spiritual short-term memory

Among other books, I am currently reading through the Gospel of Mark. And one passage in particular caught my attention the other day.

To give some context, Jesus recently fed and satisfied 5,000 hungry men with five loaves of bread and two fish, before the disciples' very eyes. Not only were they satisfied, but twelve basketfuls of leftovers were picked up afterward.  Among other healings and discussions with and about the hypocritical Pharisees, he gave hearing to a deaf man.  And the people were "astonished beyond measure, saying, 'He has done all things well.  He even makes the deaf hear and the mute speak.'" (7:37)
Next thing Mark tells us, a great crowd has gathered around Jesus, and these people have followed him for three days and have nothing to eat.  Being who he is, Jesus is filled with compassion, and from seven loaves of bread and "a few small fish", he feeds about 4,000 people.  And not one goes hungry—in fact, this time there are seven basketfuls of leftovers.

I know, I know, you've probably heard this before. But bear with me because these little beforehand-details are important.

So Jesus has fed another crowd of people.  And the Pharisees approach him and ask him for a sign from heaven.  "Sorry, mister; these miracles aren't good enough for us. Healing the sick, casting out demons, multiplying food?? Give us a real sign!"  Jesus is saddened by their lack of faith and hard hearts and gets back in the boat, and he and his disciples travel to the other side of the Sea of Galilee.

Now they had forgotten to bring bread, and they had only one loaf with them in the boat.  And [Jesus] cautioned them, saying, "Watch out; beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and the leaven of Herod."  And they began discussing with one another the fact that they had no bread.  And Jesus, aware of this, said to them, "Why are you discussing the fact that you have no bread?  Do you not yet perceive or understand?  Are your hearts hardened?  Having eyes do you not see, and having ears do you not hear?  And do you not remember?  When I broke the five loaves for the five thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you take up? "  They said to him, "Twelve."  "And the seven for the four thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you take up?"  And they said to him, "Seven."  And he said to them, "Do you not yet understand?"  [Mark 8.14-21]

There are a couple of things going on in this passage, but what struck me is what seems to be the disciples' seemingly incredible short-term memory!  Within a fairly short period of time, with the disciples to help with distribution, Jesus has fed about 9,000 people.  He started with next to nothing, blessed, fed the people, and there was extra left over.  A couple more incidents, and next thing we know the disciples are complaining about being hungry again!  They come across on the thick-headed side, don't they?

I thought so.

Then I realized I do the same thing.  How many times has God called me to a certain place and proved his greatness, his power, his sovereignty and love by providing for all my needs?
Of course, sometimes I get needs confused with wants, but he has always been faithful! And he has always provided.

Yet I sit here and struggle with trusting him to provide for the future. Right now I'm trusting that if he wants me to continue at school, he'll provide a way, and so far I have been able to work just enough to stay on top of the bill, one semester at a time.  But when he put before me the opportunity to go on a short-term mission trip overseas this winter, one of my greatest concerns and hesitations is the knowledge that I have no way to get there on my own.

But he's always provided.  Every time.  Just counting mission trips, that makes six separate occasions.  And that doesn't even include the rest of my life, in which I've definitely seen God provide in large and small ways.

He has always provided.  And I still doubt.

Time to take some lessons from Hudson Taylor and start trusting God in more uncomfortable ways. For as Christians I think we often ask God to reveal his greatness to us, but it's hard for us to let go of our own self-relience--just like the Pharisees.  Jesus gave sight to the blind and hearing to the deaf, but like the disciples, I have no excuse.  Having eyes, I still have difficulty seeing; having ears, I manage not to hear.

As the father of the demon-possessed boy cried, "I believe; help my unbelief!" [Mark 9:24]

God grant me grace and strength to have greater faith and to live by this faith day by day and month by month!

These Shining Fragments

The Body of Christ is like stained glass.

We are broken, fractured pieces, but He brings us together and makes something beautiful out of us.

