Don't mess this up, Church...

Dear American Christian,

Here we are…again. I hate how we keep landing back in this same spot. Deadliest mass shooting to date, the headlines are blaring. Gay victims. Muslim shooter. The world is rupturing seemingly at its core and we find ourselves in a position to either stop some of the bleeding or to walk away. It’s hard in these moments, where we get tested, where everyone pulls out the iPhone to film us, just to see what we will do. Where we step will determine a lot of the rhetoric that will play out: in the media, on social media, in the minds and hearts of all the onlookers.

People are dying. A lot of people are dying. And the world is ready to trip us up with our very own words. They want to see if we will wield them like a sword of political agenda or if we will use them as a salve on the wounds of the casualties. The world is watching. And perhaps their angle is just to say see, I TOLD you what they were like or perhaps they really want to know if this Jesus thing is real.

So here we stand with opportunity abounding for us to make a real move towards something different. Something struck me today, more than perhaps ever before. Something I think I need to ask you, to ask me, to ask us all, Christian or not: how do you like your victims? Because when tragedies strike, it seems like our hearts ache and throb when the faces of the deceased look more like ours and I’m wondering if this is it. If this is the reason we can stand by, almost apathetically and numb it seems at times, while the whole world is hemorrhaging.

Let’s face it, we can sometimes be stingy when it comes to our compassion and empathy. But right now, fifty faces and counting. Fifty plus sons, daughters, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers are lying dead because of the ravaging fire of hate. The hard question I have for us is this: do our prayers, our sorrow, our sympathies extend deeper and further when the names and photos released look more like “us” instead of “them”? Do we allow politics to dictate our love more than we do our Savior? Because this is a question that each of us has to ask ourselves at some point in some way. If this was a white, protestant church instead of a gay nightclub, would we pray a little harder? Feel a little more? Give more attention?

But the instructions are so simple so I am hoping we don’t mess this one up:

…mourn with those who mourn.

[Romans 12:15]

Regardless of whether you vote red or blue, in spite of what you believe about who should use what bathroom, and no matter where you stand on gay marriage, don’t mess this one up. Mourn with those who mourn. This is our bread and butter. This is our specialty. This is what we’ve been training for. Put on sackcloth and wail. Cover your face with ashes. Let the tears spill down your cheeks. Mourn with those who mourn.

I watched a few days ago on the news, two men dressed as Hassidic Jews, walk into a café in Israel and open fire. The images were plastered on the screen in a busy gym, while I ran on a treadmill and I thought, here I am watching people die, real people, and everyone around me is just continuing on with their workout, I’m continuing on with my workout.

We can’t be this sedated. We can’t allow Hollywood’s depiction of violence to lull us into complacency when we see all hell breaking loose. We can’t let status quo of this place, violence, pain and suffering, not even phase our American existence. We’ve got to start being like Isaiah, delving into our world with a purpose far greater than the next election or our laws. We’ve got to:

proclaim good news to the poor. [Act as if He has] sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners…to comfort ALL who mourn, and provide for those who grieve…to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.

[Isaiah 61:1-3]

Let’s not collectively mess this one up, Church. Mourn with those who mourn. Period. This is what will speak volumes about the love and redemption and grace and mercy of our Jesus more than anything else.

I know you can do it, sweet Bride of Christ.

Your biggest believer and number one fan,

-C.

On New York, Humanity, and Pacing...

A few weeks ago, I moved towards conquering my fear of flying, got on a plane with my mom, and headed to New York, New York to visit my baby sister. It was a trip unlike any other for me in many ways. First because I literally had no expectations, which for a Type-A Planner says a lot. I had been to the city just once before for a whirlwind weekend when I was a teenager and so everything I knew about New York was truly that which was depicted in movies.

The city is huge. It reminded me of the North Carolina State Fair in many ways: the same amount of personal space and the same fried food meets body odor smells emanating from all directions. It was loud and busy, everywhere you turned. It was sprinkled with more F bombs than I had ever heard in public. There was constant activity and constant movement. Yet, there was more…

Surprising to this North Carolina beach girl, the big apple was filled with something I didn’t expect…humanity. In every nook and cranny of this overwhelming place, there were glimpses of people connecting and relating. In the middle of the large seating spaces off of Broadway were weary travelers sitting and chatting with old friends, catching up on life. Young girls giggling and talking at warp speed at 1am down the avenues. There were friends bumping into one another, needles in a haystack, on overcrowded city streets. Policemen offering directions to lost visitors. And perhaps my favorite glimpse of humanness, the old lady singing most off key to a Beatles tune in the middle of a subway. I thought she was crazy, but then at the end, I realized she was just trying to make a buck as a kind, tired soul next to me smiled ever so slightly and tossed a dollar in her bag.

