Down in the depths of my heart. Where?

I had a really nice conversation yesterday. The niceness may have been more related to my partner in conversation than the content of our discourse, but regardless, it's still a slice of time I have rewound and played over and over in my head in the hours since (even possibly at the neglect of more important subjects on which I should have been focusing my attention).

Every time an experience like this happens, the scripture that resonates in my head is "she treasured all these things in her heart." I have heard addresses delivered, usually by men, on what, exactly, this means. Mostly it boils down to the fact that she meditated on her experience. But, inasmuch as I understand the way she thought about events of particular meaning, a word as simple as meditated just seems so unsatisfactory. It falls short.

I think women meditate on things in a way that men will never be able to understand, just because of differences in the way we're wired. We take special moments and "treasure them up in our hearts." As Sarah Grace so eloquently put it, we decorate them. That's not to say we embellish the truth of what actually happened, but we contemplate with the knowledge that our feelings on the subject are unique to us alone. We remember the feeling as much as the event. We do not only replay memories, we nurture them and guard them, as if they were locked in a room to which only we have the key.

Maybe this is also why we can bring up memories at will (sometimes in an accusatory fashion, sorry guys) of which the unfortunate men in our lives seem to have no recollection.

But yesterday I felt like my heartstrings must have hummed with the same resonance as Mary's did in some far-gone century.

Posterchild for Scotch Guard

I never make it very far with coffee. At least some of it always ends up as a part of my wardrobe. Usually this is in the morning, and I am stuck with that awkward stain all day.

But it's totally worth it for the conversations I get to have over said coffee. My life is rich.

Thanks be to God.

"Come, come whoever you are.
Wonderer, worshipper, lover of leaving.
It doesn't matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow
a thousand times
Come, yet again, come.
Come."
-Rumi

It's Been A While

I guess it's time for me to start writing again, since people are actually starting to tell me in person that I need to update. Have I forsaken the task of life documentation because of lack of time or lack of anything interesting to say? Maybe it's a combination of the two.

In short, my two weeks in Kenya were hard and beautiful and healing. I miss so many things about Kenya, but I'm also glad to be home where God is doing exciting things within my heart and among the people I know.

I also led a three day backpacking trip for incoming Samford freshmen. Despite some minor bumps in the road, it went fabulously and it felt really good to do something I thought I could never do. And I developed some really neat relationships in the process.

The new apartment is great. Haley and I are obsessed with it. I wish I could stay here all day.

And now I'm only two days into classes and already feel like I need a break. I'm excited about the emphasis on community - both building community and/or plugging into one. It has really been stirring in this heart of mine for a while now. I get antsy about it because I'm so enthralled. But there's a lot of communities I'm trying to mentally reconcile and balance in my own head and, on top of this, my to-do lists are exanding into oblivion.

Shiloh was a much needed respite and refueling this evening, and God provided me with some very poignant words and images to renew my weary spirit. First, when April spoke of God drawing us to himself, a phrase which I've heard close to a thousand times, the first image that came to my head was from this past weekend at Council retreat when I had the joyous task of taking care of five-month-old Owen Pitts for Brian and Renee. It's Friday afternoon, there's no one else in the house; I'm sitting on the couch with my feet propped up, watching the rise and fall of baby Owen's back as he lays curled up sleeping on my chest. He has the occasional habit of burrowing his head into my collar bone, but his limbs are drawn up perfectly underneath him and all is quiet and right in the world.

This mental picture brought to mind the scripture where Jesus says "come to me all you who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me for I am gentle and humble in heart...my yoke is easy and my burden is light." The literal translation of "easy" in the verse means "fitting" or "appropriate." This is how Jesus draws us in to give us holy rest - shabbat. Just like Owen was "easy" as he sprawled across my midsection, perfectly fitted between my arms and chin for rest, we are drawn into our heavenly father's arms for rest. And the space in which we dwell is fitting for us, is appropriate for our rest and comfort, because the Father knows exactly what we need, exactly how much we can bear, exactly how to bring us peace.

