On the Steps of 247

She sat all alone on the steps of 247, with earbuds in to keep the world out. Her face was expressionless, her body motionless, her eyes fixated on something far beyond the student center across the street. 

She barely turned when my friend Katelyn and I sat down to strike up a conversation.

"Can we ask you a few questions?" 

She raised her eyebrows. 

In Setswana, that's a half-hearted yes.

We chatted a bit about Tswana culture and traditions and university life before the conversation turned to spiritual matters. 

"What makes someone a Christian?" I asked, searching her face. 

For the first time she met my gaze. "Keeping the law, I guess. Not breaking any of the Ten Commandments."

"Do you know anyone who has done that? Is there anyone who has perfectly kept the Ten Commandments?" Katelyn gently prodded.

An icy blast of air conditioning gave momentary relief from the suffocating heat as the doors of the building behind us opened to let out a crowd of students. She shifted away slightly as she thought about the question. 

"Yes," she finally answered.

I'm sure I did not hide my surprise. "Who? Who do you know that has never sinned?"

"The people at my church. There are men and women-- they say they've kept the whole law. And I… well, I've tried but I'm not perfect like them."

We shared with her that despite what her fellow church members might claim, "no one will be declared righteous in [God's] sight by observing the law; rather, through the law we become conscious of sin." (Romans 3:20) The good news is that being right with God doesn't depend on our keeping the law (vs 21-22).

Grace.

That's what her name meant in Setswana. 

And it's the answer to the questions she kept bottled inside. 

This conversation took place over eight months ago while I was still in Botswana. Something I read today in Acts brought it back to my memory…  "through [Jesus] forgiveness of sins is proclaimed to you, and by him everyone who believes is freed from everything from which you could not be freed from by the law of Moses." (Acts 13:38b-39)

We are freed from everything the law fails to free us from. 

That is good news for me, a doer. 

And that is good news for Grace, a seeker. 

I don't know what happened to her; we shared the gospel with her a couple more times in the following weeks but never saw her make a decision. I pray that she discovered the Ultimate Grace. 

My Most Ironic Resolution

Every December 27th or so, when Christmas carols fade from the radio waves, I find myself enticed by a different siren-song, try as I might to escape it: The New Year's Resolution. Recently there seems to be a lot of backlash against making resolutions, but personally I accept the challenge with all the zeal of Jonathan Edwards. (If it is true he had 70 resolutions he reviewed and evaluated himself on every week, that must prove we're related.)

In addition, the past few years I've asked the Lord to give me a theme for year. 2012: Choose Joy, and 2013: Love Without Reserve.

Oh, it sounds cute, until my discovery that my "theme" is something that will be particularly difficult for me with the circumstances the year will hold. He's so clever the way he does that.

Choosing joy was not my first instinct as a new new nurse, driving to my third night shift in a row, bawling my eyes out because I knew which patients were waiting there for me. And loving without reserve did not seem very practical when I was living out of a suitcase in a foreign country where I was only supposed to stay for 10 weeks.

But oh, the things I resisted were the things I needed so desperately.

2014 is no exception.

This year I found myself presenting my 47ish-point list of resolutions to the Lord, and he gave me a theme for 2014: Strivings Cease.

But Lord, you don't understand... that kind of clashes with all my resolutions.  Here, I have a better one: "Try harder, try harder, try harder." How about that?

But he was unrelentingly, unmistakably writing those words on my heart.

Strivings Cease.

Through verses, through songs, through wise counsel, through the very breath of His Spirit.

"God will speak to this people, to whom he said,

'This is the resting place, let the weary rest,' and

'This is the place of repose'--

but they would not listen.

So then, the word of the Lord to them will become:

Do and do, do and do

Rule on rule, rule on rule

A little here, a little there-- 

So that they will go and fall backward …" 

(Isaiah 28:11b-13)

Those verses are unsettlingly descriptive of my life at times. I can become so consumed with trying to serve God better, that all joy is lost and I forget the reason I'm doing it in the first place. Please tell me I'm not the only one who has been there.

Growing up, well-intentioned church people used to tell me: "we can't earn our salvation, but we should live as if we're trying to."

So I did.

Do and do.

Rule on rule.

And there was never rest.