I never thought a place like New York would have so many hints of people’s goodness and kindness. It gets so lost so often in the speed of life, yet here in one of the biggest cities in the world, there it was. Not as loud as the honking or the cussing at crazed drivers, but in the quiet moments scattered amongst the five boroughs. It reminded me that no matter where in the world people live, there is an underlying desire from us all to connect.

I saw New York as a microcosm of our culture. In many ways, it is the heartbeat of America. And while this yearning to know and be known stealthily peaked out from many unexpected places, there was also something else I saw in New Yorkers, in us. It hit me most on the 1am subway ride back from Serendipity, the home of the world famous frozen hot chocolate seen in the movie bearing the same name as the restaurant. There on that train was a complete cross section of life: students, elderly, young professionals trying to make it in the place where dreams are made of, blue collar workers just hoping to make ends meet. I sat there as we listened to the sounds of the old lady with a thick German accent singing Let it Be. I looked at the eyes of all the fellow subway riders that night, many heading to the farthest points of the line because that’s where life is more affordable. There was a weariness I had never seen before or perhaps, I just have never noticed. The eyes I saw were loaded and tired and dreading tomorrow when they would do it all again. Wake up. Get the kids off. Take the bus to the subway station. Hop on the subway. Walk 5 city blocks and a couple of avenues and do it all in the reverse just in time for bed. Maybe the rest of us aren’t in a metropolis like NYC, but I see it in my friends too, everyone is just plain tired. It’s too much this hustle, the rat race is completely running us down to the core. The hamster wheel has fatigued our little legs and we can’t seem to make it around anymore. So what do we do? Where do we go from here?

We’ve set our pace far too fast for far too long. Technology, smart phones, and information is supersonic. We can go, go, go well beyond what was ever intended. God’s natural rhythms: the sun rising as our beginning and setting as our day’s end, have been ignored and instead we go until our eyes can’t take any more of the glow of our screens and we pass out in response. So many of us are just empty. Nothing more to give because there is nothing left. And it doesn’t take us living in a place like New York City to get like this, everyone from stay at home moms in Wilmington, North Carolina to third shift workers in Ohio are feeling this drought of epic proportions. People are stressed and tired at levels we’ve never seen before.

Something has to give and it isn’t a move from a big city to suburbia or vice versa. It has to happen right where we are, no matter our season or life circumstance. New rhythms must be created and priorities shifted. We are doing far more at a pace exceedingly greater than our design.

There is a way to more peace and rest than we’ve ever known, a rhythm to life that ebbs and flows like we were meant to:

 “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” – Jesus [Matthew 11:28-30 The Message]

Humanity is all around us, in the big cities to small, coastal communities. So many people are thirsting for connection and the opportunities abound if we can slow and steady our stride for but a moment to engage in it. What would our cities, our communities, our world look like if the small streaks of human kindness didn’t have to be noticed like Waldo hidden in a picture but instead were the focal point of our everyday? What would your world look like if you slowed down, if but for just a moment, to refill your glass so that you could pour out once again to the woman who crosses your path divinely or the child crying at your feet to be held for just a minute? I’m thinking that is the stuff worlds are changed by.

Here is to lessons from big cities and a slower pace for all!

Until next time,

-C.

When Grief Remains...

                I’ve been thinking a lot about grief lately. I know that sounds weird. It is kind of weird. But I’m a deep empathizer, probably in a super unhealthy way at times. I can take on people’s grief and experience it as if it were my own. People have given me the gift of their stories and so often I can feel a reverberation of their ache. It is a gift, but it can be a heavy one at times.

                Lately, there have been so many stories swirling in my peripheral of pain and grief. There are the nationally televised ones about a country singer openly documenting his wife’slife and recent death from cervical cancer. There are the stories of helicopter crashes and children who in an instant become fatherless. Seven hundred mile marches of the comrades and widows of fallen Marines from the place where they took their last breaths to the place they called home. Then, there are the stories closer to home of parents whose hands became empty in a split second right outside my neighborhood. Children and daddies with cancer, friends grieving unimaginable losses, broken hearts abound.

                I think about their specific grief often. And I also think about grief in more universal terms. How grief impacts a person over their lifetime. How tragedy can change a person’s trajectory without any notice. How grief never really stops or goes away, it just becomes a part of a person. Perhaps it’s the psych major in me or just that I study people, but grief is an unavoidable part of our personal and collective experience as humans. A hard one.

