name change

As I scroll through facebook, I notice another friend has quietly re-changed their  last name—a small gesture relating a monumental life event—one of strife, tears, a journey no one but the two of them really knows. Heartbreak, divorce.
I grimace and pray—not another marriage, lord. Help them, help them both to seek you, to see you in the dashed dreams, broken promises; the last thread torn from a long fraying relationship. Sweet Jesus, come, restore—heal broken hearts and dreams.
I know I have no idea what I’m really talking about—perpetually single, I don’t write these words flippantly, lightly, but I can’t stay silent. My heart whispers—there is always heartbreak in this life—the ultimate relationship is broken and this infects every other. This side of heaven, life will always have aches, bitter mingled with sweet reminds us to turn to Him. He is the only one who satisfies, who can fill our voids, the only “soul mate”, “the One”.

I pray for discernment and protection—that if I do get married someday that it would began to be fortified now. I need Jesus just as much today as I will on my wedding day and each day after. We need grace for the day—not matter what season. Self-reliance and pride are just as poisonous in singleness as in marriage. Commitment has to be based in contentment in Jesus. I cannot look to marriage to satisfy what only He can—companionship, acceptance, applause. I need to recognize this, find my foundation and security in this—single, married, divorced. Only he is our hope and joy. He gives us a new name. 

Eight years out—a letter to my younger self on that day of diagnosis

Terrified, in shock, unbelieving-not me, disabled? At 2o?!  who will love me now? How can I finish college? What will my life look like now?
Four  small words forever changed my life—“you have hearing loss”.

Twenty-year-old-self—I know you can’t see past this now. It seems to mar your life, to irrevocably screw up your plans, your dreams.  It seems to shatter every truth you knew about who you are and what you’re capable of. Later that afternoon, as you sit on the beach, pen in hand, pages rippling in the forceful wind—you will make a pivotal choice—to turn to, not away from Jesus in this day of pain and fear. You chose not to get bitter, cynical, or self-pittying—and by His grace you live that out. Sure, you have moments of agony and deep fear—but your roots are strong—to him be the glory.

Eight years from now you will be thankful for this day—you won’t wish it away, dread waking up and putting your aids in, live in constant fear of losing the rest of your hearing or not having batteries for your aids. You wont hide your aids under your hair—you’ll again experience the freedom of wearing your hair up—exposing those ears. Eight years out you will be so grateful for loss—for you have gained so much of worth that surpasses your physical hearing. You’ll smile and think of how this was made for you—chosen in love to strengthen, to EQUIP—not hinder, the life you live. Your eyes will glimmer as your mind fills with pictures of how this loss is gain—from relating to a scared parent with a fresh Autism diagnosis, to the way your niece gently pulls back your hair and in awe and joy exclaims “you got my ears too!” You'll mentally change "Amazing Grace" to "I once was deaf, but now I hear" understanding why John Newton (a man who went blind) would write those original lyrics because of how physical loss can strengthen the Spirit. 


Eight years from now you will read scriptures like “Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy! He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him” (Psalm 126) and your heart will leap with joy—fulfilling this verse and know it’s true. Eight years from now, today will still bring back a flood of sadness but a bittersweet gratitude—for now you have those sheaves. The harvest of suffering reminds you pain in this life is birth pains. Trembling 20-year-old-self—this diagnosis you think is ending your life—is actually the greatest beginning. 

How my hearing aids help me understand the Holy Spirit

August 22, 2015
**just posting this after months of hiatus, but Sunday marks 8 years of this hearing loss journey**
Today, after “adulting” most of the morning—sweeping, mopping, dusting, etc. I settled down to read “My Utmost for His Highest” which I pick up when I remember. One snippet of today’s devotional stood out to me.

Oswald wrote “Get to the end of yourself where you can do nothing, but where He does everything”.

I was struck by how much this resembles the relationship I have with my hearing aids. They do everything to make me here at a normal level. My ears can’t help themselves. I cannot live the same way without my aids. They resemble the true Helper.