Now I am convinced that there is nothing further from the truth. In fact, Galatians confirms it by saying "Are you so foolish? Having begun by the Spirit, are you now being perfected by the flesh?"(3:3)

Rather, when we readily recognize our shortcomings and utter hopelessness apart from Christ, the covering of his righteousness becomes infinitely more precious. It does away with the guilt and striving and disappointment that crop up in the wake of my failed resolutions. The mark of legalism is restless striving. The fruit of love is joyful service.

So what happened to my resolutions, the infinite list of do-more's and try-harder's? They are still tucked away somewhere. It doesn't mean I won't make an effort to be more faithful in certain areas. 

It means that in 2014, I will be compelled not by the strivings of guilt, but by the sufficiency of grace.

I Am Satisfied

I can remember a favorite game I used to play with my sister and cousin when we were kids and ate at restaurants together on Sundays. We would look for comment cards or surveys to fill out, rating the quality of service… you know, excellent/ good/ satisfactory/ poor/ very poor. Now I was quite the devious child and convinced my sister and cousin that if we rated the restaurant at satisfactory or below, and then added in the comment section, "all kids meals should come with a free cookie" then next time they would add a cookie to our meal to appease us. Obviously.
Well I can't say we revolutionized any kids menus, but the experience left this idea imprinted on my young mind: satisfied means "room for improvement."
...

Zambians love this phrase. It's the kind of thing you say when someone feeds you a wonderful meal and you can't hold another bite. I am satisfied. It perplexed me for the longest time! Isn't that an insult to the cook? "Satisfied"? A 3 out of 5?
But as I've come to find out, the way Zambians understand satisfaction is much more on target with the Biblical concept of satisfaction:
Filled to the brim.
Having abundance.
Replenished.
Lacking nothing.
The Bible never uses the word "satisfied" to express mediocrity-- a 3 on the Likert scale or something middle-of-the-road.

"For he SATISFIES the longing soul, and the hungry soul he FILLS with good things." (Psalm 107:9)
This promise is pretty dull and lifeless if we understand satisfaction to be merely a contented step up from "poor." Good enough, but with room for improvement. 
Here I have truly begun to see how perfectly, abundantly satisfying he is. Only by being so emptied of the things I once prized have I seen the capacity of His Spirit to fill and satisfy every part of my life. 
"I am satisfied." 

I didn't ask for this but...

Reaching my hand into my wallet is a reminder of what 2013 has been like: you never know what you're going to pull out. Dollars, rand, pula, kwatcha, euro. Happy reminders, sad reminders. Fascination and frustration. 
Three dollars for goodbye coffee date with a friend at Starbucks.
Seven pula for combi fare to Old Naledi Baptist Church.
Forty rand for a breathtaking drive to the very southern-most tip of Africa.
Twelve kwatcha for the mandatory squash needed to host a girls night with CBU students.
Fifteen euro for the chance to walk inside a monument of persecution and pray for the advance of the gospel.
Beyond the goodbyes to friends in the states, I did not foresee any of these destinations or experiences.

Like pulling out kwatcha to try to pay for gelato, sometimes I think, that's not what I was looking for.
But isn't it beautiful that God knows better than we do? If I had only gotten what I was looking for in 2013, I would have seriously limited Him. Good thing he is more powerful than that.

Serving a God who is able to do abundantly more than all we can ask or imagine: Priceless.

2013: a snapshot

This year is just too much to summarize in a blog post. So, taking an idea from my sweet friend Melanie, I will instead cover some highlights and favorites:

Favorite song: "Gladly Would I Leave Behind Me" by Sovereign Grace

Best book I read: The Insanity of God by Nik Ripken

Most meaningful verse: 2 Corinthians 3:4-6 

Favorite Picture: this beautiful girl.

Biggest accomplishment: Killing and dressing a chicken (video to follow)

Scariest experience: rappelling off Table Mountain in Cape Town, South Africa

My most popular blog post: Jesus Wins

My personal favorite blog post: A Man Named Park

Most interesting food eaten: Hmmm… warthog?

Christmas in Zambia

Christmas.

From childhood, I have come to view it as not just a day, but a season. A season complete with sights, sounds, smells, sensations. I cherish traditions familiar to many and traditions unique to my family. Admiring the lavish gold and emerald and scarlet displays in department store windows. The harsh wind biting my cheeks that somehow relents when the first snow begins to fall. Dipping white chocolate pretzels and the walk to an abandoned barn with friends. The candles in my window that tempt me to read a little bit later into the night. Sitting on the fireplace hearth until my back is almost burned. The comforting chaos of opening presents at my grandmother's house where the youngest cousin could get lost in a sea of wrapping paper.