                Yet, what I find is that so often people are afraid of the grieving. We believe there is a right and wrong thing to say in a person’s deep anguish so in an effort to avoid the wrong thing, we avoid the grief all together. Grief has a loneliness to it that ultimately compounds its presence. After the dust literally and figuratively settles at the graveside, the phone calls and check ins start to diminish because we as a culture don’t know what to do with the kind of pain that words can’t seem to shake.

                What scares us so much about grief? I recall my darkest season and how people’s reaction to my pain really impacted how I would forever interact with the hurting. There were the infinite amount of blatantly stupid comments. People say things in an effort to minimize our pain. Not because they don’t think it matters, but because they don’t know what to do with it. You see, grief isn’t a problem to solve. In our instant gratification of a society, this is hard for us point and click-ers to muster up. Grief truly never goes away, not this side of heaven at least. Sure, perhaps time will partially heal a wound or maybe the ache won’t be as profound as it once was, but scars always remain. When pressed and poked, wounds will re-open, blood will ooze, and more attention and care will be required. But grief isn’t something to be avoided, it’s something to be engaged.

                Silence isn’t the answer to someone’s grief. Sometimes it is. Sometimes pain begs for no words, but just tears and mourning. But, walking away and keeping your distance in an effort to not say the stupid thing is not what is wanted either. People don’t want solutions for their grief, they just don’t want to be alone in it and have it ignored. A grieving person is going through a process that will usually last their entire lifetime and they don’t want you to go away, they just want you to be willing to walk through it with them, on their terms, not your own. Don’t we want everyone to deal with their grief for our sakes? It’s hard to go down into the trenches with someone and to not tip toe around like everything is going to come crashing down. It’s hard to not act like the pain has magically disappeared so that you can keep conversation about the shallow topics within your comfort zone. How are you? takes on a whole new meaning when asked to a griever. It’s loaded and our fear of what we will be asked to carry from that question’s answer can keep us from asking it.

                I know a lot of people who mourn so well. They do it with a certain amount of transparency and authenticity that inspires. They carry their grief in a way in which it isn’t a burden, but rather a gift that draws them to depths where only Christ can heal. Grief is this blanket that covers its host and brings them into a place that is both simple and vivid. Those that grieve in their being because of the brutality of this life have something to offer us that we mustn’t let our fears keep us from. Grief simplifies the complexities of this modern world. The meaningless fade away when shadows of heartache hang overhead. The unimportant goes away. Grief is hard and it hurts, but in it is a gift both for the sufferer and her friends. May we never be afraid to walk through others pain with them…

 

Here’s to when grief remains…

 

Until next time,

-C.

Because we are all just stuffing popcorn kernels in our ears...

Wednesday was normal. It was regular. I did what I do on a lot of normal, regular days during the witching hours of 3pm-6pm when I am about to my max out with mothering and just need a minute of quiet and no complaining or arguing before dinner and dad’s arrival home. I turned on a movie, popped some popcorn and handed three kids a bowl of normal, regular, Wednesday witching hour snack.

While munching on that normal, regular Wednesday snack, my middle child, a beautiful blond hair blue eyed self-professed mama’s boy did something out of our normal, regular Wednesday witching hour routine. As he mindlessly munched, he got to the bottom of his favorite snack only to find unpopped kernels of snack time deliciousness, the bottom of the bowl, all that was left. One kernel in particular caught this engineer minded little boy’s attention. A kernel that was perfect in its size and shape. One that would fit somewhere easy and familiar. His ear canal. And so this blue eye, blond haired middle child stuck that perfectly normal, Wednesday bottom of the bowl snack time remnant in his ear without prompting or informing those around him. And there it sat. It was the first in what I’m sure will be a string of poor life choices.

At about 8pm, he alerted me to the fact that there was something in his ear. The consummate picker, I assumed it was a good chunk of earwax (TMI I know…) that required my expert skills with a cotton swab so I got my tool ready for use. Only to find it wasn’t what I was thinking, but rather one lone kernel of unpopped popcorn. Dad had just walked in the door so we began to do what one does in this scenario. We began to weigh whether or not this constitutes an emergency situation and proceeded to contact every medical professional we knew that would take a call at 8pm without offense. And thus began what I will affectionately always refer to as Kernelgate 2016.

45. That’s how many hours Kernelgate took to resolve. 8. That is the number of medical professionals it took to finally remove the kernel.

                Medical professionals #1-3 suggested trying to float it out with water and so we submerged a boy in water to no avail.

