly, but thought it better not to outrightly hope for it, just in case. So, I went onward from there looking and applying for more jobs while waiting to hear back from HarperCollins within the week with their decision. “It is the smart thing to do,” I told myself, though deep down inside I had my doubts about it, feeling as if I wasn’t being entirely obedient or honoring to God. Four business days passed since my interview, and I had applied for about 8 jobs at that point. In that process too, doors that were once open closed rather dramatically, specifically with a creative staffing agency I had been in contact with. I knew, deep down that God was working in this situation and making the way clear, but still, I reserved hope until I would hear from them.

Then, Thursday came. I woke up that morning not feeling well at all and with a strong conviction/desire to not apply for any jobs that day. I think God used the sickness to render me listless to do so, because He knows how determined I am to do things when I set my mind to do so. So, the whole day, I didn’t really do anything at all. At about 4 p.m. that afternoon, I received an email from the HR director asking me to come back for a final interview. That wasn’t what I was expecting, but it was progress and I was thankful. It was set up for the following morning.

We went to a prayer gathering at our new church that evening, and there was time to sit still before the Lord individually and pray about certain topics introduced by the elders. One was jobs. As I sat before the Lord, I was honest with Him. I told Him that I was hesitant to hope as I didn’t want to set myself up for disappointment. In that moment though, I knew it was wrong. I knew I needed to present my requests before Him as I desire them, and to trust Him with them. So, I asked Him for this job. I told Him I recognized He had been making a way with this position and into this field, something He laid on my heart long ago and something that I wrote off as being too “impossible.” I asked Him to help me hope and trust that this position is where I am supposed to be, and that the interview the next day would only further that.

And in those prayers, I recognized that it was my heart that has been guarded. My heart, with where I would credit to be the place where hope is born and preserved. As I prayed those prayers, the guards of my heart resisted to come down because I didn’t want to be disappointed. And I wondered how I got here. I wondered, why am I guarding my heart from the One who has created it, the One who has crafted the desires He places within it, and the One who knows it and holds it far better than I can? Why do I feel the need to guard it from its safekeeper? In reality, all I am doing is preventing myself from fully accepting what He has already set into motion and is doing.

And in that time, I knew the reason for the second interview rather than a definite answer about the position. Here was another chance to not only trust, but to hope in the Lord with this job and field. That meant that I needed to heed His leading and requests, to trust and hope that the way He was creating is where I am meant to go. I failed the first time through. Yet His grace offered me another chance.

The interview was the following morning, and I was greeted and escorted by the person who I last interviewed with. She was very happy to see me, and that was reassuring. I interviewed with the director of my department, and it was wonderful. It was like sitting in a beloved professor’s office where conversation flowed easily and well. We talked about things I could do with HarperCollins and their department. We talked about different accommodations that would be needed in the workplace with my hearing loss. We talked through a lot of different things, and when we left, I told her and the person I interviewed with the time before, “See you soon,” as that rolled off my tongue uncontrollably. As I left, I cringed inside for saying that because I thought I would come off as presumptuous, but it had already been done. Yet, inside I knew that things had gone very well, and that there was even more reason to hope and trust for this position, with which I was to wait another week to hear the final decision on.

I didn’t apply for any more jobs. I allowed my logic to be overplayed by the aim of attempting to trust and hope in the way the Lord appeared to be making. So, the week was quiet until Wednesday, when I got an email from the HR director saying he would be reaching out to me the next day about the position. I knew that was a good sign, so I thanked the Lord. The following morning, I received the offer letter for the position, and accepted a few hours later. The job search was done. God was faithful, as always. But the process of reconciling hope and trust is just beginning.

This morning, I started looking at the Greek to see what the root for hope and trust are, and if they are two separate words or one. I looked at several verses, but these two key ones came forth:

“For we are saved by hope, but hope that is seen is not hope; for what a man sees, why does he hope for it? But if we hope for what we do not yet see, then we wait with patience for it.” Romans 8:24-25

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things unseen.” Hebrews 11:1

The word “hope” in this context comes from the Greek word Elpizo, a verb, which means, and directly translates into TRUST, and is defined as:
     1. to hope
     a. in a religious sense, to wait for salvation with joy and full confidence
     2. hopefully to trust in

These are not meant to be two different concepts. I am not to divide trust to be with my mind and hope to be with my heart. If I am doing that, then I am missing both altogether, as they are one. I need to “trust the Lord with all my heart, and lean not on my own understanding.” I need to have “faith as the assurance of things hoped for.”