But this December, in Zambia, that familiarity was yanked off like a warm blanket. It was replaced by a series of experiences and situations that my mind doesn't associate with Christmas.

Sleeping with frozen water bottles instead of a quilted comforter. Reading by candlelight, not for the ambience, but because of a 37-hour power outage. Waking up to earsplitting thunder and a leaking roof instead of gently falling snow. Eating melted chocolate with five Zambian friends under a single strand of Christmas lights instead of hosting an extravagant party for old friends. Sharing Christmas Eve dinner with my Korean parents and Texan brother and sister instead of my immediate family.

And as much as I miss my family, and as much as I love tradition, it's okay. I am still celebrating, and perhaps in a different and more profound way than I have in the past. 

The president of our company recently shared something that is too good not to pass along: 

"A look at the nativity scene serves to remind us that EVERYONE in it... has a good reason to be homesick. Not one of them was at home. But neither is anyone among them depicted as being sad! I think that is because each of them was serving a larger purpose in the Father's great plan…"

Mary and Joseph, travelers to Bethlehem for a census. The  shepherds traipsing through the countryside to see this tiny baby. The wise men from the East following a star for years just to find the promised one.

And I, standing in church singing "Joy to the World" with a Zambian twist, a cool breeze drying the sweat on my brow. So far from home, family, familiarity. Not by my own plans or design, but by his will and his purpose for my life. Far away but not alone, because he is Emmanuel, God with us. 

Mary's heart

My soul magnifies the Lord.

All generations will call me blessed.

He who is Mighty has done great things for me.

This is the song of a young girl who would give birth to Jesus Christ. Mary, a young virgin, who indeed was blessed and favored by God, as the angel announced to her.

But she was engaged to be married and pregnant out of wedlock. And it wasn't by her fiancé. 

The highest disgrace a Jewish girl could know, and yet the greatest blessing ever bestowed upon a woman by the Almighty Father.

What response would we expect from someone who was told she would become pregnant supernaturally? "What will people say about me?" "How will I explain this to my fiancé?" or "My parents will never believe me," would have been among my first thoughts. 

To her family, her friends, and her fiancé, this was not welcome news. This pregnancy was not a blessing. She could be sentenced to death for what appeared to be unfaithfulness. In fact, Joseph had decided to divorce her until the angel confirmed to him that this child was the Son of God.

And as for the rest of her community… did they ever believe her story? Did they truly call her blessed? Or was she always the object of gossip, of mockery, or pity? If so many doubted Jesus' own testimony and miracles, how much more incredulous were those who knew his virgin mother? How does he call himself the Son of God? His father is Joseph, the carpenter, and we know his mother and brothers! And they took offense at him. (Matt 13:53-58, paraphrase)

But Mary rejoiced. Not at the whispers and rumors. But she rejoiced in TRUTH.

She was highly favored by God.

She would give birth to the Son of the Most High, who takes away the sins of the world.

Oh, her faith in the promise spoken to her! She believed without seeing. She believed in things not immediately visible-- and likely not ever visible within her life on earth.

Mary proclaimed what the Lord had told her, even when every evidence seemed to the contrary.  "All generations will call me blessed." I can't wrap my mind around those words being written by a girl who was probably never regarded in that way-- she was an unmarried pregnant teenager! The scorn she faced was the direct result of her calling to carry the Messiah. 

Yet she rejoiced, regarding the promise as entirely fulfilled, even before her child was born.

And in the moment that she received the news from Gabriel, there is no expression of doubt or anger or fear, only childlike faith welling up into a beautiful song.

All generations will call me blessed… never mind what they call me today.

He has done great things for me… and for all humanity, because he IS Emmanuel, God with us.

My soul magnifies the Lord… for my loss is his gain and glory. 

The remarkable thing about Mary was her ability to rejoice in a calling that would bring her momentary disgrace, because it was for His ultimate glory. 

What if my faith was more like that? When all I see is my own brokenness, unworthiness, and failure to live up to others' expectations…when I labor for the Lord and see no fruit… when He calls me to a task but all I can see is the high cost of obedience… what if I simply clung to his promises?

What if I rejoiced and sang the song of truth, that He has never once failed to keep his word, that my labor is not in vain, that his strength is made perfect in weakness? Even when circumstances seem to suggest the contrary, may I proclaim with confidence the truths of his word.