And yet, wearing them is a choice.  I can decide whether or not to put them in, to utilize their vital help in my daily life. In a somewhat similar way, I can choose to listen to the Holy Spirit, to daily turn to His voice, his leading , his essential aid.

We tend to see the Holy Spirit like Jiminy Cricket—advice giver, someone on the side to guide us. Yet, he’s more than that. He is vital. He is how we can Hear. He is our ever present help. 

Let Love in--Part 2

Earlier today I began a separate post, one I hope to share in the, future, but it needs refining.

 I recently borrowed a friend’s copy of “Counterfeit Gods” by Tim Keller.  Read it at your own risk—for your own edification and joy. Throughout the work Keller expounds upon the idea that “the human heart is an idol factory” and how we tend to just deal with the surface idols—money, relationships, work success, instead of looking to the root—what our desire for those things is really pointing to. For instance, you and I could both have money as an idol—something that we find our sole sense of identity, security, and affirmation in. But—I could be using money because it makes me secure and in control of my environment (or so I think) and you could be using money to gain approval—so that others will applaud you and you can know you’re successful. The surface looks the same, but the roots are different.

While the book in its entirety impacted my life, my faith, my views; one section in particular kept coming back to me. In chapter 2, Keller articulates that “love is not all you need” by sharing the stories of Jacob and Leah. Both of them faced life unloved. Jacob spent most of his life looking to others for blessing—he stole the blessing from his twin, was cheated out of the woman he first loved by his father in law, and lived in fear. He was always looking to others to fulfill him and bless him. Likewise, Leah, who the Bible basically calls ugly, lived life in the shadow of her beautiful younger sister. Her own father gave her away in marriage to a man who didn’t love her. She thought she could earn her husband’s blessing and love by having children, but it never worked. In both of their lives they finally turned to God for blessing and love after many unfruitful years of trying to siphon it from others. With the birth of Judah, Leah finally said “now I know God has blessed me”—realizing that all along it was God’s love and favor she had been searching for. Keller further relates that “The text says that when the Lord saw that Leah was not loved, _he_ loved her. God was saying, 'I am the real bridegroom. I am the husband of the husbandless. I am the father of the fatherless”.  In my own life I can see how I have looked to others for acceptance and love—after the early years of being rejected by peers and friends, I spent much of my teenage and early adult years seeking to know that I had true friendships that were like the siblings I never had—I too tried to suck the love out of others or do things for them so they would love me—like Leah I have learned that it never satisfies and pushes others away. There was nothing Leah could do to make Jacob love her more or to make God love her less.  Similarly, Jacob spent his life taking blessing into his own hands—he learned from a young age that he had to fight for it, earn it, and do what it took to get it from others. I too, look back and see how I have spent much of my life trying to earn the unconditional love of God by proving myself to my parents, my bosses, my peers. I thought that if I could just be consistent enough, care enough, share enough—that THEN I would finally be treated that way by others. Like Jacob, I wrestled with others when really, it was God I needed to wrestle with. In Jacob’s story he finally turns to God on the eve of the night that he thinks is his last—his brother Esau is coming toward him and he is certain that this is it—the ultimate rejection by family and retaliation for his past. In the night a man approaches him and they fight—in the midst of it Jacob is told it is God—and instead of fearfully cowering, Jacob clings. He finally fights for the blessing he’s been looking for and tells God that “he won’t let go until You bless me”. As Keller relates “Jacob finally looked to God for blessing”. The approval of others—the encouragement from my parents, the social media rat race, the academic achievement—all of it will fail, all of it is a vicious cycle that never satisfies. People will come through and then fail me, encourage and then tear down.


You see, I do need to let love in—the one who IS love. Who created me to delight in, not deify, the love and approval of others. What we do here is an echo of eternity, the one who loves. It’s time to let Love in. 