I need not reserve an emotional response (what I have been defining as hope), for if I am doing that, I am also reserving trust. The Lord is the Lord of my heart, my soul, my mind, and my spirit. Though different parts, they are meant to operate as one entity, and I am meant to love the Lord as one entity. I am meant to trust and hope with the Lord as one entity. I need not guard my heart against the One who already holds it.

As Paul writes to the Corinthians, “We have spoken freely to you, Corinthians; our heart is wide open. You are not restricted by us, but you are restricted in your own affections. In return (I speak as to children) widen your hearts also.” 2 Corinthians 6:11-13.

And in conclusion, I feel the Lord speaking this also directly to me this morning:

“I have spoken freely to you, Elise, and my heart is wide open. You are not restricted by me, but you are restricted in your own affections. In return, I ask you to widen your heart.”

"Thank God that He gives us difficult things to do"

So, this is my first blog post from our new apartment in Brooklyn, New York. I knew this move would be coming eventually for a long while, but now that we are actually here, it still seems surreal in many ways. Overall, the first week we have been here has not been terribly difficult. But, there have been difficult moments.

There are moments where it’s hard to fully embrace the fact that John and I packed up all of our things, spent three days driving across the country and a lot of money doing it, to end up here in Brooklyn, New York, which is a world of its own. I still chuckle a bit to myself when John and I were first talking about where we wanted to move in NYC when we did…I thought that off the island would be less of a culture shock than on. I am finding that to be very incorrect. Living on the island is a culture shock to the typical American way of life…generally no personal cars, no big yards, no separation of residences, having to buy groceries every few days and carry them, the amount of money it takes to live in one small apartment, etc. But living off the island is another world in itself. On our subway line, we are almost always the only non-Jewish whites on the train when we get off/on at our stop. The way people interact is so different. We have a large Carribean black community around us, and we live smack dab in the middle of a Hasidic Jewish community. In all honesty, seeing these different ways of interacting and living is refreshing in many respects, as it is so much more community based. It still does make me crave familiarity and comfort though. It makes me want to be selfish and do what I can to secure my own happiness and comfort and safety.

Yet in this, I know there’s a conflict within myself, because I know that this is not what it is about. The words of Oswald Chambers a few days ago resonate with me so…

If we are going to live as disciples of Jesus, we have to remember that all noble things are difficult. The Christian life is gloriously difficult, but the difficulty of it does not make us faint and cave in, it rouses us up to overcome. Do we so appreciate the marvellous salvation of Jesus Christ that we are our utmost for His highest? God saves men by His sovereign grace through the Atonement of Jesus; He works in us to will and to do of His good pleasure; but we have to work out that salvation in practical living…Thank God He does give us difficult things to do! His salvation is a glad thing, but it is also a heroic, holy thing. It tests us for all we are worth. Jesus is bringing many "sons" unto glory, and God will not shield us from the requirements of a son. God's grace turns out men and women with a strong family likeness to Jesus Christ, not milk sops. It takes a tremendous amount of discipline to live the noble life of a disciple of Jesus in actual things. It is always necessary to make an effort to be noble. July 7th

I love that he does not water down the truth of what it is like to be a follower of Jesus Christ. It is difficult. We are so easily divided by what we want and what we know we should do. We take upon Jesus as a personal Savior and comforter and make God a servant of our desires and wills. But it is about Him working “in us to wil and to do of His good pleasure…Jesus is bringing many sons to glory and God will not shield us from the requirements of a son.” He does not exist purely to bring glory to me and my circumstances, but rather that all may have the opportunity to know Him and that He can bring many sons to glory. As believers, we have already received so much. There are countless others who have yet to receive and know the grace of the Lord. We need to live as disciples of Jesus, and “remember that all noble things are difficult…and that the Christian life is gloriously difficult…”

With Him or without Him? In a city where it is so prevalent who knows Him and who doesn’t, it only reinforces my answer of “Yes, Lord…anything with You,” even when it is difficult. Knowing the fact alone that Jesus is with us and will never leave or forsake us is such a gift of grace. Yes, following Him and forsaking comfortable and familiar things is never easy, but I do pray that “the difficulty of it does not make me faint and cave in,” but rather that it would “rouse me up to overcome.” His Salvation truly is a glad thing, a heroic thing, a holy thing. In a city where there is so much need, this truth only resonates all the more.