                Medical professional #4 began with an uncontrolled fit of laughter in a small, ugly pink pediatrician’s office. She would return with medical professional #5 who would try to unearth the kernel with a small, scoop like instrument. With no luck. #4 would then return a second time with #6, all the while still giggling and trying yet another fruitless attempt with a syringe of water and a bowl designed to catch things coming out of ones ear. #4 would strike some fear with mentions of sedation and ear vacuums.

                Medical professional #7, a salty ENT nurse, would throw some shade in my direction as she gathered information as to what had been tried. Water! That can make it swell. Well lady, it’s what medical professionals #1-7 suggested and #4-6 tried. She would give me the rundown of my role, sit in the chair and wrap his legs under yours while holding his hands across his body, and give me the worst case scenario, if this doesn’t work, you’ll be in the OR tonight.

                Enter Medical professional #8, an ENT doctor, an expert in the exact crevice my boy inserted a popcorn kernel in. Not a man of many words, just a quick how did this happen? (Side note: seriously…do we even need this question? He is three. He has an ear hole the size of a popcorn kernel. You have an advanced medical degree. Take a wild guess.) And an explanation of what we were going to do. A thin metal pick like tool was going to be strategically placed in the ear behind the kernel. It’s not going to hurt if you don’t move and let me work. If you do move, we are going to have to go on to something harder.

Eight medical professionals later, the popcorn kernel was skillfully excavated without an OR visit. 45 hours after one bad decision led to a slew of phone calls and doctor visits. For a popcorn kernel. For. A. Pop. Corn. Kernel.

[The chair of redemption]

It got me thinking though as I schlepped my boy from doctor to doctor over the course of three days: Aren’t we are all just shoving popcorn kernels in our ears?  Those little, seemingly innocuous nuggets that just seem to fit perfectly: that thing in the schedule, that relationship, that additional role or responsibility, that one decision that seems so small. Things that on their own have no inherent harm and we ultimately shove them in because they fit. Only we discover, if we leave them there, there is a chance for some serious damage to take place. Destruction to that which is most precious: our ability to hear. But, inside each of us is a three year old boy, who isn’t really thinking through the ramifications of putting that kernel in our canal, but who is only thinking but. It. fits.

Here is what I gleaned from Kernelgate 2016, priceless little kernels of truth for us crammers of things that seem to fit just right:

1.)    One small bad decision can lead to a pretty intricate redemption plan: If faith the size of a mustard seed can move a mountain, then poor decisions the size of a popcorn kernel can interrupt and rearrange life like a tidal wave. Hours at the doctor’s office, calls to multiple friends and babysitters to work out a logistical plan for other children, disturbances in the only two calendar days in months that literally had nothing on them. All because of a popcorn kernel. Something so small causing such a great amount of work and grief and requiring the most skilled of professionals to keep it from leading to permanent, irreversible damage.

2.)    Even though it fits easily, it doesn’t mean it’s meant to be there: Just because I can take on one more task or just because a relationship is available, doesn’t mean I’m supposed to fill a space. That small little kernel has the potential to swell, given the right set of circumstances, or to get lodged further down, in the depths where our precious ability to hear what we are supposed to can get threatened. A schedule crammed to the max, a relationship that constantly brings us to the brink, another responsibility that just wasn’t meant to be there will clog us up and block our capacity to really hear. And it all starts because we say to ourselves, but it fits.

3.)    In the midst of a bad decision, the remedy requires being held tight and following the instructions of the ultimate professional to a T: There is only one way out of this mess of stuffing our earholes with popcorn seeds. Sit still. Very, very still. Even though it goes against your squirmy, wormy nature little one. And let the one who knows exactly how to take out the thing you’ve perfectly lodged in your space do what only He can do. If you listen, really, really listen and do the things He tells you to do, allowing yourself to be held tightly in the process, He will take it out. If you don’t, this saga will continue and that skilled master will have to strap you down and start operating. Don’t let that kernel lead to an avalanche of unnecessary pain.

I’m guessing this was a beginning of sorts. Helping my little guy maneuver his poor decisions as he grows into a man. This one was fodder for funny Facebook and Instagram posts and illustrations for blogs, but the next ones might not be. The next proverbial kernel shoved in his ear, or mine for that matter, might cause a lot more damage. May we all learn just because it fits, doesn’t mean it’s meant to be there and that when we do face the consequences of what started out as something so small and meaningless that there is one professional, ready to help us fish out those things we’ve shoved deep in crevices on a perfectly normal, Wednesday afternoon. Sit still. Listen carefully. Let Him do what only He can do. And this whole crazy, whirlwind of a story will come to an anti-climatical ending.