Waiting to Exhale

“And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last, and the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.”—Mark 15:37

Today is the day Christians remember the death of Jesus—Good Friday. Death…good? A man breathing his last as something that is yearly remembered and celebrated? This contradicts everything we and our culture strive for and celebrate. As people we are drawn to life—longevity, new beginnings, fighting for permanency and life is at the root of most of the things we spend our time, energy, and money on. How can death be good? How can we celebrate a last breath.



We can celebrate because the exhalation ushered in eternity—it is the breath we are waiting for, striving for: Jesus’ last breath brings life.



As I write this morning, stripes of sunshine dancing across my journal—I am reminded of the fact that each person is “waiting to exhale” in some facet of life. We are in a perpetual state of holding our breath—we live expectantly for “the next big thing” something that will finally take our breath away, satisfy, allow us to rest easy and drink in the calm of true rest free from striving. We’re all waiting to exhale something—debt, addiction, loneliness, barrenness—freedom, contentment, ease—all seem one breath away.  We order our lives around obtaining things we think will satisfy—but if we’re honest, the next thing always calls out to us before we’ve cleaned up the confetti from our last achievement. We can never fully catch our breath.



This is part of what makes this Friday, good. We can celebrate Jesus’ death because He is the only man who truly was able to exhale and say—it is finished. In Him we have freedom to exhale today because ultimately—eternally, it is finished. Whether you obtain the things you are striving for today—the job, the ring, the house, the family—in Christ we can ultimately exhale for eternity. May the many times we hold our breath in this life remind us of our assurance in Jesus—who breathed his last for us. Let our waiting to exhale point us to Jesus’ last breath that opened eternity.

Thanking God for the Given

                A couple of years ago I read “OneThousand Gifts” by Ann Voskamp where she discusses the discipline of gratitude in light of communion—how bringing ourselves and our attitudes before God as a way of communion and worship. In that book, she narrates her personal journey of cultivating daily gratitude by writing a list of one thousand things she was thankful for.  After finishing the book, I was inspired to do the same. Tonight, after a difficult week of others’ joys—babies, engagements, work promotions—reminding me of my unfulfilled dreams—I knew I needed to revisit my own list.  It was encouraging to look back almost to the day in 2012 to things I listed as evidences of grace and reasons for gratitude—my grandfather’s voice, cinnamon scented pinecones, clean sheet night, no-lick envelopes, my pastor’s kid’s wisdom and thoughtfulness, eating popsicles—almost too many to number.

                In today’s social media world, it’s easy to get caught up in numbers—likes, followers, re-tweets, and “friends”. It’s a hamster wheel of futile attempts for adoration and applause—there will never be enough. Similarly, if I approach miles stones in life as simply accomplishments to check off my “life-long-to-do-list” I will always have the next thing in line—and will miss out on the blessing of the moment, the place I am. Companies like Apple have capitalized on the human compulsion for “the next big thing”—we are compelled to look ahead, to have the latest and greatest. But where does this really leave us?


Striving never ceases when our lives are based on what’s next instead of what is here.

 
As these thoughts permeated my disquieted and discontent heart this weekend, I was reminded of Jim and Elisabeth Elliot, who waited years to get married due to their personal convictions that marriage was not something to rush into because their single lives were purposed and full—they were expectantly patient—that God would work his will in his perfect timing, and that it was worth waiting for that. In one letter Jim related to Elisabeth:

 “… We may imagine what it would be like to share a given event and feel loss at having to experience it alone. But let us not forget—that loss is imagined, not real. I imagine peaks—when I think of doing things together, but let not the hoping for it dull the doing of it alone. What is, is actual—what might be simply is not, and I must not therefore query God as though he robbed me—of things that are not. Further, the things that are belong to us, and they are good, God-given, and enriched. Let not our longing slay the appetite of our living!” (shadow of the Almighty p.160)


Exactly. I am grateful for the reminders to thank God for the given—the many blessings I do have in my life today. I don’t want to miss out on today’s joys and purpose because I am too focused on future hopes and blessings. In another book, Elisabeth relates how she personally prays through the implications of The Lord’s Prayer, and when it comes to “our daily bread” she reminds her reader to “thank God for the given, [and to not allow] the not given to spoil it”. If I knew what God does, I would be grateful for where I am, what have, and what is withheld.  May I daily live in thankfulness for the given.

