four.

word of the day: anniversary \fȯr\ the fourth in a set or series

Four years ago today, Jake and I set out on our honeymoon.  We were driving to Colorado, and we stopped half way in Kearney, Nebraska to split up the drive.  We stayed the night in the Wingate hotel, ate dinner at the Whiskey Creek, and saw the newest installment of the Batman movies: The Dark Knight.  It was simple, but it was one of the best parts of our honeymoon.

Four days ago, Jake and I set out on another trip, and we drove straight to Kearney, Nebraska.  We stayed the night at the Wingate hotel, ate dinner at the Whiskey Creek, and saw the last installment of the Batman trilogy: The Dark Knight Rises.  It was simple, but it was a grand way to celebrate four years of marriage.

Four years.  Jake often says that if he looks back on our marriage as a whole, it seems to have flown by—moved so quickly that we can’t keep up.  But, if you look at specific points of our marriage—the wedding, vacations, and significant moments thus far—you start to realize how much we’ve already been through.  How much we’ve already experienced together.

The last couple of years have thrown many things into our marriage.    Things that suck away our time or cause irritation and stress.  Things, I suppose, would make it easy to say, “I wish we could go back to the way things used to be.  When they were simpler and easier.”

But I don’t wish I could go back to the way things used to be.  With every new obstacle that gets thrown our way, we figure out a way to maneuver it (well let’s be honest, Jake figures out a way to maneuver it) and we continue to move forward.  These things add dimension to our lives and have become our new normal; they affect the way we interact, and we work hard to make them work. 

I imagine each subsequent year from here on out will bring more to the mix.  Things that may even make us wish we could come back to this point because it’s simpler and easier.  But I think it all just is.  That’s a fairly ambiguous statement, but it often brings me peace when walking into something new and unknown.  It just is, and we’ll work to make it work.   We’ll have help of course, and my hope is that our lives are lived in a way that reflects the Source of that help.  Amidst all else, He's the one thing in our lives that never changes, and that's something to hang your hat on. 

So here's to four more--whatever they may throw our way.

story: chapter three.

word of the day: story \stȯr-ē\ a person that wants something and is willing to overcome conflict to get it.

Lately I’ve been thinking quite a lot about what role I play in the story of my life.  The obvious first thought is the protagonist.  The main character of the story.   It is my story after all, isn’t it?  I make the choices; I walk the road.  I hold the pen.

When I think about this passage, I’m not so sure that’s entirely accurate:

[When] you live a story[,] the first part happens fast. You throw yourself into the narrative and you’re caught in the water, the shore is pushing back behind you and the trees are getting smaller. The other shore is inches away and you can feel the resolution coming, the feeling of getting out of your boat and walking the distant shore, looking back to see where you came from. The first part of a story happens fast, and you think the thing is going to be over soon. But it isn’t going to be over soon. The reward you get from a story is always less than you thought it would be, and the work is harder than you imagined. It’s as though the thing is teaching you the story is not about the ending but about the story itself, about your character getting molded in the hard work of the middle. The shore behind you stops getting smaller, and you paddle and wonder why the same strokes used to move you but they don’t anymore…The shore you left is just as far and there is no going back, there is only the decision to paddle in place or stop, slide out of the hatch and sink into the sea. Maybe there is another story at the bottom of the sea? Maybe you don’t have to be in this story anymore? Maybe you can quit and not have to paddle in place anymore? [1]

I think I thought the story ended in Africa.  I think I thought that I would go to Africa and my life would change and my problems would be solved. 

As someone who is largely driven by fear (I’m really good at calculating risks and using those calculations in deciding against most things I deem even slightly risky), going to Africa shattered my comfort zone.  I was forced to face fear head on.  And I think I thought that such a trip would fix me.  No more fear.   

The experience didn’t fix me though.  At times, the irrational feeling of fear still prickled up my neck in the middle of the night.  It lingered, and I found myself frustrated that such an extreme experience couldn’t rid me of my vice.