He makes a picture, fitting each fragment just right into something far greater than ourselves; something we never would have been capable of comprehending if left by ourselves.

And through us He shines His glorious light, illuminating each radiant hue.

Scribblings on a Napkin During Work

October waxes with the moon,
We shed our summer skin.
From faces and arms slides the glow,
Slips away to adorn
The fluttering fingers of the trees
In whimsical raiment of gold.
We don't see the lifeblood start to slow
As days of sunshine grow silently slim—
Only festive confetti spiraling down
To frame our footsteps
Till winter falls;
Till she scatters her chill
Over our fingers and face
And spreads white across
Our streets and skin.

Some saplings I know
And a few strong, sturdy oaks
Quiver with fear as October wanes.
Gracefully they gloried in their gold,
In burnished, fiery bronze and red;
Now softly they moan,
They sigh and they tremble
As Wind strips their sole riches away
To litter the path which lies beneath
And be trampled to dust
Or left sodden to rot
And all former beauty forgotten.
They shake in the wind,
Howl their pain,
Fearing an imminent death.

Squirrels scamper through the wreck,
Frolic 'cross swaying boughs
Seeking the seeds unclaimed by the earth
Asking promises when Spring's rains sing.
Canst thou not see,
Thou elm, maple and oak,
Thou are not like the squirrel?
Canst thou not trust
Thou art unforgot
And thy Maker knows what He does?
That Springtime will swell
With riches anew?
Hold thou to hope for fullness to come
That now in thy waiting
Thou can scarce comprehend.

illusions and ideals

Our culture tends to worship the idea of youth.
This can be seen in numerous places, numerous ways.  We could, for instance, watch television and see the ideals flashing back and forth across the screen.  They are revealed through commercials that feature youthful actors and seem to whisper (sometimes aloud), "You can be like us. You can have what we have because we all know it's better."  The word "rejeuvenating" is featured periodically.  Middle-aging men and women dye their hair and whiten their teeth.  Then there are TV shows and movies, but I think you see what I mean.  I will say, though, that it seems to me there is a considerable chunk of shows and movies--take chick flicks, for instance--portraying disillusioned business-folk trying to escape in some way from gray routine.  They chase the vanished and nearly-elusive form of happiness their current lives aren't providing, whether through a new relationship (often involving the dissolution of an old one), the decision to pursue their dream career, or who knows what.  Then there are those which allow us to dream about being more than we are and doing something that seems more exciting than everyday life (action, spies, superheroes, fantasy, sci fi, etc).  It really does seem to be about the treasure-hunt for happiness, and in a country where convenience must be the road to get us just about everywhere, I see that echoed in the culture around me (or perhaps the media echoes the culture...it's hard to say).  Just look at the climbing divorce rate, the plethora of fast-food, restaurants, and even church denominations.  If they don't have what I want here, I'll just go next door.

What, then, makes the idea of youth so attractive?
Among other things, I think a major one is the concept of freedom.  This means a few important things.
First, there is freedom of opportunity.  As children we are told (and this is not always true or even reasonable) we can be whatever, whomever, we want to be; do whatever whatever want to do. Chase your dreams: if you try hard enough anything is possible!  There is hope, a vision of boundless, optimistic opportunity right around the corner.  Any obstacles can be overcome if you just try hard enough.
And there is the freedom of time.  Even if things aren't quite right now, there's time for more chances. There's even time to waste.  Youth is energy, optimism, life, health and love and happiness...right?  And somehow I think there's a vision, too, of this freedom without the burden of much responsibility: it's my life, my choice how to live it.  Oh, it might affect other people, but in the end it's just me and my own life, and that's what matters.

