A Spirit Not Of Fear

I’ve been silent for way too long. My fingers have been itching, DYING to type out everything that has been on my heart and in my mind. Yet it’s as though each time I sit down to type, there’s a stopper wedged in the door of my mind. Everything that God has led me through this summer, everywhere that he has taken me, the experiences I’ve had; it’s too MUCH. I can hold it in my heart and in my head, and it’s filling me nearly to bursting, but I can’t squeeze it out into typing. The words won’t come, and it’s driving me to distraction, because I want them to come so badly.

Yet God is bigger than my words. He’s bigger than my summer. And the awe that has humbled my heart because of the glory that I have seen this summer is just a taste of the utter brokenness that my Father wants for me. As I served the broken this summer, I was learning how to be broken myself. As I split rails, cleaned bathrooms, wacked weeds and renewed old pathways while working at camp, I was humbled immensely by how present God was in the most dirty, difficult tasks. His glory spilled over in every blister, dirt stain, and moment of pure exhaustion as we surrendered ourselves to being poured out by Him.

As I walked the streets of our nation’s capital this summer, I looked into the eyes of so many people who were desperately in need. I saw men and women who were sleeping in the sidewalks and starving on the staircases of the monuments, some out of true need and others by pure complacency and personal choice. Still other people walked past in business suits, protected by the shoes on their feet and the clothes on their backs, yet inwardly, thirsting to death. I ate with the homeless and was given a glimpse into their hearts, their desperate need for love spilling over in every encounter. I played with children in a Boys and Girls Club - children who had parents with jobs, shoes for their feet, homes to go to - and I saw the same desperate need flooding their hearts. Each man, woman, and child had a story; they all had joys, fears, and needs. And though each need, story and situation was different, in every face I looked into, I saw the same thing. It was Jesus.

"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'
"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'”
- Matthew 25:37-40

From the other side of the nation to practically my own doorstep, I have been confronted by Jesus everywhere I turn. Because need is everywhere. In the homeless and in the working, in the adult and the child, in the believer and in the unbeliever, need is overflowing. Their physical, emotional, and spiritual needs are all different, but the ultimate need is the same:

It’s love. It’s compassion; it’s the willingness to seek out their needs and the desire to meet them, not out of obligation, but out of the extreme love that Jesus showed us. Because when we are filled with His love, it overflows.

It’s called being broken. It’s called being a jar of clay—fragile on the outside, but filled with a power that cannot be reckoned with. It’s the power to reach the hearts of the world, to be a beaming light in shadowed places, to overcome the things that this world says is too painful, too debilitating, too tangible or intangible for us to face. To not just face those things, but to do battle with them; to go THROUGH the enemy ranks and to wage war against the gates of Hell which cannot stand against us! It’s what we do when we choose to love. Because when His love captures us, captures us to overflowing, it pours into the hearts of the world to set them free.

I’ll follow You into the homes of the broken,
I’ll follow You into the world.
Oh, I’ll meet the needs of the poor and the needy,
God, I’ll follow You into the world.

Somehow--I'm not entirely certain how--I found myself at a conference last weekend.

Being, as I am, a most uncertain person at the best of times (and I assure you, you do not wish to know me at my worst), the level of confidence that assailed me regarding this conference is surprising. Less surprising, being that I am neither a great optimist nor an adequately convincing pessimist, is that my confidence was placed in what I might expect of the conference; and though none of it was particularly cheerful--well, I managed not to paint the utterest picture of Doom that my mind, when properly stimulated, is perfectly capable of contriving on the most creative of occasions.

Do not misunderstand: there were plenty of things that I was told to expect, among them being: a worship band, loud concerts from which I would willingly make my escape to roam the enormous halls of the conference center (it is amazing how many drinking fountains one can count in the examination of such a building), and - this most appealing of all - a little beach just beyond the hotel window, offering all the rolling and beautiful majesty of the ocean in its waking. Not to mention the warmth of springtide, for whose enjoyment said beach presented itself as a lovely host.

So you see, I was not entirely hopeless. But I did just nearly type that I found the beach 'appalling'. So perhaps I was rather hopeless after all.


Ye Goode Olde Realitie Cheque:

So, I was wrong. And I was right--in some things. Worship band, loud concerts, and daring escapes from said concerts, all yes. Warm weather heralding the come of springtide? Eh... not exactly. However, the freezing temperature and wind chill factor encouraged me to explore this mysterious invention known as the Hoodie, and the results were not altogether discouraging.

As for the hotel room, it was quite lovely, though I never got the chance to inspect any of the rooms. This is due to the fact that I happened to arrive last up the stairs, and upon stepping into the suite, immedately learned that the only bed left upon which to stake my claim was: the hideaway bed! (Thus named as an indicator of its very deceptive scheme to masquerade as a couch. Rather devious, but I caught on quickly -- as soon as I was suitably convinced that sleeping on the porch where I could see the ocean better was not among my list of recommended options. This, my friends, is the distinct disadvantage of taking eighteen flights of stairs whilst the others of the party see fit to utilize the hotel elevator...)

But in the end, I wouldn’t trade those two nights of sleeping on a pullout couch with a thin plastic mattress, and the ocean outside the sliding-glass doors singing me to sleep for anything. The conference itself? Meaningful, in ways you may or may not ever hear about. The beach? It was freezing as winter and windy as Nebraska, but without the tumbleweeds and with the lovely addition of people I happen to care about. All in all, my expectations were met in some ways, overturned in others, and exceeded in other ways still...and in the midst of it, God showed Himself good to me, in even the littlest ways.

For all of that, I just may become a convincing Optimist after all.

To Wrappe This Uppe (and Make a Timelie Escape from Olde England):

My blog posts are usually different than this. I seem to have rambled on for some time without managing to write anything particularly impactful or profound. (Dare I insinuate that I am profound most of the time? Possibly profounder, at least...) Eh... it appears to be somewhat longer, too. And I dare say that boring does not lag far behind. Yet still I have thought it worth writing; for last weekend, I remembered something important.

(...And I have remembered the necessity of ear-plugs when forced to remain within buildings determined to host a series of explosions under the pretense of a concert. But don't mind my irrational paranoia of hearing loss; heed only my thankfulness at having survived nonetheless. )

I'm rather certain that none of this is profound. And yet... it doesn’t have to be. God is good, and that alone is enough to make Him worthy of all the praise, worship, and thanks my little heart is capable of giving. He is Good. And He is God.

 And that, frankly, is all I need have written in the first place. Because I don't suppose anything I could have to say is quite as important as it.

A few weeks ago I went to the library. After spending a while camped out in my favorite section (seated on the floor, enduring the glances of fellow library patrons, mothers with toddlers clutching picture books, and library staff trying to figure out the kindest way to remove me from the aisle so they could finish organizing the bookshelves) I made my way to the checkout desk.

A few feet from the desk, I stepped past a woman standing with an armload of books to get into line. But as I stood there, it suddenly dawned on me that she, too, was “in line”. (The line is sort of a... er... subjective location at our library.) Apologizing, I stepped back and asked if she was already waiting.

She smiled and told me to go ahead. Thanking her, I stepped into line, and within three minutes my books had been checked out for me and I was on my way home.


So… a woman gave up her place in line for me. That’s it. End of story. Life goes on.

Right?

Well, it should have. Rather, it normally would have. But on the drive home, something about the encounter lingered with me. It didn't seem right, didn't seem normal anymore to ignore such little things. Do not ask me when it ceased to be my normal; I would not be able to answer you.

But something was special. And more than that...

I had the strangest feeling that all my life, I had been forgetting something.

(Continued in Part II.)