Will is the whole man active. I cannot give up my will, I must exercise it. I must will to obey, and I must will to receive God's Spirit. When God gives a vision of truth it is never a question of what He will do, but of what we will do. The Lord has been putting before us all some big propositions, and the best thing to do is to remember what you did when you were touched by God before - the time when you were saved, or first saw Jesus, or realized some truth. It was easy then to yield allegiance to God; recall those moments now as the Spirit of God brings before you some new proposition. Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest, July 8th

I know that I must grow into embracing and stepping beyond myself in living in this city. I must exercise my will in obeying the Lord and receiving His spirit. I know that He will never change and will be faithful to do what He promises; I am the fickle one.

This time of change reminds me much of the summer I spent in Santa Monica on summer project with Campus Crusade. I was so utterly and completely uncomfortable and somewhat unhappy to be there for the first week. I asked myself why I ever agreed to do this, and that it would’ve been so much better to go home for the summer. Yet, what I found in that summer is that God met me incredibly in the midst of my discomfort and resistance to being there. When one is stripped of all that he/she holds dear and familiar, there is nothing left to do but either reject or embrace the Lord, the One who remains. Embracing the Lord in these times of great need and change is sweet. At the end of that summer, I left having grown more than I would’ve ever imagined in the ways of trusting the Lord, stepping out in faith, witnessing to others, and serving. All because I was uncomfortable and forced to step outside of what was familiar and engage it.

And I know that this is so good and healthy to do. The world is so much bigger than what we choose to see and define within the little boxes we create for ourselves. In New York City, there are so few boundaries. Everything and everyone mixes together at least to some small extent. In Santa Monica, we talked to people from 20 different countries in the course of 10 weeks. It was fascinating. Jesus is universal, and the need for Him is universal. It is only within such diversity can one fully understand that.

I remember then that after the initial resistance, “it was easy to yield allegiance to God;” and I now “recall those moments as the Spirit of God brings before me this new proposition” of living, working, and ministering in New York City. I know this is good. I know it won’t always be easy. I know that this amount of change gives me the chance to fully embrace or reject the Lord, and I certainly choose to embrace Him. And I “Thank God that He gives us difficult things to do.”

Three Things in Transition

There’s yet another transition on the brink. In about 36 hours, John and I will be on the road with our Penske truck beginning our four-day endeavor of moving to Brooklyn, New York. In some ways, this type of transition is so similar to others. In other ways, it’s entirely different. But, as the end of all things brings a revelation to what the season has entailed or lacked, so this one does also.

In this time of transition, I am reminded of how I am able to deal with new change and transition well as long as I have the three following things: the Lord (thankfully He’s always there); a home base; and at least one person I know well alongside me for the journey and changes. I know it takes me a little bit of time to adjust to new things, but once I have that initial period with the three things I mentioned above, then I’m usually good to go and do well in the new phase of life.

It’s funny though, how this time around, I am realizing how those three things are also key to me being able to end things well also. I have never realized this before. So, where am I now with this?

The Lord has been so sweet and gracious in this season and in my life. I know I never need to doubt Him, His presence, and provision. There have been different home bases here in Colorado, each with its own merits and some with their own challenges. I have been able to walk through this season as a newlywed, loving this journey with my husband and finding such provision and grace from the Lord in having John in my life.