And it's problematic.
It's problematic because reality doesn't actually work that way--not exactly.
Perhaps the young are sometimes healthier, and perhaps we have delusions of invincibility, but at the end of the day, it's not real.  I think of my supervisor at work this summer who died suddenly at the age of twenty-two.  A young boy whose life dwindled away before us from leukemia--a boy of twelve, thirteen, who shuffled around slowly like an old man, face swelled from medication. Despite our prayers, despite his youth, he died at thirteen or fourteen years old.  The girl next door to me this year who was recently diagnosed with cancer.  She just turned eighteen and has just begun her first year of college.
And this is middle-class United States.  Oh, we wouldn't consider ourselves wealthy, but we have access to hospitals and health care and it's still not enough.
Honestly, I can't imagining living in this world without the hope of Christ.

Also, I think this golden-tinted concept of youth confuses my generation--that is, we who are young.
As a child, our games and make-believe worlds imitate life.  Not strictly, of course, but often we are put in what-if situations and we act them out.  We played dress-up, store, president, artists, doctor, explorers, town (with an economy), vet, school, made inventions, wrote newspapers, etc.  In some sense, consciously or not, we were playing at growing up and exploring the adult world.  And maybe my sisters and I were exceptions.  But I think all children like feeling grown-up sometimes.
Then, somewhere in highschool or so, we see these portrayals of adult life as undesirable, unfulfilling, and pick up the idea that while we are preparing to grow up, adults are trying to be young.
Yet I think most of my peers harbor few illusions about the harder realities of life to some extent or another.  And we are unsatisfied, unfulfilled.  And suddenly, instead of adulthood looking like the fulfillment of a life (as I'd say it's portrayed biblically), it's looking uneasily like a sort of slope.  Give it a few years and I guess it's all downhill from here.
Quite frankly, that's not only confusing but depressing.  So we say, Now what?  We grasp that we're supposed to enjoy "life" while we have it, as we are young.  The "real world" will come soon enough.  So my generation is into parties and drinking, serial dating and sex, some sort of thrill that we're supposed to find.
Do they find it?  Maybe.  I don't really know.  And maybe I'm wrong about all this.  But it seems to make sense.  I think there's a lot of confusion in my generation.  The worship of youth reveals the unhappiness and dissatisfaction of the older generation, and the unhappy, dissatisfied younger generation absorbs this and doesn't know what to do.  Add in the current economy, unemployment, etc, and more joy is lost.  Not to mention the dimished sense of purpose in the world.

I'm trying to remember exactly where I was going with this, but as it's rather late I'll revisit the topic if I think of something else.
I guess I'm just extraordinarily thankful I was raised in the hope of Christ and taught to find fulfillment and purpose as well as joy.
But I haven't a clue where one would start turning it all around....

A Truth Oft-Overlooked

Recently I began reading Hudson Taylor's Spiritual Secret, by Dr. and Mrs. Howard Taylor (his son and daughter-in-law), and this section particularly struck me.  Hudson was still living in England, but understood the call to China, so he began preparing ambitiously.

Whatever it may have been in summer, toward the close of November when Hudson Taylor made it his home Drainside must have seemed dreary enough. To add to the changed conditions he was boarding himself, which meant that he bought his meagre supplies as he returned from the surgery and rarely sat down to a proper meal.  His walks were solitary, his evenings spent alone, and Sundays brought long hours of work in his district or among the crowds who frequented the Humber Dock.

Having now the twofold object in view [he recalled] of accustoming myself to endure hardness, and of economizing in order to help those among whom I was labouring in the Gospel, I soon found that I could live upon very mcuh less than I had previously thought possible.  Butter, milk and other luxuries I ceased to use, and found that by living mainly on oatmeal and rice, with occasional variations, a very small sum was sufficient for my needs.  In this way I had more than two-thirds of my income available for other purposes, and my experience was that the less I spent on myself and the more I gave to others, the fuller of happiness and blessing did my soul become.

For God is no man's debtor, and here in his solitude Hudson Taylor was learning something of what He can be to the one who follows hard after Him.  In these days of easy-going Christianity, is it not well to remind ourselves that it really does cost to be a man or woman whom God can use?  One cannot obtain a Christlike character for nothing; one cannot do a Christlike work save at a great price.  "Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of, and be baptized with the baptism wherewith I am baptized?"