"A mother's arms are made of tenderness, and sweet sleep blesses the child that lies therein." -Les Miserables

"For the Sabbath was created for man, and not man for the Sabbath" -the bible

Telling

Was reading back over old journal entries last night, and I found one that I find especially applicable to myself at this moment. Maybe I know myself better than I thought:

..I realized today that I struggle with discipline (which I always knew), but that because I feel so frustrated and bored at being disciplined, I'm actually squeezing God out instead of a leaving a space for Him to fill and dwell. All He asks of me is to rest - which is why He created me with such a penchant for solitude. And failure to rest is the worst weapon I use against myself and my God. It throws my whole universe off balance. And not just bodily rest, but spiritual, emotional, and mental rest. Peace. Quietude...

I'm leaving for Kenya on Friday morning. I'm feeling grateful. Still have some mixed feelings about it, but I'd rather take this emotional (and otherwise) risk than not.

Was also advised today that I need to grieve my trip to Swaziland (or lack thereof). I think this is probably somewhat true. Although I don't believe there is waste in God's economy, it truly was a loss.

Prayer is appreciated.

A better question than "why?"

What now?

A Word Of Explanation...or something...

This will be difficult.

Since February, I have been planning to make a great leap and embark on one of the biggest adventures of my life - two months in Swaziland. God has been incredibly faithful in providing the means for me to go, and I have been overwhelmed by the support I have received from family and friends. Before actually leaving the country for our African destination, our team goes through a week of training camp at the AIM training compound in Georgia. Night 3 of training camp, my world falls apart.

Through a number of painful circumstances and prayers, God says something along the lines of 'your number one mission is not to save the world, or go to Swaziland, or whatever else you have been preparing for. your number one mission is to trust Jesus and be obedient to that calling, and now is not your time to go to Swaziland.'

What else can I do? Where do I go from here? I am back in Birmingham, more confused than ever about who I am, who God is, why all this has happened. I am full of fear and sadness and guilt and feelings of failure. My strongest impulse is to isolate. What will people think? What does this mean for me? What am I doing here? Am I crazy? Is this all just a big mistake? What is true? Why am I still afraid? All of this is a mystery to me.

In some moments I am at peace knowing God is a god of redemption and power, not discord. Most of the time I just want to crawl out of my skin and disappear.

Now, as I'm unpacking my suitcases and washing red Georgia dirt from my clothes and reading birthday cards meant for July and notes of encouragement for the mission field, I feel like a grieving person cleaning out the house of someone who has just died.

Here is what I am sure of:
1. I am creation. Because of Jesus, God looks at me and sees no flaw.
2. God is sovereign.
3. God is the God of the oppressed in Birmingham AND in Swaziland. There is God's work to be done everywhere.

I apologize for my candidness here, but if we cannot be honest with one another in the body, then where can we truly be who we are? And now I invite your honesty. Feel free to ask questions or speak truth to me.

"I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten..."-Joel 2:25

On the Brink

The other night when I was watching the national spelling bee with my family, one of the spellers said that he fights off nervousness by metaphorically picking the wings off of the butterflies in his stomach. It sounds like something I would do...am trying to do.

In about eight hours I will leave the comfort of my home, and in four more the comfort of my family. I will adopt a new family of about 15 people. I'm thrilled and anxious out of my mind. I feel like I've been waiting for this day since I was born, but for some reason there's a little tiny voice saying "Turn back now! Egypt is so safe!"

I was born to take this step. I know this is right. God has brought me here.

It would have been so different if I had been at this juncture a year ago; I am not who I was. I cannot think of a better place to be springing from than the place I am right now in my spiritual, emotional, and intellectual understanding. It is for these same reasons that I am so hesitant to go. I will miss the things which have brought me to this place; the past nine months, and especially the past four weeks or so, have been incredibly formative for me. I'm finally free. And I no longer have anything to run away from like I would have a year ago, only people and places I am sad to leave.

My even-keel since of peace is periodically disrupted by thirty second epidosdes of sheer panic. What in the name of all that is holy am I about to do?! Two months!

Only two months - they'll be gone before I know it, and I will return a different human being.

God, ground my spirit in holy community, binding us all together in perfect love. I have not been given a spirit of fear. If you say go, we will go. Jesus, you are the reason why.