He Hems Me In, Before and Behind--February 7th, 2015

A few weeks ago, in the midst of transitioning to my new job position, new “future” out of school, and renewed faith, I prayed. Boldly. A way I hadn’t since my feet were caked in the red Kenyan dirt.

God, Please show me how you’re working. Help me to have tangible heart-knowledge that you are in my circumstances—working and leading. I need to see you. Show me how your hand is at work—like in Ruth’s life—orchestrating my circumstances for my good and your glory.

                Admittedly, I was pessimistic, jaded, not really expecting an answer—but with a “mustard seed” of faith, hoping that this time, this prayer, would be different. This time he would move my calloused heart and stubborn mind and show me.
                Well, where do I begin? In the last week alone, I have seen answers to things I didn’t even have faith to pray about, months ago. Flippant thoughts of “oh, wouldn’t that be great if___” have actually come about—been brought up as possibilities in conversation as actually happening! The most encouraging was a prayer from December having a tangible, real, answer—yes, this week. My soul has leapt to life with hope and joy—God is present. He does orchestrate. The most encouraging thing is that I’m excited that God’s working—not as much about the specific circumstances and “yeses” but more that I have seen him answer. This is much different than I used to be. A new acquaintance eloquently wrote that “God blesses you seasonally, proportionately, and incrementallybecause he wants to bestow you both with the gift itself, and the gift offaith, and never the former without the latter”.

                Exactly. Awhile ago I prayed one of those prayers you never should pray—like asking for patience, that I would know what it was like to not know the hope of Jesus. Yes, I actually prayed that. And well, look at the last two years. He answered—yes, and the season was a gift. It increased my faith, my hope, my joy. He really does give good gifts—and hems them in, before and behind. 

Trusting When God Says “No”

                The last two years have been a battle of 2x4s whacking my faith, my confidence, my joy. It seemed like the blows would never stop: experiencing poverty and my powerlessness, guilt of privilege, the deaths of : patriarchs, friends, cousins, precious children. When would it stop? Every prayer answered with a resounding no.  FINE, my soul screamed. HAVE IT YOUR WAY—take away my family, friends, my hearing, my ignorance of the disparity of life—I give up. My heart hardened as it interpreted every “no” as if God was the defiant one—not me. I threw myself into a crazy school year—attending church but mentally retreating every Sunday. I couldn’t take it. Why should I follow a “loving” God who seems to stomp and stifle my dreams and the people around me? While I have to pick up the pieces of shattered dreams and fractured hopes—now what.

                No one likes no.

we don’t like to have the bubble of control, power, comfort, and peace popped by reality. From two to ninety –two no one likes no. The irony, is that without boundaries there is chaos. Boundaries lead to more freedom, not less. What I was unable to see the last two years was that each 2x4 I thought was destroying my faith was actually thrown to build. I can now see that the pain was purposeful, foundational even, to where I am now. I have been equipped even when I was defiantly enduring—the house was being built on the rock.

 

                You see, all those “no’s” were actually invitations—to trust God’s timing, his plans and purposes, his way of healing. The no’s were inviting me to run TO God, not away. Even now, oh precious hindsight and the Holy Spirit remind me that I was warned about this journey. My second night in Nairobi, I journaled that,

 

“it will be a desert, I will wander, ‘it will be a beautiful season of growth and dependence; my individual “Fourty Years” to personally and eternally remind me of God’s  love, provision, and Grace”

 

At the time, my naïve self thought—well, duh, two months in Africa…But I failed to realize the desert was actually when I returned home, and would last much longer. It was the desert of my heart—dry with pride, fear, a desire to control.