Community with friends has been very rich lately. This last month has been filled with community in so many varying forms. We have been able to visit our best friends out in SLO for a week and connect with other dear friends there. I can’t even begin to describe how much I was blessed by the week in SLO with Elise Thelander. She and I have lived so much of life together, and it was sweet to live life together for another week, which also happened to be her last week in SLO before she moved away in preparation for her move to Santa Barbara and starting her own new phase of life. In reflecting about our conversations in the weeks that have followed since then, I am appreciating more and more what life-giving words and thoughts we were able to share and confide in each other in. We truly are well known by one another, and it was sweet to talk through so many of the same aspects of transitions that we are each going through at the same time now. Right before I saw her, I was able to spend a whole weekend with my roommates from college, whom I treasure beyond measure. We are all going through transitions in different ways, but as we are known by each other, there was sweet camaraderie in our time together. I also have been able to spend time with my best friend in Colorado as she is moving to Argentina a week after we move to Brooklyn. We have been friends for about 14 years, more than half our lives. Our fellowship is so sweet and the Lord uses our times together to challenge and confirm many things in the other’s lives.

In our visit to New York for our apartment searching, John and I were able to have a whole week of undivided time with just each other, working towards the same common goal. That was a huge blessing and a wonderful foreshadowing of what more is soon to come. Then, we also got to have dinner with a wonderful couple that are leaders in the church that we are going to be a part of. The Lord has certainly made New York City a very small city, as the guy is from Colorado Springs and was actually in the same 3rd and 4th grade classes as my brother. There was sweet community there in engaging with people that we don’t know much yet but share a similar background.

We also got to see one of our greatest friends from college on Friday, and it is always good to catch up on life and where the Lord is leading us respectively. He has been a solid anchor in our lives since freshman year, and we appreciate him greatly.

There has also been much time with family, particularly over this year we have been back in Colorado. It has been very good to learn and become a part of our spouse’s family and embrace them as our own also. This is time that we seldom don’t have the opportunity for, and the Lord has been very gracious in giving it.

So at the end of that very long recap, it makes me think about the current transition and the ending of this season. In some ways, it is very easy. In other ways, it is difficult, because not all of the things that I need for transition are fully there. Some things have been very hard. I’ve had to ask the Lord the reason for it, as I want things to end well and fully, and I don’t feel that they currently are in some ways. I am realizing that this week in between our visit to New York and our move to New York only solidifies what I truly value, believe in, and need. I need a home base where I feel valued and that I have a place in. I need community where I feel well known, and are willing to put in the effort with me in forging relationships and developing them. I do not do well with mediocrity. I do not do well when there is little communication and lack of understanding.

I know that the Lord uses these lacks to remind me of His provision of home and community within Himself, and I am so thankful that within Him, I can truly rest. However, I also know He has instilled these values within me as part of who I am to the core, and those do need to be met with community and home too.

The new realization tonight in this, is that John and I may have to work for these things to be manifested in our community and home in ways that we haven’t had to before. New York City is a whole different world. I think it is easy to think that our community has come easy to us before, and in some ways it has. In others though, we have had to work through things with people and fight for relationships. We don’t know what it will look like in New York City yet. But, tonight I am thankful for the reminder at the end of the transition of who I am at the core and what I need to thrive. It’s not there in every way at the end right now. It may not be there in every way at the beginning. Yet, I will trust the Lord to provide and be prepared to work in a way that I haven’t before for these things to be manifested.

The Potter's House

“The word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: "Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will let you hear my words." So I went down to the potter's house, and there he was working at his wheel. And the vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter's hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do. Then the word of the Lord came to me: "O house of Israel, can I not do with you as this potter has done? declares the Lord. Behold, like the clay in the potter's hand, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel.” –Jeremiah 18:1-6

A struggle of mine this year has been being able to intrinsically understand what is going on within myself…what is the Lord teaching me? What is it that I am thinking about and pondering? What is it that I need to set my mind and my heart to do in order to pursue Him more? Am I where I should be with Him at this point in my life?

Amidst these questions, there have been countless moments of clear joy and thankfulness, even though what John and I hoped would happen or what we hoped we might do or where we might be wasn’t manifesting itself right away. In the absence of thought I am used to having, it has been sweet to truly see and appreciate what is precious, the things, people, and situations given by God’s grace. I wonder if those sweet moments of thankfulness have been because my mind has been unable to form many complex thoughts. Whatever the case, I have been thankful for the change in my heart and disposition to see these things more clearly and simply.

Yet, I’ve wondered. Wondered if the level of self-awareness I have become so accustomed to bearing was diminishing or changing for the future. I’ve wondered if it was diminishing simply due to the circumstances of this season and would return in time. I’ve wondered if perhaps in marriage, my definition and knowledge of myself has changed, as I have changed.