Here’s to all the kernel stuffers and poor life choices that teach us a little something in the process…

Until next time,

-C.

On Sin and Motherhood

Yesterday, we entered in to a new phase of parenting. We discovered one of our children (who shall remain nameless) had been lying to us in a pretty significant way. It was calculated. It had been going on for a long time. It was deceptive and perhaps worst of all, she had encouraged her younger friend to join her in the “fun”. [Don’t worry, we aren’t at the level of selling drugs on the corner yet, but the details aren’t important for this blog purposes.]

 

I was shocked. I knew kids lied and sinned, but there is something in every mother that mistakenly believes not my kid or at least not in that way. The good news was this unmentioned child was pretty broken by her actions. She started down the path so many of us do when we are found out: I’m the worst daughter ever. You can punish me for the rest of my life. You can have the object (an iPod) that caused my sin. It was a bit on the melodramatic side. But, I am finding, that is where 8 year old girls tend to land.

So as I was processing through it all, I was ready to pounce, but thankfully, I have a wise and even tempered husband whom I found rocking her in the back room, speaking softly and quietly to her. He told her about relationships and about trust and how slowly it is earned and how quickly it is lost. He calmly explained to her how lies breaks relationships, how when we are hiding things from one another, we can’t have the fullness of fellowship. He told her about the importance of being an example to our friends and to lead them towards right and wise decisions. He displayed not only an earthly daddy who loved his little girl and wanted to guide her back on the path of righteousness, but also and more importantly, a heavenly one.

[Years ago, this unmentioned child and her daddy on a different kind of path]

Well, I’m not as calm and even-tempered as that man of mine. In my mind, I was thinking through my own melodrama: How could she do this? How did I not know? Didn’t I teach her better than this? Which launched into my own path of mommy guilt of epic proportions: I’m such a failure. What kind of mom doesn’t know there kid is doing something for this long? I should lose my mothering privileges. I should have been more aware. [She gets it from her mama…apparently.]

I wish I could say I started praying immediately, but instead I launched into self-righteous indignation. And then God hit me. I knew my kids would never be without sin. My favorite quote by a favorite author, Sally Clarkson, is “your kids will stop sinning when you stop sinning.” My child’s sin quickly revealed my own. I was not so much expecting, but I was undoubtedly wanting perfection in my children’s behaviors. But here was a kid crying, broken, and whirling in the emotions that can accompany sin: guilt, depression, feelings of failure and worthlessness.

And God spoke so clearly to me in that moment, in such a way that I think every mama needs to hear it:

Our goal as parents isn’t sinless kids, because that is impossible. Our goal as parents should be kids who know what to do with their sin.

So I took note of my husband’s wise ways and got down low with a sad little girl. I held her close because so often when our sin is revealed, we feel so so far from all the things we love. And we began a long discussion of what do we do with our sinful souls. We talked about Paul and how he too struggled with doing what he knew was right all the time. We talked about Jesus and how he was tempted to go against God’s will for Him and how He stood up to Satan’s attempts to force Him down a path of disobedience. We talked about how God always gives us a way out in our temptations to do wrong. We talked about how no matter what, if we have trusted Christ wholly and completely, He has fully forgiven all our sins: past, present and future. We discussed repentance and confession. We began the long and arduous road of helping this young disciple to deal with her sin.

There is a perfectionist that rages inside of me. She doesn’t want her kids to do wrong. Ever. She doesn’t want herself to do wrong. Ever. Slowly but surely, she is being broken down too and learning through teaching the souls entrusted to her that sin will indeed come, but it is all a matter of what you do with it that matters.

How about you? What has your kid’s sin taught you?

Here’s to #parentinggoals.

Until next time,

-C.

The Year of ENOUGH

(Note: This picture has nothing to do with the blog that follows. It's just awesome and that is enough.)

Already, another year has begun. And every New Year brings a promise of a fresh start. We resolve this is the year. This is the one where we are healthier, smarter, more confident, more organized, more together versions of ourselves and every year, we fail. Again. Usually a few weeks after those resolutions are made. I quit making them years ago but instead have moved to choosing one word. Just a single word, one God and I come up with and together, we work towards. There has been the year of JOY, the year of PRESENCE, the year of UNDIVIDED and then it came time to pick a word for this year. Even with just one word, I found myself in a constant struggle. A cycle of failing. The exercise isn’t meant to produce that kind of thinking, but every time, I undoubtedly found myself struggling to find JOY, PRESENCE, and UNDIVISION. And I even considered forgoing the whole ONE WORD exercise again this year…but, then it hit me.