I know this is a long quotation, but it sums up far more than I could say.  This book was published in 1935, and Hudson Taylor arrived in China in 1854, but these words very well could be written to our American Christian culture—a culture of easy Christianity indeed.

What might it look like if the Body of Christ in the United States chose, each and every member part of the whole, to let her faith be costly?  How much more vibrantly might God's glory be reflected and how much more powerfully His kingdom furthered?

What if we let go of all our "rights" (so-called) for Christ?  What if?

Looking ahead

Transitions are confusing.
Friday, like most every other Friday this summer, I worked at the day camp and played with the kids.  This morning I went to church and had lunch with my dear friends there.  A few hours later, I was in a dorm room surrounded by boxes, a dresser, desk and bed, and empty white cinder-block walls.  Of course, my family was here and helped me move in, but it was weird going to dinner with a bunch of Trinity staff and RAs.  Somehow school and home tend to be separated in my mind.  The changes I've undergone in one necessarily affect the other, and I discuss happenings at school with friends from home and vice versa.  But they are still quite distinct, and for whatever reason it was odd jumping so rapidly from my summertime routine to living at school again.
It helps that school itself doesn't start until August 25, and while it's a little strange that the dorm is so quiet, I like it.  I'm not diving fully from one "life" to the other all at once.  There is little noise or chaos and I can face the relative jumble of my room and thoughts more easily (though I'll admit my room is looking pretty organized already).

I'm not sure what to expect from this year as a freshman-floor RA, and perhaps it's best that way.  I know I'm going to grow a lot, and I know I'm going to see God work in incredible ways.

Tomorrow we check-in the athletes: there are four in my suite.  I'm slightly nervous.  I feel young and not like one with authority or so much responsibility, and the real training hasn't started yet. But I'm sure it'll be fine.

Overall, I'm excited to see what God does this year.  If I had expectations, God would exceed them even while breaking them and proving me wrong.  Yet even without them I know God will bring me through difficulties, tears and pain, show me His overwhelming joy, beauty and love, and fill me with awe for His geatness.  It won't be that easy to see the purpose while it happens, but here at the outset I'm trusting Him.

Thus, I begin the first day of this new adventure praying God would bless the year ahead, keep me seeking Him constantly, and more than anything use me to bless others with His love.

¡gloria a Dios!

allison

Thoughts on Eternity and the Struggle Against Time

Perhaps it's a problem for humanity in general; perhaps it's just my culture, but we seem to struggle constantly with time.  More often than not we battle time: it seems there's rarely enough.  I know it's something I personally have difficulties juggling.

Have you ever stopped to think how odd that is?
I began thinking about it a week or two ago, and how perplexing it is that we should struggle so against basically the medium of our existence.

After all, we are born into time and thus come into the world with no prior experience; no knowledge of anything different.  And we grow up and live every day in the context of time, and eventually die in the context of time.  Odd that it should be so difficult.

Of course we know a technical meaning of time.  The planet spins and we have day and night.  It beats tireless circles round the sun and we have years.  But somehow I think time is more than just these natural movements, as though they are only markers for the passage of time, like the reading on a thermometer does not cause the temperature but merely proves it.  In the same way the cycles of day and night, fall and spring, winter and summer give meaning as markers.

And the cycles go on.  In Chicago, each winter we become re-acquainted with cold, and snow falls to grace a dead world.  Each summer the sun beats down, sometimes more gentle than others, and humidity rises and rain falls.  Each autumn turns summer's greens to brown, red and gold.  And of course every spring awakens the earth and brings forth life again—from one decade and generation to the next.
And still we fight the passing of time.