Many times in the last year I have felt like clay on the potter’s wheel. I have been placed and centered on the wheel itself, but I have been morphing clay. At times I have felt strong and sturdy, ready to withstand anything. Other times, I have felt stretched thin to where I am trying to maintain my balance so I do not fall. But overall, I feel that my shape of who I might be and am has been morphing and changing. Sometimes I am a vase. Sometimes I am a glass. Sometimes I am a bowl. Sometimes I am a plate. Sometimes I am something unrecognizable. I have never really seemed to know with certainty what I am going to look like and be in this season.

Yet the wonderful thing about being clay centered on the potter’s wheel is that the form itself can change. The master knows how to create. He knows when to let the clay dry out a bit for more stability, and he knows when to add water to it all to allow it to once again be soft for the shaping. He knows exactly what he is doing and how to get an unassuming lump of clay to be something dramatically different in time.

I still don’t really know what form I am taking on the potter’s wheel. But I know I am centered and that my base is sturdy. And above all, I know that I have an opening at my top, always ready and willing to receive. What my purpose will be, I do not always know, but I know that I am purposeful because of the way my Master has been creating and shaping me.

This past week, I have had the opportunity to be back with some of my closest friends, the people I have lived life with so thoroughly over the last few years. It has been humbling to see and remember how well I am known by each of them, despite having been in a different state in the last 10 months. Right now, I feel as if they know me better than I know myself…and that is a very unusual place for me to be. It’s as if they’ve had an inside view in the potter’s studio and have watched as I have been taking form. I am too close to myself to see or know, but they have the beautiful thing of objective perspective. They reassure me that it is good, that I am taking shape, that I am where I need to be. They watch and observe with peace, not because of who I am, but because they see the potter and know him. And, it is the most bewildering thing that when I look at each of them, I see them as their own lump of clay, centered on the wheel and taking form as the potter shapes them.

Those outside of ourselves can see much more clearly. And it is with this week that I am seeing for the first time that I truly “know myself better” when I am in a community that knows me and has walked through life with me. This community did not magically develop. It became what it is today because of many years of walking through life together and making the conscious choice to be willing to see into each other’s hearts and souls. And on the brink of a move to NYC, I am so thankful for this reminder where I will have to actively participate in building another community again. It is worth it. It is so worth it.

Dare I might guess that we are all in the same place? That we all are uncertain to one degree or another of what we ourselves are supposed to look like, and what our function is supposed to be? Praise be to the Potter who knows from beginning to end, and for the gift of those in our lives who see us more clearly than we see ourselves.

Revisiting

Writing has been a difficult thing for me lately. The words haven't come fresh and they've been hard to articulate. Yet, my mind and heart have been filled with words I have written previously and now am coming back to meditate upon. Most of them have been in recent years, but tonight, I found this song I wrote five and a half years ago. Five and a half years ago. That is hard for me to believe that it could've been that long ago. I feel very young at times and much older in others. This August marks eleven years of following the Lord. Looking back on the scope of it humbles me incredibly...the Lord has been so gracious. And tonight, these words of five and a half years ago are the ones that He is bringing me back to remember.

Yet I Only Want More
November 6, 2005

I’m in a place I never thought I’d be
In a place so wonderful but not satisfying
For it is there I taste and see that You are good
You are above all things and Your grace is sufficient for me
And it leaves me longing for ever, oh, so much more
So much more than I can see, cause at your feet I see Your treasure store
And it leaves me with a craving like never before

Chorus
You are more than enough
Yet I only want more
I’ve been captivated by Your touch
Now I know the abundant love you pour
You’re unveiling my eyes to Your beauty like never before
I won’t be satisfied, no never will I cease
To seek Your face all of my days until I come before You at Your feet
Because You are more than everything to me
Yet I only want more

Speak to my heart in the ways you did to the people of old
Raise me up like the ones who did amazing things for You, Lord
I know there’s so much more
I want to see Your glory radiating through the pain of this world
Through the broken hearts on the ground, those blind to Your love
Because I know there’s so much more
So much more than they can see, so much more than I could ever know
And so I will not be satisfied, no never will I be
Satisfied with where I am because there’s so much more You have for me