Growth always comes from struggle. Focusing on one single word for God to hone and cultivate in me wasn’t working as well as I’d hoped because often times it became a resolution in disguise. Just be more joyful, Catherine. Just be more present, Catherine. Just be more undivided, Catherine. These were things that I could never just be more of, but they were areas that He needed to prune in me and purify. Every new word, He always presented opportunities. Opportunities to choose joy instead of despair, to be present instead of disengaged, and to be undivided instead of scattered. Sometimes I chose correctly and sometimes I didn’t. But the exercise of the spiritual will to go to my Father with that word was what strengthened me and changed me and molded me a little better than I was before. That is what fancy theologians refer to as sanctification, the act of becoming a bit more like Jesus.

So this year has come and the question has been, what shall be my word? Last year felt frenzied and frenetic. It wasn’t overwhelmingly sad or happy, it was blurry and unremarkable in so many ways because the speed of which I lived left little room for memory making or soaking up the moment. It had hard moments, but I can’t even pinpoint them. It left me numb more than anything because I just.dont.know. what happened. When water levels rise and you feel like you’re flailing, recollections are the first things to go. It wasn’t a bad year, don’t get me wrong. It just was. And I’ve come to the conclusion that life is too precious and too short to have just was years. They need to be good and hard mixed together, bitter and sweet. Because the hard makes the good taste so much sweeter. It has to be a mix.

But when we pace ourselves on the hamster wheel at such a rate that we can’t even see anything, it’s too much. It’s time to step back and do some deep soul wrestling with God on how we make this a year we can taste and feel, even if it is challenging at times.

What word could encapsulate all I need God to teach and grow me in this year? I kept thinking how 2015 was just too much. It was too much on the calendar. Too much stuff as evidenced by a house busting at the seams with clutter. Too much go, go, going. But it was also not sufficient either. There wasn’t enough time to do all the things I had planned to do last year. Not enough memories made with my people because work and life just moved at a neck breaking speed. It was loud and noisy most of the time, there weren’t very many moments of silence. We were plugged in more than we should’ve been and there wasn’t any whitespace.

I said too many yeses.

I gave too much in some ways.

I felt like I didn’t give like I should’ve in others.

I was tired. Dizzy. Discombobulated.

There is a great Proverb that talks about these extremes. It says, “Give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’ Or I may become poor and steal, and so dishonor the name of my God.” (Proverbs 30:8-9)

It’s talking about money, but its application runs much broader and deeper. When we are dealing with having too much: too much on our calendars, in our headspace, with our commitments and obligations, we start to disown God. We start to say “Who is the Lord?” because we don’t have time to find out, we forget that He is our sustainer of all our yeses and calendar and to do lists. We quit consulting Him and we trick ourselves into believing that we are the creator and maintainer of our world. It all relies on me. I am the master juggler and it is all my duty to keep all the balls in the air. But inevitably, they all come tumbling down and we learn the truth. Often times at the expense of our pride and our health.

But then there is the other extreme. The one in which we don’t seem to have quite what we need. Deficient on time we begin to steal it, usually from the people to whom we owe it the most—our spouse, our kids, our friends. We lack the margin to refresh and renew and so we take away the hours of the night meant to rest our weary bodies and build them afresh for the next day. And in doing so, we dishonor our God because the problem is the same as when we had too much: we think we are in control of our destinies and fulfilling our needs so thievery becomes a justified solution.

This year, I needed a word that dealt with both extremes because I am an extreme kind of girl. I’m all or nothing. 150 miles at hour or a screeching halt. There isn’t much in between with this one.

Enough.

I need 2016 to be the year of just enough. No more. No less.

I need to know that right now, as I am, it.is.enough. I need to be able to say to others, “hey, here is what I have to offer right now.” And let it be enough. I need to turn my eyes from always wanting more and more and let what I have be enough. I need to let Jesus be the source of my emotional state and for that to be enough. I need to be able to say no sometimes, without loquacious explanations and that be enough. I need to say “that’s a great idea! I’ll pray for and support you in the pursuit of that.” Without putting my hands on anything and let that be enough. I need to focus my energies and my talents on the things that set a fire to my soul and let that be enough. I need to be able to say “I want to spend time with you friend in my messy house without a spread of well thought out snack fare.” And that be enough. I need to have the faith of a little boy with a drum, offering what he can or a widow, with just two pennies to her name, putting it all in. Small offerings in the scheme, but everything they had to offer in the moment. That is what the year of enough must be.