It reminds me of Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 12:

So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited.  Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.  For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

Fear is the thorn in my flesh, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve asked God to take it away.  Life would be so much easier if I wasn’t afraid of everything that comes or potentially-maybe-sometime-in-the-future-might come across my path.  But God’s words bring me great encouragement: My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.

I have realized that I may have to fight fear my entire life.  It’s a lie that is deeply rooted within me, and one that I will continually have to combat with truth.  One that I will continually combat with truth.  But fear doesn’t have to keep me from moving forward.  It’s like when you stand on a beach and let the tide roll over your feet.  You can only stand still for so long until all the sand has been taken out from under you and you have to take a step.

I went to Africa.  I took a step.  God’s power is made perfect in my weakness. 

The reward you get from a story is always less than you thought it would be, and the work is harder than you imagined. It’s as though the thing is teaching you the story is not about the ending but about the story itself, about your character getting molded in the hard work of the middle.

My story isn’t about the ending; it’s about the story itself.  And, the hard work of the middle—the part where I get molded and shaped—well that part isn’t really about me either.  It’s about the One who’s made perfect in my weakness. 

I don’t want to throw the oars over the side of my boat.  I don’t want to slide out the hatch and sink into the sea.  I don’t want to give up on the story I’ve been given.

I want to choose to face fear and write a story in which I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

And with all this in mind, I sort of feel like my story’s just starting to get good. 

[1] Miller, Donald. A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life. Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson, 2009. Print.

story: chapter two.

word of the day: story \stȯr-ē\ a person that wants something and is willing to overcome conflict to get it.

It’s hard to miss God in a place like Africa.  The natural beauty that surrounds you is enough, at times, to take your breath away.

He’s in the waves as they roll along the edge of coast.

Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice; let the sea roar, and all that fills it.  

Psalm 96:11

He’s in the shifting sands of the Sahara desert.

Do you not fear me? declares the LORD. Do you not tremble before me? I placed the sand as the boundary for the sea, a perpetual barrier that it cannot pass; though the waves toss, they cannot prevail; though they roar, they cannot pass over it.

Jeremiah 5:22

He’s in the hazy sky of a setting sun.

 The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.

Psalm 19:1

He’s in the plants that bring life to the desert.

 The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad; the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus; it shall blossom abundantly and rejoice with joy and singing.

Isaiah 35:1

Every story needs a good setting.  I always try to push my students’ thinking when it comes to setting.  It’s one thing to identify the setting; it’s an entirely different thing to analyze how the setting affects the mood and themes of the story.  Setting is bigger than just a place.  For me, the setting is bigger than just Africa. 

It’s a lofty task to put into words what you’ve learned about God.  And so, the best way I can think to put it is that I’ve realized that God is the same.  The God of the desert dunes and crashing ocean waves is the same God who resides among the corn fields of Iowa.  The setting of Africa has reminded me that God is everywhere.  In the big, in the small, in the parts that barely cause you to bat an eye.  His presence fills every space, and I have only to choose to let that presence continue to permeate my life.

I think there is something to be said for being content with your setting.  For looking at life and finding ways to serve in the here and now.  I think in the past I would have used that as a justification to stay comfortable—the idea that God also needs people in America.  Coming back from Africa, I see the tendency to feel like you’re not really being used unless you’re in a part of the world that few choose to go.  Unless you’re doing “big things.”  Now I see that there’s never really an end to the story (more on that next post), and if you keep your hands open, you’ll have more opportunities to serve than you can hold onto.  It’s not about excuses for staying put; it’s about openness to where God has you and wants you.  I understand that now more than ever.  I imagine He’ll pull me out of my comfort zone again someday, but for now He needs me to serve where I’m at.  

God does big things in Africa—there’s no question about it.  But the same God of that desert has me in Des Moines, Iowa for the time being.  I can choose to long for the day when I can do “big things” again, or I can choose to love that kind of love that drops everything to meet your present need.   To let the God of the ends of the earth meet me where I’m at right now and help me take it one day at a time. 

I hope to hold on to the latter in whatever country or culture or setting God takes us.