 

All the “no’s” were leading me to say yes.

In brokenness I was able to finally say yes—that God is sovereign, trustworthy, in control, and good! Even the most painful no’s—rejection, physical loss, death, loneliness; are yeses. Yes, you can trust me when you are alone, physically disabled, in need. I AM. I am with you in the fire and the flood (Isaiah 40). God has sustained and guided me through the desert, I can trust him in the journey—even when he says no.

A lifetime of wisdom- looking back to look ahead. January 6, 2015

    Over the last few weeks, since passing my certification exam (hurrah!!) I’ve been able to take time to find more balance, more of a healthy rhythm of rest and work. On December 31^st, I took a day to head to Tacoma—exploring new places is something that rejuvenates and refocuses me. I did the cursory reflection of 2014, but I also wanted to look ahead—I knew that after this insanely academic year, I needed to fight for balance. I’m not much of a resolution, more of a thematic thinker when it comes to new seasons and goals. Earlier in the week I had read the book of Philippians and it was one of those sweet times where the words leapt off the page. Paul’s letter was so fitting for this new season of no school and new jobs. I am definitely extroverted, and 2014 was a weird year of focusing on school and work and studying—not much time for authentic relationship building and growing. Paul calls the church to “look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others” and to “shine as lights”. This past Sunday I co-led my first girls group for my church, ages 9-13. Each of those girls are so unique and gifted, and I can’t wait to see how they grow—I am humbled to be a part of it.

Another theme in Paul’s letter to the people Phillipi is the that of holding onto  and standing firm in the faith. He calls them to hold fast to the word of life, hold true to what has been obtained, and to stand firm in the Lord. Admittedly, my Bible was pretty dust covered last year—thousands of pages of textbooks and articles filled my reading and calendar. Again, my hope is to find balance this year in my reading habits.

 The last theme that struck me in Paul’s letter, is how he consistently reminds them that it is God who works in them.  He calls them to make their faith your own because He made you His own, rejoice in the Lord always, think about what is true, noble, good, and remember that you can do ALL through Christ who strengthens you, for God supplies every need according to his riches in glory in Christ. 

Those are things I want to center life on this year—remembering that it is God who works in me, to will and to work for His good pleasure. It is often in hindsight that I see how he has worked and brought me to where I am today. In light of that, I’ve also been reading a lot of biographies lately—I am so drawn to learning about others’ lives—what made them tick? What were pivotal situations in their life? Who impacted them and changed them?  

On that note, I recently finished “The Story of My Life” by Helen Keller. Initially, I was embarrassed to admit that—afraid of the “oh that’s cute, of course you would like her—with your hearing loss and all” which is a backhanded dis to an incredible lady. Helen Keller has become somewhat of a punchline in recent years, which is so unfortunate, disrespectful, and does such a disservice to who she was and what she accomplished. She didn’t let her disability, caused by an illness in infancy, shrink her life—she learned to speak, she loved to row and ride horses! What was so remarkable to me was the fact that her writing contains so many visual descriptions—something she partly credits to her teacher, Anne Sullivan, who acted like a visual narrator. In every situation she would describe not just what was spoken; but the manner, the setting, the environment. She went to college, and wrote with a confidence that recognized she was unique and had a voice that needed to be heard.  I was astonished by her acceptance and lack of bitterness in her writing—she obviously did have pains, but as she articulated “…my tongue will not utter the bitter, futile words that rise to my lips, and they fall back into my heart like unshed tears. Silence sits immense upon my soul. Then come hope with a smile and whispers, “There is joy in self-forgetfulness” so I try to make the light in others’ eyes my sun, the music in others’ ears my symphony, the smile on others’ lips my happiness” (p. 142). Helen Keller is a model of living “above the circumstances, not under them”.



There is so much wisdom to be gleaned from the lives before and around me. I hope that this year I continue to grow in my love of God and others.