I hesitate when I write these words because I know it automatically can get interpreted as a cry to stop asking for me to be a part of so many wonderful and inspiring opportunities. That isn’t what the year of enough is about. It isn’t saying no to everything that comes across my path. It’s about tempering my yeses with that which is available in my reservoir. God has been very clear with me on this year and the things He has for me. In some ways, it looks like more being added to my seemingly overfilled plate. But that’s not the case. He simply revealed to me the things that He has built me for. Three passions I have that I must filter my yeses through this year. If the question doesn’t relate to one of the three, then it will be too much. Enough is a balancing act of epic proportion because our individual “enoughs” are so specific to how we are built. I’ve realized my threshold is perhaps greater than most in some areas and lesser than most in others. It’s handing my puzzle pieces to God and letting Him fit them together in a way that is completely unique to me and me alone.

The year of ENOUGH is about letting the words Paul heard from the Lord thunder deep down in my soul, “My grace is enough for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” So then, I will boast most gladly about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may reside in me. (2 Corinthians 12:9)

His grace is it. It’s enough. It fills in all my gaps. He gives just what I need to do just what He has. All the time I need. All the resources I need. Everything. He gives just enough.

And God is able to make all grace overflow to you so that because you have enough of everything in every way at all times, you will overflow in every good work. (2 Corinthians 9:8)

I wonder if you’re searching for a word this year. If you’re tired of resolving and failing, resolving and failing. Maybe this is your year for just what you need, no more, no less.

Here’s to the year of enough!

Until next time,

-C.

Do you do “one word”? If so, what’s your word this year?

On the Church and Refugees

Dear American Christian Church,

Oh how I hesitate to even pen these words. Because I know we are all a little braver in the sanctity of our homes, hiding behind the glow of a computer screen. I know these conversations need to be had in person more so than through the internet, but I also know we have to take the time to shine light when darkness threatens to prevail. And I know God has uniquely positioned me these past three years, for such a time as this, as someone with a heart and a passion for the voiceless persecuted people from around the world. Three years ago, I entered the world of refugee resettlement as a volunteer. I’ve gotten an education in a process that I knew nothing about before having stepped in and working with local refugees from Burma. I’ve been able to take my passion and draw others into this world, helping those who have endured so much rebuild their lives in my community.

But then, a cataclysmic event happen. One that shook our foundations because it is heinous in nature and brought back memories of an ordinary September day over a decade ago. Fear from those whose main objective is to incite terror has officially overtaken our Facebook feeds. But we, the Church, stand at a place where many have stood before. You see, we stand at a crossroads of sorts, a place where some of those we consider great, once stood. Charles Spurgeon. William Wilberforce. John Wesley. Harriet Beecher Stowe. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Ralph Abernathy. Christians who all had to decide what side of history they were going to stand on when things got tough. Because you see, what we are facing right now, is really our bread and butter, what those before us experienced as well: how to love when it is hard, unpopular, and downright scary.

Over 50 million people are forcibly displaced all over the world right now. Fifty. Million. Of those, about 19.5 million are refugees—those who are outside their country of nationality and can’t return due to a well-founded fear of persecution because of his or her race, religion, nationality, political opinion, or membership in a particular social group.  Of that 19.5 million, more than half are children. This year, the crisis sweeping many countries across the globe, emerged a new leader in the country with the most refugees: Syria. Over 3.5 million Syrians have fled the persecution and terror that is ripping their homeland to shreds.

Just a few short weeks ago, we as the Church watched a little boy’s dead body wash ashore and we were moved to do something. I was so proud to watch American Christianity emerge as a leader in the forefront of fundraising and getting supplies to those flowing across the borders of Europe in hopes of peace and stability. So many of you had your heart moved so deeply to action. But my, what a difference just a few days can make. Last week, terror struck, and those same rallying forces suddenly became frightened and frigid in its response. Calls to stop allowing the persecuted in have been flooding my feed. And I can’t sit by idly and watch anymore, because while I don’t expect the unbelieving world to do what is right, I do expect the bride of Christ to.

Christian, lean in and hear me on this: you do not want to be on the wrong side of this historical issue because our God is going to hold accountable His Church. We have a Holy standard to uphold and we cannot err on the side of party lines or nationalism—we must err on the side of Jesus.