There's a verse in Ecclesiastes which says God "has set eternity in the hearts of men," and I've always considered it to mean solely our longing for something more; that humanity knows something is wrong and yearns for more.  C.S. Lewis writes in Mere Christianity of our longing for another world as proof that such exists, his argument being that each human desire has a fulfilment.  Could it be that God literally set a sense of eternity in our hearts so time feels unnatural?

Maybe my imagination is just incapable, but I have a hard time imagining a world without any sort of time.  Perhaps time will still exist, but become mostly irrelevant relative to eternity.  Again, eternity is too large for my wee brain of earth to comprehend, but I have a few ideas of the implications.

But, not to inhibit your imagination, I'll let you consider the concept for yourself.  ;)

Active Solitude

The other night I discovered that solitude can be just as friendly shared with a dog, depending, of course, on one's mood and the type of solitude sought.  Mine was a slightly adventurous solitude; thus my canine's company was welcome.

At any rate, I went for a long walk Wednesday night in the forest preserve looking for quiet. And it was perfect, due, I think, to several reasons:

1) I came with hardly any expectations. I knew my soul needed quieting and I was hungry for beauty. But instead of looking for it, I just kept my eyes open.
2) I left technology and other distractions at home, including my phone, camera and notebook. I debated for a bit about the notebook, but was glad I didn't bring it. Sometimes there is powerful, inexplicable beauty in the small things, and sometimes, to carry a camera or notebook would cheapen it, somehow.  Plus, in looking at it afterward, it never has the same effect and can even look silly or inconsequential.

The sky, at any given moment, was about twelve shades of blue (though I didn't count).  Periodically I saw other people were biking or running on the path, but they were few and decreased over time.
Birds and crickets were making music, and the wind moved the long grasses and flowers gently while monarch butterflies danced above brightly.  The grasses were rich hues of light and dark green, and the flowers added white, yellow, gold and pink.

None of this sounds terribly exciting, I know, but each tiny part struck me with its beauty almost as deeply as if I had never seen any of it before.

I realized at one point that the moments I was enjoying would never be replicated.  The sky would never be these exact colors with the clouds in exactly these shapes and formations with the grass blowing exactly as it did and those birds flying just so across the sinking arc of the sun and the smell of green life and flowers' fragrance drifting through the air.  There will be other, similar nights. But it will never be exactly the same again.  I don't mind, of course, because that's how life works, but I never think about it in those terms.  Then I realized I was the only person there to witness this transient artwork in all its glory, and I felt a bit honored to witness and enjoy it.

I smelled the perfume of a Queen Anne's lace, a brown-eyed Susan, and a white flower whose identity I don't know.  Out of a field of hundreds upon thousands of practically identical flowers, I might be the only person to accept their humble invitation and sniff the fragrance of those particular flowers.  And maybe it sounds funny, but I was glad I did, even if my dreadfully prosaic sinuses did complain the next morning.

Finally, I wandered off the path and lay on my back in a little clearing.  I let my eyes rest for a while on the curved branches of some bare tree against the sky, admiring the architecture.  I watched a hawk swoop into the shelter of an evergreen, and watched the long grasses and wildflowers sway in the wind.  And I thought about how God had made each part: how He'd designed the elaborate curvature of that dead tree, and engineered those wildflowers with xylem and phloem as their lifeblood flowing up and down, and different cells for the different parts and chlorophyll to turn sunlight to food and keep them green while keeping our lungs rightly inflated.  Then He made them supple, to spring back against the wind's laughter as well as its fury, and hardy to spring back anew each year.

It's been several years since I've taken a science course of any sort, and I normally pass by and regard the long grass simply as grass, and the wildflowers simply as such, though I admire their beauty from time to time.  But even these green plants are remarkably complex.  And they are only plants!

I felt a little like the disciples in Matthew six.  God made the wild grass this elaborate, I thought. Why do I worry about my life and His plans for me?

I tried to think about God literally designing the earth and all that comes with it, but my mind is insufficient and what little I could fathom filled me with awe.  Why do I have such trouble trusting God?