First, the question must be asked. What do you know about the refugee resettlement process in America and across the globe? Because I’ve been seeing a lot of quotes, facts and figures flying without a lot of citing reputable sources. The media is not, I repeat, is NOT a reputable source. Politicians are not a reputable source. Your neighbor’s Facebook post is not a reputable source.  We need truth here from sources who are in the trenches of refugee resettlement on a daily basis. Not Joe Schmoe whose only source is his xenophobia and slanted news sources. Here is the truth:

1.)    We have to understand terminology first and foremost:

The people fleeing Syria are yes, people fleeing persecution. However, what we are seeing in Europe is not the legal definition of refugees, meaning people who have gone through the process and pipelines that have been in place for years and have safely resettled scores of refugees to 28 countries around the globe accepting them without any incident. What we are seeing in Europe are the mass majority asylum seekers, people who are seeking refugee status, yet who have not gone through the extensive process to gain it. The media does not understand this important difference and has been interchanging these words without care. It matters. Because what is happening in Europe with completely open borders in places is not the same thing that the United States is doing through the UNHCR and the U.S. State Department refugee resettlement program that allows those who have undergone the intense background checks, cross several intelligence agencies, biodata checks, medical screenings, and intense interviews to verify the validity of their plight. (www.unhcr.org for more info)

2.)    We have to know the numbers:

19.5 million Refugees worldwide. This is the largest refugee crisis our world has ever seen since World War II. We are talking about a humanitarian crisis of epic proportions. Less than 1% get resettled worldwide in countries allowing refugee resettlement. In the next year, the United States has committed to welcome 85,000 refugees. That’s .004% of the world’s persecuted. That’s a shameful spit in the bucket. Of those 85,000, only 10,000 will be arriving from Syria. Just around 10% of the refugees coming to the United States will be coming from the country producing the most right now. The vast majority will come from other places such as Burma, Colombia, or the DR of Congo just to name a few. Church, these numbers are sickening and embarrassing because do you know who takes on the majority of the care for those displaced due to war and violence? Developing countries. The poorest of the poor are the ones opening their arms and homes to those who need it the most. Woe to us, Church! This cannot be our generation’s legacy. (www.unhcr.org for more info)

3.) We have to stop operating out of the same fear that everyone around us seems to:

Most days, I wonder if I’m even reading the same Bible as the vast majority of those who proclaim Christ. Because when I read it, I don’t find any promises of a comfortable, safe existence. Instead, every word I read points to a life that is lived poured out defending and fighting for those who need it most in a world that is unstable and gunning for us. Everything I have read and know about Jesus points to the fact that He has but one stance on refugee resettlement: do it.

Care for the least. Stop and tend for the foreigner who has been pummeled and left for dead. Love your enemies, both real and perceived. This is my Jesus. I don’t know if that is yours, but if it isn’t, please don’t continue to use the label Christian for describing your belief system. I know that’s a hard word for you, but with that label comes a load of responsibility in terms of knowing the God in which we serve. Don’t claim to follow Him if you don’t think we should do what He says.

His word is clear: do not be afraid. Yes, evil will come. Yes, it will rear its ugly face in our backyards and in our cities. It will try to get us to live in terror and fear, because it knows, those things keep us from our God. It will create chaos and incite panic because all of this distracts from the peace and hope we are guaranteed.

This world will continue to spin on what seems to be a downward spiral. Jesus said it. He told us to expect it:

Jesus answered: “Watch out that no one deceives you. ⁵ For many will come in my name, claiming, ‘I am the Messiah,’ and will deceive many. ⁶ You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. ⁷ Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places. ⁸ All these are the beginning of birth pains.

⁹ “Then you will be handed over to be persecuted and put to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of me. ¹⁰ At that time many will turn away from the faith and will betray and hate each other, ¹¹ and many false prophets will appear and deceive many people. ¹² Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold, ¹³ but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved. ¹⁴ And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come. (Matthew 24:4-14)

But our hope is not in this world’s messiahs: politicians who make false promises to keep all the bad out or media sources who claim to know the truth. These messiahs will deceive you. Jesus said it.

Wars and rumors of wars will continue to come. But see to it you are not alarmed, He told you. Persecution will ensue for standing up for righteousness. We. Will. Be. Hated.

Because of the wickedness, the love of most will grow cold. Love grown cold looks like the likes of Christ claiming, Jesus lovers saying no to the world’s most vulnerable and needy.

But to the one who stands firm in love, in trust of the true Messiah, in doing the hard things He has called us to in a scary culture, those He will save. And it is this gospel that will be preached in the whole world: from Syria to Burma and to every war-torn country in between.

Church, I love you so. I don’t want us to collectively err on the wrong side of this crossroads in our history. Let’s rise up and watch perfect love drive out fear.

Sincerely,

Your sister and biggest fan