On the walk home, I saw the beginning of the sunset.  The neighborhood was drawing nearer on my left, with the sunset before me, slightly to the right.  Suddenly I noticed on a certain house every window was orange.  That seemed odd--really, matching orange curtains throughout the entire house?  Then I realized it was just a reflection of the sunset, but that seemed odd, too, for when I turned toward the sky, the sun was a smallish, orange disc.  It didn't seem nearly big enough, when I saw mostly blue sky and only the little sun and inklings of approaching sunset, but brilliant orange was all the windows reflected.  Then when I was about parallel with the house, the reflection was gone and I saw white curtains upstairs and someone watching television in the living room.


I went for a walk in need of quiet.  Not only was my soul quieted, but I was filled with wonder and delight.  Solitude needs to happen in my life more often, I think.  And God is good :).

¡Gloria a Dios!

The Sanctuary

I enter our quiet sanctuary:
   a refuge, a place of love.
But I huddle in the corner near the door,
   too aware of my inner imperfections, impurities,
   hidden blemishes.
We are the only two in the room, He and I.
   I long to run, hide in His arms,
   listen to Him, and simply be.
But He is so holy and good,
   and I know He loves me
   but I am flawed
"Cleanse me," I whisper,
   for I know He grants me mercy and grace,
   but I cannot feel it--should I?
My eyes hold tears of shame,
   but He comes close
   and takes my hand to help me up.
"Come," He says.  "I am making you a new heart.
   I am turning the stone to flesh. It hurts sometimes,
   but in the end you shall be glad."
And I hold tightly to His hands
   and let the salty tears roll down.
   "I want to trust You, to live for You, and do right.
"But it's so hard sometimes,
   and I become busy and confused.
   I'm like two people sometimes;
"Sometimes I want You and the things of the world.
   I can't do it right."
He brings me nearer.
   "I know it's hard.
   But I am with you, and I am making all things right.
"I am making your heart of stone
   into a human heart,
   one that is pure, whole and holy.
"I am making you fully beautiful,
   and you are starting, even now,
   to bring glory to my name.
"For I love you, and I am
   great above all.  I am working
   even when you cannot see.
"One day, all will be complete,
   and your heart will be clean, alive
   and truly real,
"And of the stone and dirt there will be no trace.
   I promise."

The sanctuary is quiet,
   but I am with Him.
And while I am filled with wonder,
   and my shame is yet close by,
Still I yearn for Him,
   and His love is stronger.

When Death Still Stings

As Christians, we have the incredible joy to speak of death with hope.  And while it hurts, we have a peace, too.
I am young, and blessed.  Just about all the experiences with death I can remember have been related to believers, and believers who have been sick for such time that we rejoiced to see their pain ended and their joy and love complete as they are with God.

But what do you do when someone dies who wasn't a Christian?
I'm working day camps with the park district this summer, and this morning at work I was greeted with the terrible news that our camp director died last night.
He wasn't even twenty-three yet.  He was talking about getting married and having kids with the girl he's dated for the past three years, had graduated, and wanted to teach special-needs kids.  Of course, I could be mistaken--after all, who am I to judge another's heart?--but I don't think he knew Christ.
I feel so frustrated when life takes an illogical, ugly turn, clearly revealing the effects of sin's destruction once again; when it just doesn't make sense.

All this hasn't sunk in yet...it's not real.  I ended up leaving work early because of the holiday (too few kids with parents off work), but tomorrow will be here soon, and somehow we'll have to tell the kids without traumatizing them.  I suspect it will be a rough week, and feel more real starting tomorrow morning.

What do you even say, when a non-Christian dies?
How do you comfort someone who was close to them; show compassion without lying?
How do you react when the enemy wins a small victory? Though we know the battle's final outcome, don't the small losses still matter greatly if each life is precious and each human being made in the image of God?

I hate living in a marred, twisted, contaminated world.
What do we do when death wins a victory, and we still feel its sting?